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diff --git a/1300-h/1300-h.htm b/1300-h/1300-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8266280 --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/1300-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16510 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Riders of the Purple Sage, by Zane Grey</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +p.caption {font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1300 ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By Zane Grey</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001">CHAPTER I. LASSITER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002">CHAPTER II. COTTONWOODS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER III. AMBER SPRING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004">CHAPTER IV. DECEPTION PASS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005">CHAPTER V. THE MASKED RIDER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0006">CHAPTER VI. THE MILL-WHEEL OF STEERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER VII. THE DAUGHTER OF WITHERSTEEN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0008">CHAPTER VIII. SURPRISE VALLEY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0009">CHAPTER IX. SILVER SPRUCE AND ASPENS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0010">CHAPTER X. LOVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER XI. FAITH AND UNFAITH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0012">CHAPTER XII. THE INVISIBLE HAND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0013">CHAPTER XIII. SOLITUDE AND STORM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0014">CHAPTER XIV. WEST WIND</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0015">CHAPTER XV. SHADOWS ON THE SAGE-SLOPE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0016">CHAPTER XVI. GOLD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0017">CHAPTER XVII. WRANGLE’S RACE RUN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0018">CHAPTER XVIII. OLDRING’S KNELL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0019">CHAPTER XIX. FAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0020">CHAPTER XX. LASSITER’S WAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0021">CHAPTER XXI. BLACK STAR AND NIGHT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0022">CHAPTER XXII. RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0023">CHAPTER XXIII. THE FALL OF BALANCING ROCK</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus01">“He has brought you far to-day?”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus02">Like a flash the blue barrel of his rifle gleamed level +and he shot once—twice.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus03">“Oh, he’s only a boy!... What! Can he be +Oldring’s Masked Rider?”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus04">“What on earth is that?”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus05">He did not pause until he gained the narrow divide</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus06">“Bess, I’ll not go again”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus07">It was Jane’s gaze riveted upon the rider that made Bishop Dyer turn.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus08">Venters and Bess finished their simple meal—then faced +the open terrace, to watch and await the approaching storm.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus09">just as Wrangle plunged again he caught the whizz of a leaden missile</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus10">and Venters shot him through the heart</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus11">“Don’t—look—back!”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus12">When he and Bess rode up out of the hollow the sun was low.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"></a> +CHAPTER I.<br /> +LASSITER</h2> + +<p> +A sharp clip-clop of iron-shod hoofs deadened and died away, and clouds of +yellow dust drifted from under the cottonwoods out over the sage. +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen gazed down the wide purple slope with dreamy and troubled +eyes. A rider had just left her and it was his message that held her thoughtful +and almost sad, awaiting the churchmen who were coming to resent and attack her +right to befriend a Gentile. +</p> + +<p> +She wondered if the unrest and strife that had lately come to the little +village of Cottonwoods was to involve her. And then she sighed, remembering +that her father had founded this remotest border settlement of southern Utah +and that he had left it to her. She owned all the ground and many of the +cottages. Withersteen House was hers, and the great ranch, with its thousands +of cattle, and the swiftest horses of the sage. To her belonged Amber Spring, +the water which gave verdure and beauty to the village and made living possible +on that wild purple upland waste. She could not escape being involved by +whatever befell Cottonwoods. +</p> + +<p> +That