Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

A Study In Scarlet PART 2 : Chapter 1 ON THE GREAT ALKALI PLAIN

IN THE central portion of the great North American Continent there liesan arid and repulsive desert, which for many a long year served as abarrier against the advance of civilization. From the Sierra Nevada toNebraska, and from the Yellowstone River in the north to the Coloradoupon the south, is a region of desolation and silence. Nor is Nature alwaysin one mood throughout this grim district. It comprises snow-capped andlofty mountains, and dark and gloomy valleys. There are swift-flowingrivers which dash through jagged canons; and there are enormous plains,which in winter are white with snow, and in summer are gray with thesaline alkali dust. They all preserve, however, the common characteristicsof barrenness, inhospitality, and misery.There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A band of Pawnees orof Blackfeet may occasionally traverse it in order to reach other huntinggrounds, but the hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight of thoseawesome plains, and to find themselves once more upon their prairies.The coyote skulks among the scrub, the buzzard flaps heavily through theair, and the clumsy grizzly bear lumbers through the dark ravines, andpicks up such sustenance as it can amongst the rocks. These are the soledwellers in the wilderness.In the whole world there can be no more dreary view than that from thenorthern slope of the Sierra Blanco. As far as the eye can reach stretchesthe great flat plain-land, all dusted over with patches of alkali, andintersected by clumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes. On the extremeverge of the horizon lie a long chain of mountain peaks, with their ruggedsummits flecked with snow. In this great stretch of country there is nosign of life, nor of anything appertaining to life. There is no bird in thesteel-blue heaven, no movement upon the dull, gray earth-above all, thereis absolute silence. Listen as one may, there is no shadow of a sound in allthat mighty wilderness; nothing but silence-complete and heart-subduingsilence.It has been said there is nothing appertaining to life upon the broadplain. That is hardly true. Looking down from the Sierra Blanco, one seesa pathway traced out across the desert, which winds away and is lost inthe extreme distance. It is rutted with wheels and trodden down by thefeet of many adventurers. Here and there there are scattered white objects which glisten in the sun, and stand out against the dull deposit of alkali.Approach, and examine them! They are bones: some large and coarse,others smaller and more delicate. The former have belonged to oxen, andthe latter to men. For fifteen hundred miles one may trace this [53] ghastlycaravan route by these scattered remains of those who had fallen by thewayside.Looking down on this very scene, there stood upon the fourth of May,eighteen hundred and forty-seven, a solitary traveller. His appearance wassuch that he might have been the very genius or demon of the region. Anobserver would have found it difficult to say whether he was nearer toforty or to sixty. His face was lean and haggard, and the brown parchmentlike skin was drawn tightly over the projecting bones; his long, brownhair and beard were all flecked and dashed with white; his eyes weresunken in his head, and burned with an unnatural lustre; while the handwhich grasped his rifle was hardly more fleshy than that of a skeleton. Ashe stood, he leaned upon his weapon for support, and yet his tall figureand the massive framework of his bones suggested a wiry and vigorousconstitution. His gaunt face, however, and his clothes, which hung sobaggily over his shrivelled limbs, proclaimed what it was that gave himthat senile and decrepit appearance. The man was dying-dying fromhunger and from thirst.He had toiled painfully down the ravine, and on to this little elevation,in the vain hope of seeing some signs of water. Now the great salt plainstretched before his eyes, and the distant belt of savage mountains,without a sign anywhere of plant or tree, which might indicate thepresence of moisture. In all that broad landscape there was no gleam ofhope. North, and east, and west he looked with wild, questioning eyes,and then he realized that his wanderings had come to an end, and thatthere, on that barren crag, he was about to die. "Why not here, as well asin a feather bed, twenty years hence?" he muttered, as he seated himselfin the shelter of a boulder.Before sitting down, he had deposited upon the ground his useless rifle,and also a large bundle tied up in a gray shawl, which he had carriedslung over his right shoulder. It appeared to be somewhat too heavy forhis strength, for in lowering it, it came down on the ground with somelittle violence. Instantly there broke from the gray parcel a little moaningcry, and from it there protruded a small, scared face, with very brightbrown eyes, and two little speckled dimpled fists."You've hurt me!" said a