Sherlock Holmes Short Stories - A Study in Scarlet: Part Six

Episode Date: October 4, 2026

The plot thickens in Utah, as the brutal crimes of Stangerson and Drebber set up a long-awaited revenge.  Part six of seven.  A Noiser podcast production. Narrated by Hugh Bonneville  Written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Produced by Duncan Barrett Sound Design: Mirianna Pitman-Latham Assembly Edit: Cian Ryan-Morgan Sound Supervisor: Matt Peaty Compositions: Dorry Macaulay and Oliver Baines Mix & Mastering: Ralph Tittley Series Consultant: Dan Smith Executive Producer: Katrina Hughes   For ad-free listening and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Just click the subscription banner at the top of the feed to get started. Or go to noiser.com/subscriptions Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

I'm Hugh Bonneville and welcome to A Study in Scarlet, Part 6. In the last episode, we met American frontiersman, John Ferrier, and his adopted daughter Lucy. Saved from the jaws of death in the Utah desert by a passing caravan of Mormon pilgrims, they formally converted to the new religion and followed their saviors to Salt Lake City. There, John became a respected local farmer, while Lucy grew into an attractive young woman. earning herself a nickname, The Flower of Utah. She soon acquired an admirer, a young man called Jefferson Hope, whose father and John Ferrier were friends back in the Midwest.

Hope is a strapping lad with a good head on his shoulders. There's just one problem. He's no Mormon. When Brigham Young, the leader or prophet of the latter-day saints, heard of the budding romance, he presented John Ferrier with a terror. ultimatum. Lucy must forsake hope and choose between the sons of two senior Mormons instead, marrying either Enoch Drebber or Joseph Stangerson. Both of them have several wives already. If she fails to wed one or the other within a month, she and her father will suffer the full wrath of Brigham Young, at the hands of his most murderous acolytes, a gang of thugs known

as the avenging angels. Their only hope now is to get a message to Jefferson Hope, begging him to come to the rescue before Lucy's 30 days are up. From the Noyser Podcast Network, this is A Study in Scarlet, Part 6. On the morning which followed his interview with the Mormon prophet, John Ferrier went into Salt Lake City, and having found his acquaintance, who was bound for the Nevada Mountains, he entrusted him with his message to Jefferson Hope. In it, he told the young man of the imminent danger which threatened them,

and how necessary it was that he should return. Having done thus, he felt easier in his mind, and returned home with a lighter heart. As he approached his farm, he was surprised to see a horse hitched to each of the posts of the gate. Still more surprised was he on entering to find two young, men in possession of his sitting-room. One, with a long pale face, was leaning back in the rocking chair, with his feet cocked up upon the stove. The other, a bull-necked youth with coarse, bloated features,

was standing in front of the window with his hands in his pocket, whistling a popular hymn. Both of them nodded to Ferrier as he entered, and the one in the rocking-chair commenced the conversation. Maybe you don't know us, he said. This here is the son of Elder Drebber, and I'm Joseph Stangerson, who travelled with you in the desert when the Lord stretched out his hand and gathered you into the true fold. As he will all the nations in his own good time, said the other in a nasal voice.

He grindeth slowly but exceeding small. John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his visitors were. "'We have come,' continued Stangerson, "'at the advice of our fathers to solicit the hand of your daughter, "'for whichever of us may seem good to you and to her. "'As I have but four wives, and brother Drebber here has seven, "'it appears to me that my claim is the stronger one.'

"'Nay, nay, brother Stangerson,' cried the other. "'The question is not how many wives we have, but how many we can keep. My father has now given over his mills to me, and I am the richer man. But my prospects are better, said the other warmly. When the Lord removes my father, I shall have his tanning yard and his leather factory. Then I am your elder, and am higher in the church. It will be for the maiden to decide, rejoined young Drebber, smirking at his own reflection in the glass. We will leave it all to her decision.

During this dialogue, John Ferrier had stood fuming in the doorway, hardly able to keep his riding-whip from the backs of his two visitors. Look here, he said at last, striding up to them. When my daughter summons you, you can come, but until then, I don't want to see your faces again. The two young Mormons stared at him in amazement. In their eyes, this competition between them for the maiden's hand was the highest, of honours both to her and her father. There are two ways out of the room, cried Ferrier. There is the door, and there is the window.