year, 1871, had marked a change which had been gradually coming in the +lives of the peace-loving Mormons of the border. Glaze—Stone +Bridge—Sterling, villages to the north, had risen against the invasion of +Gentile settlers and the forays of rustlers. There had been opposition to the +one and fighting with the other. And now Cottonwoods had begun to wake and +bestir itself and grown hard. +</p> + +<p> +Jane prayed that the tranquillity and sweetness of her life would not be +permanently disrupted. She meant to do so much more for her people than she had +done. She wanted the sleepy quiet pastoral days to last always. Trouble between +the Mormons and the Gentiles of the community would make her unhappy. She was +Mormon-born, and she was a friend to poor and unfortunate Gentiles. She wished +only to go on doing good and being happy. And she thought of what that great +ranch meant to her. She loved it all—the grove of cottonwoods, the old +stone house, the amber-tinted water, and the droves of shaggy, dusty horses and +mustangs, the sleek, clean-limbed, blooded racers, and the browsing herds of +cattle and the lean, sun-browned riders of the sage. +</p> + +<p> +While she waited there she forgot the prospect of untoward change. The bray of +a lazy burro broke the afternoon quiet, and it was comfortingly suggestive of +the drowsy farmyard, and the open corrals, and the green alfalfa fields. Her +clear sight intensified the purple sage-slope as it rolled before her. Low +swells of prairie-like ground sloped up to the west. Dark, lonely cedar-trees, +few and far between, stood out strikingly, and at long distances ruins of red +rocks. Farther on, up the gradual slope, rose a broken wall, a huge monument, +looming dark purple and stretching its solitary, mystic way, a wavering line +that faded in the north. Here to the westward was the light and color and +beauty. Northward the slope descended to a dim line of cañons from which rose +an up-flinging of the earth, not mountainous, but a vast heave of purple +uplands, with ribbed and fan-shaped walls, castle-crowned cliffs, and gray +escarpments. Over it all crept the lengthening, waning afternoon shadows. +</p> + +<p> +The rapid beat of hoofs recalled Jane Withersteen to the question at hand. A +group of riders cantered up the lane, dismounted, and threw their bridles. They +were seven in number, and Tull, the leader, a tall, dark man, was an elder of +Jane’s church. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you get my message?” he asked, curtly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“I sent word I’d give that rider Venters half an hour to come down +to the village. He didn’t come.” +</p> + +<p> +“He knows nothing of it;” said Jane. “I didn’t tell +him. I’ve been waiting here for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Venters?” +</p> + +<p> +“I left him in the courtyard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, Jerry,” called Tull, turning to his men, “take the +gang and fetch Venters out here if you have to rope him.” +</p> + +<p> +The dusty-booted and long-spurred riders clanked noisily into the grove of +cottonwoods and disappeared in the shade. +</p> + +<p> +“Elder Tull, what do you mean by this?” demanded Jane. “If +you must arrest Venters you might have the courtesy to wait till he leaves my +home. And if you do arrest him it will be adding insult to injury. It’s +absurd to accuse Venters of being mixed up in that shooting fray in the village +last night. He was with me at the time. Besides, he let me take charge of his +guns. You’re only using this as a pretext. What do you mean to do to +Venters?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you presently,” replied Tull. “But first +tell me why you defend this worthless rider?” +</p> + +<p> +“Worthless!” exclaimed Jane, indignantly. “He’s nothing +of the kind. He was the best rider I ever had. There’s not a reason why I +shouldn’t champion him and every reason why I should. It’s no +little shame to me, Elder Tull, that through my friendship he has roused the +enmity of my people and become an outcast. Besides I owe him eternal gratitude +for saving the life of little Fay.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve heard of your love for Fay Larkin and that you intend to +adopt her. But—Jane Withersteen, the child is a Gentile!