childish voice, reproachfully."Have I, though?" the man answered penitently; "I didn't go for to doit." As he spoke he unwrapped the gray shawl and extricated a pretty littlegirl of about five years of age, whose dainty shoes and smart pink frockwith its little linen apron, all bespoke a mother's care. The child was paleand wan, but her healthy arms and legs showed that she had suffered lessthan her companion."How is it now?" he answered anxiously, for she was still rubbing thetousy golden curls which covered the back of her head."Kiss it and make it well," she said, with perfect gravity, showing theinjured part up to him. "That's what mother used to do. Where's mother?" "Mother's gone. I guess you'll see her before long.""Gone, eh!" said the little girl. "Funny, she didn't say good-bye; she'most always did if she was just goin' over to auntie's for tea, and nowshe's been away three days. Say, it's awful dry, ain't it? Ain't there nowater nor nothing to eat?""No, there ain't nothing, dearie. You'll just need to be patient awhile,and then you'll be all right. Put your head up ag'in me like that, and thenyou'll feel bullier. It ain't easy to talk when your lips is like leather, but Iguess I'd best let you know how the cards lie. What's that you've got?""Pretty things! fine things!" cried the little girl enthusiastically, holdingup two [54] glittering fragments of mica. "When we goes back to homeI'll give them to brother Bob.""You'll see prettier things than them soon," said the man confidently."You just wait a bit. I was going to tell you though-you remember whenwe left the river?""Oh, yes.""Well, we reckoned we'd strike another river soon, d'ye see. But therewas somethin' wrong; compasses, or map, or somethin', and it didn't turnup. Water ran out. Just except a little drop for the likes of you, and-and--""And you couldn't wash yourself," interrupted his companion gravely,staring up at his grimy visage."No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was the fust to go, and then IndianPete, and then Mrs. McGregor, and then Johnny Hones, and then, dearie,your mother.""Then mother's a deader too," cried the little girl, dropping her face inher pinafore and sobbing bitterly."Yes, they all went except you and me. Then I thought there was somechance of water in this direction, so I heaved you over my shoulder andwe tramped it together. It don't seem as though we've improved matters.There's an almighty small chance for us now!""Do you mean that we are going to die too?" asked the child, checkingher sobs, and raising her tear-stained face."I guess that's about the size of it.""Why didn't you say so before?" she said, laughing gleefully. "Yougave me such a fright. Why, of course, now as long as we die we'll bewith mother again.""Yes, you will, dearie.""And you too. I'll tell her how awful good you've been. I'll bet shemeets us at the door of heaven with a big pitcher of water, and a lot ofbuckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me wasfond of. How long will it be first?""I don't know-not very long." The man's eyes were fixed upon thenorthern horizon. In the blue vault of the heaven there had appeared threelittle specks which increased in size every moment, so rapidly did theyapproach. They speedily resolved themselves into three large brown birds,which circled over the heads of the two wanderers, and then settled uponsome rocks which overlooked them. They were buzzards, the vultures ofthe West, whose coming is the forerunner of death. "Cocks and hens," cried the little girl gleefully, pointing at their illomened forms, and clapping her hands to make them rise. "Say, did Godmake this country?""Of course He did," said her companion, rather startled by thisunexpected question."He made the country down in Illinois, and He made the Missouri," thelittle girl continued. "I guess somebody else made the country in theseparts. It's not nearly so well done. They forgot the water and the trees.""What would ye think of offering up prayer?" the man asked diffidently."It ain't night yet," she answered."It don't matter. It ain't quite regular, but He won't mind that, you bet.You say over them ones that you used to say every night in the wagonwhen we was on the plains."[55] "Why don't you say some yourself?" the child asked, withwondering eyes."I disremember them," he answered. "I hain't said none since I washalf the height o' that gun. I guess it's never too late. You say them out,and I'll stand by and come in on the choruses.""Then you'll need to kneel down, and me too," she said, laying theshawl out for that purpose. "You've got to put your hands up like this. Itmakes you feel kind of good."It was a strange sight, had there been anything but the buzzards to seeit. Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, the littleprattling child and the reckless, hardened adventurer. Her chubby faceand his haggard, angular visage were both turned up to the cloudlessheaven in heartfelt entreaty to that dread Being with whom they were face to face, while the two voices-the one thin and clear, the other deep andharsh-united in the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness. The prayerfinished, they resumed their seat in the shadow of the boulder until thechild fell asleep, nestling upon the broad breast of her protector. Hewatched over her slumber for some time, but Nature proved to be toostrong for him. For three days and three nights he had allowed himselfneither rest nor repose. Slowly the eyelids drooped over the tired eyes,and the head sunk lower and lower upon the breast, until the man'sgrizzled beard was mixed with the gold tresses of his companion, andboth slept the same deep and dreamless slumber.Had the wanderer remained awake for another half-hour a strange sightwould have met his eyes. Far away on the extreme verge of the alkaliplain there rose up a little spray of dust, very slight at first, and hardly tobe distinguished from the mists of the distance, but gradually growinghigher and broader until it formed a solid, well-defined cloud. This cloudcontinued to increase in size until it became evident that it could only beraised by a great multitude of moving creatures. In more fertile spots theobserver would have come to the conclusion that one of those great herdsof bisons which graze upon the prairie land was approaching him. Thiswas obviously impossible in these arid wilds. As the whirl of dust drewnearer to the solitary bluff upon which the two castaways were reposing,the canvas-covered tilts of wagons and the figures of armed horsemenbegan to show up through the haze, and the apparition revealed itself asbeing a great caravan upon its journey for the West. But what a caravan!When the head of it had reached the base of the mountains, the rear wasnot yet visible on the horizon. Right across the enormous plain stretchedthe straggling array, wagons and carts, men on horseback, and men onfoot. Innumerable women who staggered along under burdens, andchildren who toddled beside the wagons or peeped out from under thewhite coverings. This was evidently no ordinary party of immigrants, butrather some nomad people who had been compelled from stress ofcircumstances to seek themselves a new country. There rose through theclear air a confused clattering and rumbling from this great mass ofhumanity, with the creaking of wheels and the neighing of horses. Loudas it was, it was not sufficient to rouse the two tired wayfarers above them.At the head of the column there rode a score or more of grave, ironfaced men, clad in sombre homespun garments and armed with rifles. Onreaching the base of the bluff they halted, and held a short council amongthemselves."The wells are to the right, my brothers," said one, a hard-lipped, cleanshaven man with grizzly hair.[56] "To the right of the Sierra Blanco-so we shall reach the RioGrande," said another."Fear not for water," cried a third. "He who could draw it from therocks will not now abandon His own chosen people.""Amen! amen!" responded the whole party.They were about to resume their journey when one of the youngest andkeenest-eyed uttered an exclamation and pointed up at the rugged cragabove them. From its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink, showing up hard and bright against the gray rocks behind. At the sight there was ageneral reining up of horses and unslinging of guns, while fresh horsemencame galloping up to reinforce the vanguard. The word "Redskins" wason every lip."There can't be any number of Injuns here," said the elderly man whoappeared to be in command. "We have passed the Pawnees, and there areno other tribes until we cross the great mountains.""Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson?" asked one of theband."And I," "And I," cried a dozen voices."Leave your horses below and we will await you here," the elderanswered. In a moment the young fellows had dismounted, fastened theirhorses, and were ascending the precipitous slope which led up to theobject which had excited their curiosity. They advanced rapidly andnoiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity of practised scouts. Thewatchers from the plain below could see them flit from rock to rock untiltheir figures stood out against the sky-line. The young man who had firstgiven the alarm was leading them. Suddenly his followers saw him throwup his hands, as though overcome with astonishment, and on joining himthey were affected in the same way by the sight which met their eyes.On the little plateau which crowned the barren hill there stood a singlegiant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tall man, long-beardedand hard-featured, but of an excessive thinness. His placid face andregular breathing showed that he was fast asleep. Beside him lay a child,with her round white arms encircling his brown sinewy neck, and hergolden-haired head resting upon the breast of his velveteen tunic. Herrosy lips were parted, showing the regular line of snow-white teethwithin, and a playful smile played over her infantile features. Her plumplittle white legs, terminating in white