Which do you care to use? His brown face looked so savage and his gaunt hand so threatening that his visitors sprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat. The old farmer followed them to the door. Let me know when you have settled which it is to be, he said sardonically. You shall smart for the door. this, Stangerson cried, white with rage. You have defied the prophet and the counsel of four.

You shall rue it to the end of your days. The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you, cried young Drebber. He will arise and smite you. Then I'll start the smiting, exclaimed Ferrier furiously, and would have rushed upstairs for his gun, had not Lucy seized him by the arm and restrained him. Before he could escape from, her, the clatter of horses' hooves told him that they were beyond his reach. The young, canting rascals! He exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. I would sooner see you in your grave, my girl, than the wife of either of them.

And so should I, father, she answered with spirit. But Jefferson will soon be here. Yes, it will not be long before he comes. Sooner the better, for we do not know what their next move may be. It was indeed high time that someone capable of giving advice and help should come to the aid of the sturdy old farmer and his adopted daughter. In the whole history of the settlement, there had never been such a case of rank disobedience to the authority of the elders.

If minor errors were punished so sternly, what would be the fate of this arch-rebel? Ferrier knew that his wealth and position would be of no avail to him. Others, as well-known and as rich as himself, had been spirited away before now, and their goods given over to the church. He was a brave man, but he trembled at the vague, shadowy terrors which hung over him. Any known danger he could face with a firm lip, but this suspense was unnerving. He concealed his fears from his daughter, however,

and affected to make light of the whole matter, though she, with the keen eye of love, saw plainly that he was ill at ease. He expected that he would receive some message or remonstrance from young as to his conduct, and he was not mistaken, though it came in an unlooked-for manner. Upon rising next morning,

he found, to his surprise, a small square of paper pinned onto the coverlet of his bed just over his chest. On it was printed, in bold, straggling letters, "'29 days are given you for amendment.' And then?' The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could have been.

How this warning came into his room puzzled John Ferrier sorely, for his servants slept in an outhouse and the doors and windows had all been secured. He crumpled the paper up and said nothing to his daughter, but the incident struck a chill into his. heart. The 29 days were evidently the balance of the month which Young had promised. What strength or courage could avail against an enemy armed with such mysterious powers? The hand which fastened that pin might have struck him to the heart, and he could never

have known who had slain him. Still more shaken was he next morning. They had sat down to their breakfast when Lucy, with a cry of surprise pointed upwards. In the centre of the ceiling was scrawled with a burned stick, apparently, the number 28. To his daughter, it was unintelligible, and he did not enlighten her. That night he sat up with his gun and kept watch and ward. He saw and he heard nothing. And yet in the morning a great 27 had been painted upon the outside of his door. Thus day followed day, and as sure as morning came, he found that his unseen enemies had kept their register, and had marked up in some conspicuous position how many days were still left to him out of the

month of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon the walls, sometimes upon the floors, occasionally they were on small placards stuck upon the garden gate or the railings. With all his vigilance, John Ferrier could not discover whence these daily warnings, proceeded. A horror which was almost superstitious came upon him at the sight of them. He became haggard and restless, and his eyes had the troubled look of some hunted creature. He had but one hope in life now, and that was for the arrival of the young hunter from Nevada. 20 had changed to 15 and 15 to 10, but there was no news of the absentee. One by one, the numbers dwindled down, and still there came no sign of him.

Whenever a horseman clattered down the road or a driver shouted at his team, the old farmer hurried to the gate, thinking that help had arrived at last. At last, when he saw five give way to four, and that again to three, he lost heart and abandoned all hope of escape. single-handed, and with his limited knowledge of the mountains which surrounded the settlement, he knew that he was powerless. The more frequented roads were strictly watched and guarded, and none could pass along them without an order from the council.

