“Wife-stealing. The man was a poor music-teacher, with a pretty spouse in Quincy, Illinois. He had told me his own story, without proclaiming his purpose, though I conjectured it. The pretty spouse grew tired of poverty and five children. She went off with Sizzum. The music master hired himself to a drover, named Armstrong, and plodded out to Utah. When he got there, he found Sizzum gone. He turned hunter. I met him in the mountains, a crack shot. He waited his time, ambushed the train, and shot Sizzum dead, as he first caught sight of the Valley.”
“A thought of poetry in his justice. What then?”
“I could see him creeping away among the rocks, while the Mormons were getting their rifles. They opened fire, a hundred of them. Ring, ping! the balls tapped all about him. He was just clear, just springing over a little ridge of shelter, when a shot struck him. He flung out his arms in an attitude of imprecation, and fell over the rocks. Dead, and doubly dead from the fall.”
“Our two evil forces are erased from the world, Wade,” said Brent.
“May it be good omen for coming difficulties! But how did you learn of the events at Fort Bridger?” I asked the Baronet.
“The Lancashire people in the train all took an interest in the Clitheroes. They knew from Sizzum what happened when he followed you, and your purpose to give chase. I knew John Brent well enough to believe that he would achieve the rescue. Happy fellow! I forgive you, John; hard it is, but I forgive you for stepping in before me. I was waiting there in Utah to do what I could for my old love and my old friend. I should like to have had a bullet in my arm in the cause; but the result is good, whether I gain or lose.”
“I never thought of you, Biron. In fact, from the moment I saw her, I thought of no one else.”
“Yes; that is her power. We were old neighbors in Lancashire. My father bought the old Hall after Mr. Clitheroe’s disasters. The disappearance and the mysterious reappearance of the old gentleman and his beautiful daughter were the romance of the region. No one knew where they had been. My father was dead. My mother tried to befriend them. But the old gentleman was soured and disappointed. He could not forgive us for inhabiting the old mansion of his happier days. God knows how gladly I would have reinstated him there. But she could not love me; so I came away, and we looked up Luggernel Springs and the Alley together, John, to give you a chance to snatch my destiny away from me.”
Brent, in his weakness, had no answer to make, except to give his hand to this gentle rival.
“How did you learn of their Mormon error?” I asked.