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But, Elder, I don’t love the Mormon children any less because +I love a Gentile child. I shall adopt Fay if her mother will give her to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not so much against that. You can give the child Mormon +teaching,” said Tull. “But I’m sick of seeing this fellow +Venters hang around you. I’m going to put a stop to it. You’ve so +much love to throw away on these beggars of Gentiles that I’ve an idea +you might love Venters.” +</p> + +<p> +Tull spoke with the arrogance of a Mormon whose power could not be brooked and +with the passion of a man in whom jealousy had kindled a consuming fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I do love him,” said Jane. She felt both fear and anger stir +her heart. “I’d never thought of that. Poor fellow! he certainly +needs some one to love him.” +</p> + +<p> +“This’ll be a bad day for Venters unless you deny that,” +returned Tull, grimly. +</p> + +<p> +Tull’s men appeared under the cottonwoods and led a young man out into +the lane. His ragged clothes were those of an outcast. But he stood tall and +straight, his wide shoulders flung back, with the muscles of his bound arms +rippling and a blue flame of defiance in the gaze he bent on Tull. +</p> + +<p> +For the first time Jane Withersteen felt Venters’s real spirit. She +wondered if she would love this splendid youth. Then her emotion cooled to the +sobering sense of the issue at stake. +</p> + +<p> +“Venters, will you leave Cottonwoods at once and forever?” asked +Tull, tensely. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” rejoined the rider. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I order it.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters laughed in cool disdain. +</p> + +<p> +The red leaped to Tull’s dark cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t go it means your ruin,” he said, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Ruin!” exclaimed Venters, passionately. “Haven’t you +already ruined me? What do you call ruin? A year ago I was a rider. I had +horses and cattle of my own. I had a good name in Cottonwoods. And now when I +come into the village to see this woman you set your men on me. You hound me. +You trail me as if I were a rustler. I’ve no more to lose—except my +life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you leave Utah?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I know,” went on Venters, tauntingly, “it galls you, the +idea of beautiful Jane Withersteen being friendly to a poor Gentile. You want +her all yourself. You’re a wiving Mormon. You have use for her—and +Withersteen House and Amber Spring and seven thousand head of cattle!” +</p> + +<p> +Tull’s hard jaw protruded, and rioting blood corded the veins of his +neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Once more. Will you go?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>No!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll have you whipped within an inch of your life,” +replied Tull, harshly. “I’ll turn you out in the sage. And if you +ever come back you’ll get worse.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters’s agitated face grew coldly set and the bronze changed to gray. +</p> + +<p> +Jane impulsively stepped forward. “Oh! Elder Tull!” she cried. +“You won’t do that!” +</p> + +<p> +Tull lifted a shaking finger toward her. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do from you. Understand, you’ll not be allowed to +hold this boy to a friendship that’s offensive to your Bishop. Jane +Withersteen, your father left you wealth and power. It has turned your head. +You haven’t yet come to see the place of Mormon women. We’ve +reasoned with you, borne with you. We’ve patiently waited. We’ve +let you have your fling, which is more than I ever saw granted to a Mormon +woman. But you haven’t come to your senses. Now, once for all, you +can’t have any further friendship with Venters. He’s going to be +whipped, and he’s got to leave Utah!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Don’t whip him! It would be dastardly!” implored Jane, +with slow certainty of her failing courage. +</p> + +<p> +Tull always blunted her spirit, and she grew conscious that she had feigned a +boldness which she did not possess. He loomed up now in different guise, not as +a jealous suitor, but embodying the mysterious despotism she had known from +childhood—the power of her creed. +</p> + +<p> +“Venters, will you take your whipping here or would you rather go out in +the sage?” asked Tull. He smiled a flinty smile that was more than +inhuman, yet seemed to give out of its dark aloofness a gleam of righteousness. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll take it here—if I must,” said Venters. “But +by God!—Tull you’d better kill me outright. That’ll be a dear +whipping for you and your praying Mormons. You’ll make me another +Lassiter!” +</p> + +<p> +The strange glow, the austere light which radiated from Tull’s face, +might have been a holy joy at the spiritual conception of exalted duty. But +there was something more in him, barely hidden, a something personal and +sinister, a deep of himself, an engulfing abyss. As his religious mood was +fanatical and inexorable, so would his physical hate be merciless. +</p> + +<p> +“Elder, I—I repent my words,” Jane faltered. The religion in +her, the long habit of obedience, of humility, as well as agony of fear, spoke +in her voice. “Spare the boy!