Turn which way he would, there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung over him. Yet the old man never wavered in his resolution to part with life itself, before he consented to what he regarded as his death. daughter's dishonour. He was sitting alone one evening, pondering deeply over his troubles, and searching vainly for some way out of them. That morning had shown the figure two upon the wall of his house, and the next day would be the last of the allotted time. What was to happen then? All manner of vague and terrible fancies filled his imagination, and his daughter. What was to become of her after he was gone. Was there no escape from the invisible network which was drawn

all round them? He sank his head upon the table and sobbed at the thought of his own impotence. What was that? In the silence he heard a gentle scratching sound, low but very distinct in the quiet of the night. It came from the door of the house. Ferrier crept into the hall and listened intently. There was a pause for a few moments, and then the low, insidious sound was repeated. Someone was evidently tapping very gently upon one of the panels of the door. Was it some midnight assassin who had come to carry out the murderous orders of the secret tribunal? Or was it some agent who was marking up that the last day of grace had arrived? John Ferrier felt that instant death would be better

than the suspense which shook his nerves and chilled his heart. Springing forward, he drew the bolt and threw the door open. Outside all was calm and quiet. The night was fine and the stars were twinkling brightly overhead. The little front garden lay before the farmer's eyes bounded by the fence and gate, but neither there nor on the road was any human being to be seen. With a sigh of relief, Ferrier looked to right and to left, until happening to glance straight down at his own feet,

he saw to his astonishment a man lying flat upon his face upon the ground, with arms and legs all a sprawl. So unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up against the wall with his hand to his throat, to stifle his inclination to call out. His first thought was that the prostrate figure was that of some wounded or dying man. but as he watched it, he saw it writhe along the ground and into the hall with the rapidity and noiselessness of a serpent. Once within the house, the man sprang to his feet, closed the door, and revealed to the astonished farmer the fierce face and resolute expression of Jefferson Hope. Good God, gasped John Ferrier.

How you scared me! Whatever made you come in like that! Give me food, the other said hoarsely. I have had no time for bite or sup for eight and forty hours. He flung himself upon the cold meat and bread which were still lying upon the table from his host's supper and devoured it voraciously. Does Lucy bear up well? He asked when he had satisfied his hunger. Yes, she does not know the danger.

her father answered. That is well. The house is watched on every side. That is why I crawled my way up to it. They may be darn sharp, but they're not quite sharp enough to catch a washoe hunter. John Ferrier felt a different man now

that he realized that he had a devoted ally. He seized the young man's leathery hand and wrung it cordially. You're a man to be proud off, he said. There are not many who are not many who would come to share our danger and our troubles. You've hit it there, part, the young hunter answered. I have a respect for you, but if you were alone in this business,

I'd think twice before I put my head into such a hornet's nest. It's Lucy that brings me here, and before harm comes on her, I guess there will be one less of the Hope family in Utah. What are we to do? Tomorrow is your last day. And unless you act tonight, you are lost. I have a mule and two horses waiting in the Eagle ravine. How much money have you?

$2,000 in gold and five in notes. That will do. I have as much more to add to it. We must push for Carson City through the mountains. You had best wait, Lucy. It is as well that the servants do not sleep in the house. With Export Development Canada, Canadian businesses are compete, leading, leading and winning in more international markets,

like how agri-food businesses are strengthening global food supply, and critical minerals are powering industries of the future. Their ambition can't be contained. And with EDC behind them, neither can their growth. Export Development Canada is the financial partner for Canadian businesses going global. Visit EDC.ca for more. While Ferrier was absent, preparing his daughter for the approaching journey, Jefferson Hope packed all the eatables that he could find into a small parcel

and filled a stoneware jar with water, for he knew by experience that the mountain wells were few and far between. He had hardly completed his arrangements before the farmer returned with his daughter, all dressed and ready for a start. The greeting between the lovers was warm but brief, for minutes were precious. and there was much to be done. We must make our start at once, said Jefferson Hope, speaking in a low but resolute voice, like one who realizes the greatness of the peril, but has steeled his heart to meet it.

The front and back entrances are watched, but with caution we may get away through the side window and across the fields. Once on the road, we are only two miles from the ravine where the horses are waiting. By daybreak, we should be halfway through the mountains. What if we are stopped? asked Ferrier. Hope slapped the revolver butt, which protruded from the front of his tunic. If they are too many for us, we shall take two or three of them with us, he said with a sinister smile. The lights inside the house had all been extinguished, and from the darkened window Ferrier peered over the fields which had been his own, and which he was now about to abandon forever.

