A Study in Scarlet - Part 2, Chapter 2: The Flower of Utah

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part two, Chapter two of A Study in Scarlet. This
is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the
public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit
LibriVox dot org. Recorded by Laurie Anne Walden. A Study
in Scarlet by Sir Arthur Cunnan Doyle, Part two, Chapter two,
The Flower of Utah. This is not the place to

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commemorate the trials and privations endured by the emigrant Mormons
before they came to their final haven. From the shores
of the Mississippi to the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains,
they had struggled on with a constancy almost unparalleled in history.
The savage man and the savage beast, hunger, thirst, fatigue,
and disease. Every impediment which nature could place in the

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way had all been overcome with Anglo Saxon tenacity. Yet
the long journey and the accumulated terrors had shaken the
hearts of the stoutest among them. There was not one
who did not sink upon his knees in heart felt
prayer when they saw the broad belly of Utah bathed
in the sunlight beneath them, and learned from the lips
of their leader that this was the promised land, and

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that these virgin acres were to be theirs. For evermore,
Young speedily proved himself to be a skillful administrator as
well as a resolute chief. Maps were drawn and charts prepared,
in which the future city was sketched out. All around,
farms were apportioned and allotted in proportion to the standing
of each individual. The tradesman was put to his trade,

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and the artisan to his calling. In the town, streets
and squares sprang up as if by magic. In the
country there was draining and hedging, planting and clearing, until
the next summer saw the whole country golden with the
wheat crop. Everything prospered in the strange settlement. Above all,
the great temple, which they had erected in the center

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of the city, grew ever taller and larger. From the
first bluff of dawn until the closing of the twilight.
The clatter of the hammer and the rasp of the
saw were never absent from the monument, which the immigrants
erected to him who had led them safe through many dangers.
The two castaways, John Ferrier and the little girl, who

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had shared his fortunes, and had been adopted as his daughter,
accompanied the Mormons to the end of their great pilgrimage.
Little Lucy Ferrier was born along pleasantly enough in Elder
Stangerson's wagon, a retreat which she shared with the Mormons
three wives and with his son, a headstrong, forward boy
of twelve. Having rallied with the elasticity of childhood from

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the shock caused by her mother's death, she soon became
a pet with the women and reconciled herself to this
new life in her moving canvas covered home. In the meantime, Ferrier,
having recovered from his privations, distinguished himself as a useful
guide and an indefatigable hunter. So rapidly did he gain
the esteem of his new companion, that when they reached

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the end of their wanderings, it was unanimously agreed that
he should be provided with as large and as fertile
attractive land as any of the settlers, with the exception
of young himself and of Stangerson, Kimball, Johnston, and Drebber,
who were the four principal elders on the farm. Thus acquired,
John Ferrier built himself a substantial log house which received

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so many additions in succeeding years that it grew into
a roomy villa. He was a man of a practical
turn of mind, keen in his dealings, and skillful with
his hands. His iron constitution enabled him to work morning
and evening at improving and tilling his lands. Hence it
came about that his farm and all that belonged to

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him prospered exceedingly. In three years he was better off
than his neighbors. In six he was well to do,
in nine he was rich. And in twelve there were
not half a dozen men in the whole of Salt
Lake City who could compare with him. From the great
Inland Sea to the distant Wassatch Mountains, there was no
name better known than that of John Ferrier. There was

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one way, and only one, in which he offended the
susceptibilities of his co religionists. No argument or persuasion could
ever induce him to set up a female establishment after
the manner of his companions. He never gave reasons for
this persistent refusal, but contented himself by resolutely and inflexibly
adhering to his determination. There were some who accused him

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of lukewarmness in his adopted religion, and others who put
it down to greed of wealth and reluctance to incur expense.
Others again spoke of some early love affair, and of
a fair haired girl who had pined away on the
shores of the Atlantic. Whatever the reason, Ferrier remained strictly celibate.
In every other respect. He conformed to the religion of

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the young settlement and gained the name of being an
orthodox and straight walking man. 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 odor of the pine trees took the place of
nurse and mother to the young girl. As years succeeded

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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 revived in his mind as he watched her lithe
girlish figure tripping through the wheat fields, or met her
mounted upon her father's mustang and managing it with all

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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 the woman. It seldom is in such cases

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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 awakened within her.
There are few who cannot recall that day and remember

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the one little incident which heralded the dawn of a
new life. In the case of Lucy Ferrier, the occasion
was serious enough in itself, apart from its future influence
on her destiny and that of many. Besides, it was
a warm June morning, and the latter day saints were
as busy as the bees whose hive they had chosen
for their emblem. In the fields and in the streets

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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 emigrants, men and horses, equally weary of

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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,

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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 peltries, relaxed their accustomed
stoicism as they marveled at the beauty of the pale
faced maiden. She had reached the outskirts of the city

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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 endeavored 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 embedded in the moving stream of fierce eyed,

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long horned bullooks. 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 own 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

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and excited it to madness. In an instant, it reared
up on its hind legs with a snort of rage,
and pranced and tossed in a way that would have
unseated any but a skillful 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

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herself in the saddle, yet 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 from the
struggling creatures, she might have abandoned her efforts in despair,

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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
away through the drove, soon brought her to the outskirts.
You're not heard, I hope, miss, said her preserver respectfully.
She looked up at his dark, fierce face and laughed saucily.

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I'm awful frightened, she said naively. Whoever would have thought
that Pancho 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 with a long rifle slung over

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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 Saint Louis. 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

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seemed pleased at this 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.

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If those cows had jumped on me, he'd had 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,

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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
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.

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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 loads
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 channel. The sight of

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the fair young girl, as frank and wholesome as the
Sierra breezes, had stirred his volcanic un heart to its
very depths. When she had vanished from his sight, he
realized that a crisis had come in his life, and
that neither silver speculations nor any other questions could ever
be of such importance to him as this new and

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all absorbing one. The love which had sprung up in
his heart was not the sudden, changeable fancy of a boy,
but rather the wild, fierce passion of a man of
strong will and imperious temper. He had been accustomed to
succeed in all that he undertook. He swore in his
heart that he would not fail in this, if human

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effort and human perseverance could render him successful. 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

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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 fortune's made and fortunes lost in those
wild Halcyon days. He had been a scout too, and
a trapper, a silver explorer, and a ranchman. Wherever stirring

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adventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope had been there
in search of them. He soon became a favorite 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

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may not have observed these symptoms, but they were assuredly
not thrown away upon the man who had won her affections.
It was a summer evening when he came galloping down
the road and pulled up at the gate. She was
at the doorway and came down to meet him. He
threw the bridle over the fence and strode up the pathway.
I am off, Lucy, he said, taking her two hands

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in his and gazing tender down into her face. I
won't ask you to come with me now, but will
you be ready to come when I am here again?
And when will that be, she asked, blushing and laughing,
a couple of months at the outside. I will come
and claim you then, my darling. There's no one who
can stand between us. And how about father, she asked.

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He has given his consent, provided we get these minds working,
all right? I have no fear on that head. Oh well,
of course, if you and father have arranged it all,
there's no more to be said. She whispered, with her
cheek against his broad breast. Thank god, he said hoarsely,
stooping and kissing her. It is settled. Then the longer

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I stay, the harder it will be to go. They're
waiting for me at the canyon. Good Bye, my own darling,
good bye, and two months you shall see me. He
tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging himself
upon his horse, galloped furiously away, never even looking round,
as though afraid that his resolution might fail him if
he took one glance at what he was leaving. She

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stood at the gate, gazing after him until he vanished
from her sight. Then she walked back into the house,
the happiest girl in all Utah. End of Part two,
Chapter two