socks and neat shoes with shiningbuckles, offered a strange contrast to the long shrivelled members of hercompanion. On the ledge of rock above this strange couple there stoodthree solemn buzzards, who, at the sight of the newcomers, utteredraucous screams of disappointment and flapped sullenly away.The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers, who stared aboutthem in bewilderment. The man staggered to his feet and looked downupon the plain which had been so desolate when sleep had overtaken him,and which was now traversed by this enormous body of men and ofbeasts. His face assumed an expression of incredulity as he gazed, and hepassed his bony hand over his eyes. "This is what they call delirium, Iguess," he muttered. The child stood beside him, holding on to the skirt ofhis coat, and said nothing, but looked all round her with the wondering,questioning gaze of childhood.The rescuing party were speedily able to convince the two castawaysthat their appearance was no delusion. One of them seized the little girland hoisted her upon his shoulder, while two others supported her gauntcompanion, and assisted him towards the wagons.[57] "My name is John Ferrier," the wanderer explained; "me and thatlittle un are all that's left o' twenty-one people. The rest is all dead o'thirst and hunger away down in the south.""Is she your child?" asked someone."I guess she is now," the other cried, defiantly; "she's mine 'cause Isaved her. No man will take her from me. She's Lucy Ferrier from thisday on. Who are you, though?" he continued, glancing with curiosity athis stalwart, sunburned rescuers; "there seems to be a powerful lot of ye.""Nigh unto ten thousand," said one of the young men; "we are thepersecuted children of God-the chosen of the Angel Moroni.""I never heard tell on him," said the wanderer. "He appears to havechosen a fair crowd of ye.""Do not jest at that which is sacred," said the other, sternly. "We are ofthose who believe in those sacred writings, drawn in Egyptian letters onplates of beaten gold, which were handed unto the holy Joseph Smith atPalmyra. We have come from Nauvoo, in the state of Illinois, where wehad founded our temple. We have come to seek a refuge from the violentman and from the godless, even though it be the heart of the desert."The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to John Ferrier. "Isee," he said; "you are the Mormons.""We are the Mormons," answered his companions with one voice."And where are you going?""We do not know. The hand of God is leading us under the person ofour Prophet. You must come before him. He shall say what is to be donewith you." They had reached the base of the hill by this time, and were surroundedby crowds of the pilgrims-pale-faced, meek-looking women; strong,laughing children; and anxious, earnest-eyed men. Many were the cries ofastonishment and of commiseration which arose from them when theyperceived the youth of one of the strangers and the destitution of theother. Their escort did not halt, however, but pushed on, followed by agreat crowd of Mormons, until they reached a wagon, which wasconspicuous for its great size and for the gaudiness and smartness of itsappearance. Six horses were yoked to it, whereas the others werefurnished with two, or, at most, four apiece. Beside the driver there sat aman who could not have been more than thirty years of age, but whosemassive head and resolute expression marked him as a leader. He wasreading a brown-backed volume, but as the crowd approached he laid itaside, and listened attentively to an account of the episode. Then heturned to the two castaways."If we take you with us," he said, in solemn words, "it can only be asbelievers in our own creed. We shall have no wolves in our fold. Betterfar that your bones should bleach in this wilderness than that you shouldprove to be that little speck of decay which in time corrupts the wholefruit. Will you come with us on these terms?""Guess I'll come with you on any terms," said Ferrier, with suchemphasis that the grave Elders could not restrain a smile. The leader aloneretained his stern, impressive expression."Take him, Brother Stangerson," he said, "give him food and drink, andthe child likewise. Let it be your task also to teach him our holy creed.We have delayed long enough. Forward! On, on to Zion!""On, on to Zion!" cried the crowd of Mormons, and the words rippleddown [58] the long caravan, passing from mouth to mouth until they diedaway in a dull murmur in the far distance. With a cracking of whips and acreaking of wheels the great wagons got into motion, and soon the wholecaravan was winding along once more. The Elder to whose care the twowaifs had been committed led them to his wagon, where a meal wasalready awaiting them."You shall remain here," he said. "In a few days you will haverecovered from your fatigues. In the meantime, remember that now andforever you are of our religion. Brigham Young has said it, and he hasspoken with the voice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice of God."