He had long nerved himself to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the honour and how much happiness of his daughter outweighed any regret at his ruined fortunes. All looked so peaceful and happy, the rustling trees and the broad silent stretch of grainland, that it was difficult to realise that the spirit of murder lurked through it all. Yet the white face and set expression of the young hunter showed that in his approach to the house he had seen enough to satisfy him upon that head. Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes Jefferson Hope had the scanty provisions and water

while Lucy had a small bundle containing a few of her more valued possessions opening the window very slowly and carefully they waited until a dark cloud had somewhat obscured the night and then one by one passed through into the little garden with baited breath and crouching figures

they stumbled across it and gained the shelter of the hedge which they skirted until they came to the gap which opened into the cornfields. They had just reached this point when the young man seized his two companions and dragged them down into the shadow, where they lay silent and trembling. It was as well that his prairie training had given Jefferson Hope the ears of Elinks. He and his friends had hardly crouched down before the melancholy hooching of a mountain owl was heard within a few yards of them, which was immediately answered by another.

other hoot at a small distance. At the same moment, a vague, shadowy figure emerged from the gap for which they had been making and uttered the plaintive signal cry again, on which a second man appeared out of the obscurity. Tomorrow at midnight, said the first, who appeared to be an authority. When the whippoor will calls three times. It is well, returned the other. Shall I tell, brother Drebber? Pass it on to him and from him to the others, nine to seven.

Seven to five, repeated the other, and the two figures flitted away in different directions. Their concluding words had evidently been some form of sign and countersign. The instant that their footsteps had died away in the distance, Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet, and, helping his companions through the gap, led the way across the fields at the top of his speed, supporting and half-carrying the girl when her strength appeared to fail her. Hurry on. Hurry on, he gasped from time to time. We are through the line of sentinels.

Everything depends on speed. Hurry on. Once on the high road, they made rapid progress. Only once did they meet anyone, and then they managed to slip into a field and so avoid recognition. Before reaching the town, the hunter branched away into a rugged and narrow footpath, which led to the mountains. Two dark, jagged peaks loomed above them through the darkness, and the defile which led between them was the Eagle Canyon in which the horses were awaiting them.

With unerring instinct, Jefferson Hope picked his way amongst the great boulders and along the bed of a dried-up watercourse, until he came to the retired corner, screened with rocks, where the faithful animals had been picketed. The girl was placed upon the mule, and old ferrier upon one of the horses with his money bag, while Jefferson Hope led the other along the precipitous and dangerous path. It was a bewildering route for anyone who was not accustomed to face nature in her wildest moods. On the one side, a great crag towered up a thousand feet or more, black, stern and menacing, with long basaltic columns upon its rugged surface, like the ribs of some petrified monster. On the other hand, a wild chaos of boulders'

and debris made all advance impossible. Between the two ran the irregular track, so narrow in places that they had to travel an Indian file, and so rough that only practiced riders could have traversed it at all. Yet in spite of all dangers and difficulties, the hearts of the fugitives were light within them, for every step increased the distance between them and the terrible despotism from which they were flying. They soon had a proof, however, that they were still within the jurisdiction of the saints. They had reached the very wildest and most desolate portion of the pass when the girl gave a startled cry and pointed upwards. On a rock which overlooked the track, showing out dark and plain against the sky, there stood a solitary sentinel. He saw them as soon as they

perceived him, and his military challenge of, who goes there, rang through the silent. ravine. Travelers for Nevada, said Jefferson Hope with his hand upon the rifle which hung by his saddle. They could see the lonely watcher fingering his gun and peering down at them as if dissatisfied at their reply. By whose permission? He asked. The holy four, answered Ferrier.

