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Lucy Ferrier grew up within the log-house, and assisted her adopted father in all his undertakings. The keen air of the mountains and the balsamic odour of the pine trees took the place of nurse and mother to the young girl. As year succeeded to year she grew taller and stronger, her cheek more ruddy and her step more elastic. Many a wayfarer upon the high road which ran by Ferrier’s farm felt long-forgotten thoughts revive in their minds as they watched her lithe, girlish figure tripping through the wheat-fields, or met her mounted upon her father’s mustang, and managing it with all the ease and grace of a true child of the West. So the bud blossomed into a flower, and the year which saw her father the richest of the farmers left her as fair a specimen of American girlhood as could be found in the whole Pacific slope.
It was not the father, however, who first discovered that the child had developed into a woman. It seldom is in such cases. That mysterious change is too subtle and too gradual to be measured by dates. Least of all does the maiden herself know it until the tone of a voice or the touch of a hand sets her heart thrilling within her, and she learns with a mixture of pride and of fear, that a new and a larger nature has awoke within her. There are few who ca
It was a warm June morning, and the Latter Day Saints were as busy as the bees whose hives they have chosen for their emblem. In the fields and in the streets rose the same hum of human industry. Down the dusty high roads defiled long streams of heavily-laden mules, all heading to the west, for the gold fever had broken out in California, and the overland route lay through the city of the Elect. There, too, were droves of sheep and bullocks coming in from the outlying pasture lands, and trains of tired immigrants, men and horses equally weary of their interminable journey. Through all this motley assemblage, threading her way with the skill of an accomplished rider, there galloped Lucy Ferrier, her fair face flushed with the exercise and her long chestnut hair floating out behind her. She had a commission from her father in the city, and was dashing in as she had done many a time before, with all the fearlessness of youth, thinking only of her task and how it was to be performed. The travel-stained adventurers gazed after her in astonishment, and even the unemotional Indians, journeying in with their pelties, relaxed their accustomed stoicism as they marvelled at the beauty of the pale-faced maiden.
She had reached the outskirts of the city when she found the road blocked by a great drove of cattle, driven by a half-dozen wild-looking herdsmen from the plains. In her impatience she endeavoured to pass this obstacle by pushing her horse into what appeared to be a gap. Scarcely had she got fairly into it, however, before the beasts closed in behind her, and she found herself completely imbedded in the moving stream of fierce-eyed, long-horned bullocks. Accustomed as she was to deal with cattle, she was not alarmed at her situation, but took advantage of every opportunity to urge her horse on, in the hopes of pushing her way through the cavalcade. Unfortunately the horns of one of the creatures, either by accident, or design, came in violent contact with the flank of the mustang[128], and excited it to madness. In an instant it reared upon its hind legs with a snort of rage, and pranced and tossed in a way that would have unseated any but a skilful rider. The situation was full of peril. Every plunge of the excited horse brought it against the horns again, and goaded it to fresh madness. It was all that the girl could do to keep herself in the saddle, yet a slip would mean a terrible death under the hoofs of the unwieldy and terrified animals. Unaccustomed to sudden emergencies, her head began to swim, and her grip upon the bridle to relax. Choked by the rising cloud of dust and by the steam of the struggling creatures, she might have abandoned her efforts in despair, but for a kindly voice at her elbow which assured her of assistance. At the same moment a sinewy brown hand caught the frightened horse by the curb, and forcing a way through the drove, soon brought her to the outskirts.
‘You’re not hurt, I hope, miss,’ said her preserver, respectfully.
She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily. ‘I’m awful frightened,’ she said, naïvely; ‘whoever would have thought that Poncho would have been so scared by a lot of cows?’
‘Thank God you kept your seat,’ the other said earnestly. He was a tall, savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful roan horse, and clad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his shoulders. ‘I guess you are the daughter of John Ferrier,’ he remarked; ‘I saw you ride down from his house. When you see him, ask him if he remembers the Jefferson Hopes of St. Louis[129]. If he’s the same Ferrier, my father and he were pretty thick.’
‘Hadn’t you better come and ask yourself?’ she asked, demurely.
The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure. ‘I’ll do so,’ he said; ‘we’ve been in the mountains for two months, and are not over and above in visiting condition. He must take us as he finds us.’
‘He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have I,’ she answered, ‘he’s awful fond of me. If those cows had jumped on me he’d have never got over it.’
‘Neither would I,’ said her companion.
‘You! Well, I don’t see that it would make much matter to you, anyhow. You ain’t even a friend of ours.’
The young hunter’s dark face grew so gloomy over this remark that Lucy Ferrier laughed aloud.
‘There, I didn’t mean that,’ she said; ‘of course, you are a friend now. You must come and see us. Now I must push along, or father won’t trust me with his business any more. Good-bye!’
‘Good-bye,’ he answered, raising his broad sombrero[130], and bending over her little hand. She wheeled her mustang round, gave it a cut with her riding-whip, and darted away down the broad road in a rolling cloud of dust.
Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, gloomy and taciturn. He and they had been among the Nevada Mountains prospecting for silver, and were returning to Salt Lake City in the hope of raising capital enough to work some lodes which they had discovered. He had been as keen as any of them upon the business until this sudden incident had drawn his thoughts into another cha
He called on John Ferrier that night, and many times again, until his face was a familiar one at the farmhouse. John, cooped up in the valley, and absorbed in his work, had had little chance of learning the news of the outside world during the last twelve years. All this Jefferson Hope was able to tell him, and in a style which interested Lucy as well as her father. He had been a pioneer in California, and could narrate many a strange tale of fortunes made and fortunes lost in those wild, halcyon days. He had been a scout[131] too, and a trapper, a silver explorer, and a ranchman. Wherever stirring adventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope had been there in search of them. He soon became a favourite with the old farmer, who spoke eloquently of his virtues. On such occasions, Lucy was silent, but her blushing cheek and her bright, happy eyes showed only too clearly that her young heart was no longer her own. Her honest father may not have observed these symptoms, but they were assuredly not thrown away upon the man who had won her affections.
128
mustang – a North American wild horse; it descended from Spanish horses brought to America in the 16th century. Tamed mustangs are known for their speed and strength
129
St. Louis – the largest city in the state of Missouri, located on the bank of the Mississippi River; it used to be the Gateway of the West at the time of the first settlers. The Missouri River joins the Mississippi to the north of St. Louis
130
sombrero – a broad-brimmed Spanish or Mexican hat made of straw or felt
131
scout – a ranger, a reco