His Mormon experiences had taught him that that was the highest authority to which he could refer. Nine from seven, cried the sentinel. Seven from five, returned Jefferson Hope promptly, remembering the counter sign which he had heard in the garden. Pass, and the Lord go with you, said the voice from above. Beyond his post, the path broadened out, and the horses were able to break into a trot. Looking back, they could see the solitary watcher leaning upon his gun and knew

that they had passed the outlying post of the chosen people, and that freedom lay before them. All night their course lay through intricate defiles and over irregular and rock-strewn paths, more than once they lost their way, but hopes intimate knowledge of the mountains enabled them to regain the track once more. When morning broke,

a scene of marvellous though savage beauty lay before them. In every direction the great snow-capped peaks hemmed them in, peeping over each other's shoulders to the far horizon. So steep were the rocky banks on either side of them that the larch and the pine seemed to be suspended over their heads, and to need only a gust of wind to come hurtling down upon them. Nor was the fear entirely an illusion, for the barren valley was thickly strewn with trees and boulders which had fallen in a similar manner. Even as they passed, a great rock came thundering down with a horse rattle which woke the echoes in the silent gorges and startled the weary horses into a gallop. As the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon, the caps of the great mountains lit up one after the other, like lamps at a festival, until they were all ruddy and glowing. The magnificent spectacle cheered the hearts of the three fugitives and gave them fresh energy.

At a wild torrent, which swept out of a ravine, they called a halt and watered their horses, while they partook of a hasty breakfast. Lucy and her father would fain have rested longer, but Jefferson Hope was inexorable. They will be upon our track by this time, he said. Everything depends upon our speed. Once safe in Carson, we may rest for the remainder of our lives.

This October on the Noiser Podcast Network, Real Dictators returns. We're in the Dominican Republic for the story of Rafael Trujillo. On short history of, we'll uncover the secrets of the Hoover Dam and follow Mary Shelley, the creator of Frankenstein and his monster. On real survival stories, a modern Viking adventure as a replica Norse vessel embarks on a daring voyage across the North Sea, and a man is struck blind all alone at the very top of the world.

In Jane Austen stories, Emma continues with Dame Julie Andrews, and in Sherlock Holmes short stories, Holmes and Watson unpick an epic mystery of hidden treasure and murder in the sign of four. Get all of these shows and more early and ad-free on Noiser Plus. During the whole of that day, they struggled on through the defiles, and by evening they calculated that they were more than 30 miles from their enemies. At night time, they chose the base of a beetling, crag, where the rocks offered some protection from the chill wind, and there huddled together for warmth,

they enjoyed a few hours' sleep. Before daybreak, however, they were up and on their way once more. They had seen no sign of any pursuers, and Jefferson Hope began to think that they were fairly out of the reach of the terrible organisation whose enmity they had incurred. He little knew how far that iron grasp could reach, or how soon it was to close upon them. and crushed them. About the middle of the second day of their flight, their scanty store of provisions began to run out. This gave the hunter little uneasiness, however,

for there was game to be had among the mountains, and he had frequently before had to depend upon his rifle for the needs of life. Choosing a sheltered nook, he piled together a few dried branches and made a blazing fire, at which his companions might warm themselves, for they were now nearly 5,000 feet above the sea level, and the air was bitter and keen. Having tethered the horses and bade Lucy adieu,

he threw his gun over his shoulder and set out in search of whatever chance might throw in his way. Looking back, he saw the old man and the young girl crouching over the blazing fire, while the three animals stood motionless in the background. Then the intervening rocks hid them from his view. He walked for a couple of miles through one ravine after another without success, though from the marks upon the bark of the trees and other indications, he judged that there were numerous bears in the vicinity.

At last, after two or three hours fruitless search, he was thinking of turning back in despair when casting his eyes upwards, he saw a sight which sent a thrill of pleasure through his heart. On the edge of a jutting pinnacle, three or four hundred feet above him, there stood a creature somewhat resembling a sheep in appearance, but armed with a pair of gigantic horns. The big horn, for so it is called, was acting probably as a guardian over a flock

which were invisible to the hunter. But fortunately, it was heading in the opposite direction and had not perceived him. Lying on his face, he rested his rifle upon a rock and took a long and steady aim before drawing the trigger. The animal sprang into the air, tottered for a moment upon the edge of the precipice, and then came crashing down into the valley beneath. The creature was too unwieldy to lift,

so the hunter contented himself with cutting away one haunch and part of the flank. With this trophy over his shoulder, he hastened to retrace his steps, for the evening was already drawing in. He had hardly started, however, before he realized the difficulty which faced him. In his eagerness he had wandered far past the ravines which were known to him, and it was no easy matter to pick out the path which he had taken. The valley in which he found himself divided and subdivided into many gorges, which were so like each other that it was impossible to distinguish one from the other.

He followed one for a mile or more until he came to a mountain torrent, which he was sure that he had never seen before. Convinced that he had taken the wrong turn, he'd tried another, but with the same result. Night was coming on rapidly, and it was almost dark before he at last found himself in a defile which was familiar to him. Even then it was no easy matter to keep the right track,

for the moon had not yet risen, and the high cliffs on either side made the obscurity more profound. Wade down with his burden, and weary from his exertions, he stumbled along, keeping up his heart by the reflection that every step brought him nearer to loose. and that he carried with him enough to ensure them food for the remainder of their journey. He had now come to the mouth of the very defile in which he had left them. Even in the darkness he could recognise the outline of the cliffs which bounded it.

They must, he reflected, be waiting him anxiously, for he had been absent nearly five hours. In the gladness of his heart, he put his hands to his mouth and made the glen re-echo to a loud as a signal that he was coming. Hello! He paused and listened for an answer. None came, save his own cry, which clattered up the dreary, silent ravines, and was borne back to his ears in countless repetitions.

Again he shouted. Hello! And again, no whisper came back from the friends whom he had left such a short time ago. A vague, nameless dread came over here. him, and he hurried onwards frantically, dropping the precious food in his agitation. When he turned the corner, he came full in sight of the spot where the fire had been lit. There was still a glowing pile of wood ashes there, but it had evidently not been tended

since his departure. The same dead silence still reigned all round. With his fears all changed to convictions, he hurried on. There was no living. creature near the remains of the fire, animals, man, maiden, all were gone. It was only too clear that some sudden and terrible disaster had occurred during his absence, a disaster which had embraced them all, and yet had left no traces behind it. Bewildered and stunned by this blow, Jefferson Hope felt his head spin round and had to lean upon his rifle to save himself from falling. He was essentially a man of action, however, and speedily recovered from his temporary impotence. Seizing a half-consumed piece of wood from the smouldering fire, he blew it into a flame

and proceeded with its help to examine the little camp. The ground was all stamped down by the feet of horses, showing that a large party of mounted men had overtaken the fugitives, and the direction of their tracks proved that they had afterwards turned back to Salt Lake City. Had they carried back both of his companions with them? Jefferson Hope had almost persuaded himself that they must have done so, when his eye fell upon an object which made every nerve of his body tingle within him. A little way on one side of the camp was a low-lying heap of reddish soil which had assuredly not been there before. There was no mistaking it for anything but a newly dug grave. As the young hunter approached it, he perceived

that a stick had been planted on it with a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft fork of it. The inscription upon the paper was brief but to the point. John Ferrier, formerly of Salt Lake City, died August 4, 1860. The sturdy old man whom he is. had left so short a time before was gone then, and this was all his epitaph. Jefferson Hope looked wildly round to see if there was a second grave, but there was no sign of one. Lucy had been carried back by their terrible pursuers to fulfill her original destiny by becoming one of the Harim of the elder's son. As the young fellow realized the certainty of her fate and his own powerlessness to prevent it. He wished that he too was lying with the old farmer in his last

silent resting place. Again, however, his active spirit shook off the lethargy which springs from despair. If there was nothing else left to him, he could at least devote his life to revenge. With indomitable patience and perseverance, Jefferson Hope possessed also a power of sustained vindictiveness, which he may have learned from the Indians amongst whom he had lived. As he stood by the desolate fire, he felt that the only one thing which could assuage his grief would be thorough and complete retribution, brought by his own hand upon his enemies.

His strong will and untiring energy should, he determined, be devoted to that one end. With a grim, white face, he retraced his steps to where he had dropped the food, and having stirred up the smouldering fire, he cooked enough to last him for a few days. This he made up into a bundle, and, tired as he was, he set himself to walk back through the mountains upon the track of the avenging angels. For five days he toiled, foot sore and weary, through the defiles which he had already

traversed on horseback. At night, he flung himself down among the rocks and snatched a few hours of sleep, but before daybreak he was always well on his way. On the sixth day, he reached the Eagle Canyon, from which they had commenced their ill-fated flight. Thence he could look down upon the home of the saints. Worn and exhausted, he leaned upon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand fiercely at the silent, widespread city beneath him. As he looked at it, he observed that there were flags in some of the principal streets and other signs of festivity. He was still speculating as to what this might mean when he heard the clatter of horse's hooves and saw a mounted man riding towards him. As he approached, he recognised him as a Mormon named Cowper, to whom he had rendered services

at different times. He therefore accosted him when he got up to him with the object of finding out what Lucy Ferrier's fate had been. I am Jefferson, hope, he said. You remember me? The Mormon looked at him with undisguised astonishment. Indeed, it was difficult to recognize in this tattered, unkempt wanderer with ghastly white face and fierce wild eyes, the spruce young hunter of former days. Having, however, at last satisfied himself as to his identity, the man's surprise changed to consternation. You are mad to come here, he cried. It is as much as my own life is worth to be seen talking with you. There is a warrant against you from the holy four for assisting

the ferriers away. I don't fear them or their warrant, Hope said earnestly. You must know something of this matter, Cowper. I conjure you by everything you hold dear to answer a few questions. We have always been friends, for God's sake, don't refuse to answer me. What is it? The Mormon asked uneasily. Be quick. The very very, the very, very good. The very rocks have ears and the tree's eyes. What has become of Luciferia? She was married yesterday to young Drebber. Hold up, man, hold up. You have no life left in you. Don't mind me, said Hope faintly. He was white to the very lips and had sunk down on the stone against which he had been leaning. Married, you say. Married yesterday, that's what those flags are for on the endowment house.

There was some words between young Drebber and young Stangerson as to which was to have her. They'd both been in the party that followed them, and Stangerson had shot her father, which seemed to give him the best claim, but when they argued it out in counsel, Drebber's party was the stronger, so the prophet gave her over to him. No one won't have her very long, though, for I saw a death in her face yesterday. She is more like a ghost than a woman. Are you off then? Yes, I am off, said Jefferson Hope, who had risen from his seat.

His face might have been chiseled out of marble, so hard and set was its expression, while its eyes glowed with a baleful light. Where are you going? Never mind, he answered. And slinging his weapon over his shoulder, strode off down the gorge, and so away into the heart of the mountains to the haunts of the wild beasts. Amongst them all, there was none so fierce and so dangerous as himself. This October on the Noyser Podcast Network,

Real Dictators Returns. We're in the Dominican Republic for the story of Rafael Trujillo. On short history of, we'll uncover the secrets of the Hoover Dam and follow Mary Shelley, the creator of Frankenstein and his monster. On real survival stories, a modern Viking adventure as a replica Norse vessel embarks on a daring voyage across the North Sea, and a man is struck blind all alone at the very top of the world. In Jane Austen stories, Emma continues with Dame Julie Andrews, and in Sherlock Holmes short stories, Holmes and Watson unpick an epic mystery of hidden treasure and murder in the sign of four.

Get all of these shows and more early and ad-free on Noiser Plus. The prediction of the Mormon was only too well fulfilled. Whether it was the terrible death of her father or the effects of the hateful marriage into which she had been forced, poor Lucy never held up her head again, but pined away and died within a month. Her sottish husband, who had married her principally for the sake of John Ferrier's property, did not affect any great grief at his bereavement, but his other wives mourned over her and sat up with her the night before the burial,

as is the Mormon custom. They were grouped round the beer in the early hours of the morning, when, to their inexpressible fear and astonishment, the door was flung open, and a savage-looking weather-beaten man in tattered garment strode into the room, without a glance or a word to the cowering, women, he walked up to the white silent figure which had once contained the pure soul of Luciferia.

Stooping over her, he pressed his lips reverently to her cold forehead, and then, snatching up her hand, he took the wedding ring from her finger. She shall not be buried in that, he cried with a fierce snarl, and before an alarm could be raised, sprang down the stairs and was gone. So strange and so brief was the episode that the watchers might have found it hard to believe it themselves or persuade other people of it, had it not been for the undeniable fact

that the circlet of gold which marked her as having been a bride had disappeared. For some months Jefferson Hope lingered among the mountains, leading a strange wild life, and nursing in his heart the fierce desire for vengeance. which possessed him. Tales were told in the city of the weird figure which was seen prowling about the suburbs

and which haunted the lonely mountain gorges. Once, a bullet whistled through Stangerson's window and flattened itself upon the wall within a foot of him. On another occasion, as Drebber passed under a cliff, a great boulder crashed down on him and he only escaped a terrible death by throwing himself upon his face. The two young Mormons were not long in discovering the reason of these attempts upon their lives

and led repeated expeditions into the mountains and the hope of capturing or killing their enemy, but always without success. Then they adopted the precaution of never going out alone or after nightfall, and of having their houses guarded. After a time they were able to relax these measures, for nothing was either heard or seen of their opponent. and they hoped that time had cooled his vindictiveness. Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it.

The hunter's mind was of a hard, unyielding nature, and the predominant idea of revenge had taken such complete possession of it that there was no room for any other emotion. He was, however, above all things, practical. He soon realised that even his iron constitution could not stand the incessant, which he was putting upon it, exposure and want of wholesome food were wearing him out. If he died like a dog among the mountains, what was to become of his revenge then? And yet such a death was sure to overtake him if he persisted.

He felt that that was to play his enemy's game, so he reluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines, there to recruit his health and to amass money enough to allow him to pursue his object without privation. His intention had been to be absent a year at the most, but a combination of unforeseen circumstances prevented his leaving the mines for nearly five. At the end of that time, however, his memory of his wrongs and his craving for revenge were quite as keen as on that memorable night when he had stood by John Ferrier's grave. Disguised and under an assumed name, he returned to Salt Lake City, careless what became of his own life,

as long as he obtained what he knew to be justice. There he found evil tidings awaiting him. There had been a schism among the chosen people a few months before, some of the younger members of the church having rebelled against the authority of the elders, and the result had been the secession of a certain number of the malcontents who had left Utah and become Gentiles. Among these had been Drebber and Stangerson,

and no one knew whither they had gone. Rumour reported that Drebber had managed to convert a large part of his property into money, and that he had departed a wealthy man, while his companion, Stangerson, was comparatively poor. There was no clue at all, however, as to their whereabouts. Many a man, however vindictive, would have abandoned all thought of revenge in the face of such a difficulty. But Jefferson Hope never faltered for a moment.

With the small competence he possessed, eeked out by such employment as he could pick up, he travelled from town to town through the United States in quest of his enemies. Year passed into year, his black hair turned, grizzled, but still he wandered on, a human bloodhound, with his mind wholly set upon the one object upon which he had devoted his life. At last, his perseverance was rewarded. It was but a glance of a face in a window, but that one glance told him that Cleveland in Ohio

possessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. He returned to his miserable lodgings with his plan of vengeance all arranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber, looking from his window, had recognized the vagrant in the street and had read murder in his eyes. He hurried before a justice of the peace, accompanied by Stangerson, who had become his private secretary, and represented to him that they were in danger of their lives from the jealousy and hatred of an old rival.

That evening, Jefferson Hope was taken into custody, and not being able to find sureties was detained for some weeks. When at last he was liberated, it was only to find that Drebber's house was deserted, and that he and his secretary had departed for Europe. Again, the Avenger had been foiled, and again his concentrated hatred urged him to continue the pursuit. Funds were wanting, however, and for some time he had to return to work, saving every dollar for his approaching journey.

At last, having collected enough to keep life in him, he departed for Europe, and tracked his enemies from city to city, working his way in any menial capacity, but never overtaking the fugitives. When he reached St. Petersburg, they had departed for Paris, and when he followed them there, he learned that they had just set off for Copenhagen. At the Danish capital he was again a few days late, for they had journeyed on to London,

where he at last succeeded in running them to earth. As to what occurred there, we cannot do better than quote the old, Hunter's own account, as duly recorded in Dr. Watson's journal, to which we are already under such obligations. Next time, Dr. Watson wraps up the story of Jefferson Hope's revenge. The vengeful American reveals how he carried out his crimes, and Sherlock Holmes demonstrates the brilliant powers of deduction for which he is deservedly renowned. That's next time in the final part of A Study in Scarlet. Can't wait until the next episode?

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