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t save him now,” replied Tull stridently. +</p> + +<p> +Her head was bowing to the inevitable. She was grasping the truth, when +suddenly there came, in inward constriction, a hardening of gentle forces +within her breast. Like a steel bar it was stiffening all that had been soft +and weak in her. She felt a birth in her of something new and unintelligible. +Once more her strained gaze sought the sage-slopes. Jane Withersteen loved that +wild and purple wilderness. In times of sorrow it had been her strength, in +happiness its beauty was her continual delight. In her extremity she found +herself murmuring, “Whence cometh my help!” It was a prayer, as if +forth from those lonely purple reaches and walls of red and clefts of blue +might ride a fearless man, neither creed-bound nor creed-mad, who would hold up +a restraining hand in the faces of her ruthless people. +</p> + +<p> +The restless movements of Tull’s men suddenly quieted down. Then followed +a low whisper, a rustle, a sharp exclamation. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” said one, pointing to the west. +</p> + +<p> +“A rider!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen wheeled and saw a horseman, silhouetted against the western +sky, coming riding out of the sage. He had ridden down from the left, in the +golden glare of the sun, and had been unobserved till close at hand. An answer +to her prayer! +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know him? Does any one know him?” questioned Tull, +hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +His men looked and looked, and one by one shook their heads. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s come from far,” said one. +</p> + +<p> +“Thet’s a fine hoss,” said another. +</p> + +<p> +“A strange rider.” +</p> + +<p> +“Huh! he wears black leather,” added a fourth. +</p> + +<p> +With a wave of his hand, enjoining silence, Tull stepped forward in such a way +that he concealed Venters. +</p> + +<p> +The rider reined in his mount, and with a lithe forward-slipping action +appeared to reach the ground in one long step. It was a peculiar movement in +its quickness and inasmuch that while performing it the rider did not swerve in +the slightest from a square front to the group before him. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” hoarsely whispered one of Tull’s companions. +“He packs two black-butted guns—low down—they’re hard +to see—black akin them black chaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“A gun-man!” whispered another. “Fellers, careful now about +movin’ your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +The stranger’s slow approach might have been a mere leisurely manner of +gait or the cramped short steps of a rider unused to walking; yet, as well, it +could have been the guarded advance of one who took no chances with men. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, stranger!” called Tull. No welcome was in this greeting +only a gruff curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +The rider responded with a curt nod. The wide brim of a black sombrero cast a +dark shade over his face. For a moment he closely regarded Tull and his +comrades, and then, halting in his slow walk, he seemed to relax. +</p> + +<p> +“Evenin’, ma’am,” he said to Jane, and removed his +sombrero with quaint grace. +</p> + +<p> +Jane, greeting him, looked up into a face that she trusted instinctively and +which riveted her attention. It had all the characteristics of the range +rider’s—the leanness, the red burn of the sun, and the set +changelessness that came from years of silence and solitude. But it was not +these which held her, rather the intensity of his gaze, a strained weariness, a +piercing wistfulness of keen, gray sight, as if the man was forever looking for +that which he never found. Jane’s subtle woman’s intuition, even in +that brief instant, felt a sadness, a hungering, a secret. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane Withersteen, ma’am?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“The water here is yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“May I water my horse?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. There’s the trough.” +</p> + +<p> +“But mebbe if you knew who I was—” He hesitated, with his +glance on the listening men. “Mebbe you wouldn’t let me water +him—though I ain’t askin’ none for myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stranger, it doesn’t matter who you are. Water your horse. And if +you are thirsty and hungry come into my house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, ma’am. I can’t accept for myself—but for my +tired horse—” +</p> + +<p> +Trampling of hoofs interrupted the rider. More restless movements on the part +of Tull’s men broke up the little circle, exposing the prisoner Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe I’ve kind of hindered somethin’—for a few +moments, perhaps?” inquired the rider. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Jane Withersteen, with a throb in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +She felt the drawing power of his eyes; and then she saw him look at the bound +Venters, and at the men who held him, and their leader. +</p> + +<p> +“In this here country all the rustlers an’ thieves an’ +cut-throats an’ gun-throwers an’ all-round no-good men jest happen +to be Gentiles. Ma’am, which of the no-good class does that young feller +belong to?” +</p> + +<p> +“He belongs to none of them. He’s an honest boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>know</i> that, ma’am?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what has he done to get tied up that way?” +</p> + +<p> +His clear and distinct question, meant for Tull as well as for Jane +Withersteen, stilled the restlessness and brought a momentary silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask him,” replied Jane, her voice rising high. +</p> + +<p> +The rider stepped away from her, moving out with the same slow, measured stride +in which he had approached, and the fact that his action placed her wholly to +one side, and him no nearer to Tull and his men, had a penetrating +significance. +</p> + +<p> +“Young feller, speak up,” he said to Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“Here stranger, this’s none of your mix,” began Tull. +“Don’t try any interference. You’ve been asked to drink and +eat. That’s more than you’d have got in any other village of the +Utah border. Water your horse and be on your way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Easy—easy—I ain’t interferin’ yet,” +replied the rider. The tone of his voice had undergone a change. A different +man had spoken. Where, in addressing Jane, he had been mild and gentle, now, +with his first speech to Tull, he was dry, cool, biting. “I’ve lest +stumbled onto a queer deal. Seven Mormons all packin’ guns, an’ a +Gentile tied with a rope, an’ a woman who swears by his honesty! Queer, +ain’t that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Queer or not, it’s none of your business,” retorted Tull. +</p> + +<p> +“Where I was raised a woman’s word was law. I ain’t quite +outgrowed that yet.” +</p> + +<p> +Tull fumed between amaze and anger. +</p> + +<p> +“Meddler, we have a law here something different from woman’s +whim—Mormon law!... Take care you don’t transgress it.” +</p> + +<p> +“To hell with your Mormon law!” +</p> + +<p> +The deliberate speech marked the rider’s further change, this time from +kindly interest to an awakening menace. It produced a transformation in Tull +and his companions. The leader gasped and staggered backward at a blasphemous +affront to an institution he held most sacred. The man Jerry, holding the +horses, dropped the bridles and froze in his tracks. Like posts the other men +stood watchful-eyed, arms hanging rigid, all waiting. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak up now, young man. What have you done to be roped that way?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a damned outrage!” burst out Venters. “I’ve +done no wrong. I’ve offended this Mormon Elder by being a friend to that +woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ma’am, is it true—what he says?” asked the rider of +Jane, but his quiveringly alert eyes never left the little knot of quiet men. +</p> + +<p> +“True? Yes, perfectly true,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, young man, it seems to me that bein’ a friend to such a +woman would be what you wouldn’t want to help an’ couldn’t +help.... What’s to be done to you for it?” +</p> + +<p> +“They intend to whip me. You know what that means—in Utah!” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon,” replied the rider, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +With his gray glance cold on the Mormons, with the restive bit-champing of the +horses, with Jane failing to repress her mounting agitations, with Venters +standing pale and still, the tension of the moment tightened. Tull broke the +spell with a laugh, a laugh without mirth, a laugh that was only a sound +betraying fear. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, men!” he called. +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen turned again to the rider. +</p> + +<p> +“Stranger, can you do nothing to save Venters?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ma’am, you ask me to save him—from your own people?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ask you? I beg of you!” +</p> + +<p> +“But you don’t dream who you’re askin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir, I pray you—save him!” +</p> + +<p> +“These are Mormons, an’ I...” +</p> + +<p> +“At—at any cost—save him. For I—I care for him!” +</p> + +<p> +Tull snarled. “You love-sick fool! Tell your secrets. There’ll be a +way to teach you what you’ve never learned.... Come men out of +here!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mormon, the young man stays,” said the rider. +</p> + +<p> +Like a shot his voice halted Tull. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’ll keep him? He’s my prisoner!” cried Tull, hotly. +“Stranger, again I tell you—don’t mix here. You’ve +meddled enough. Go your way now or—” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen!... He stays.” +</p> + +<p> +Absolute certainty, beyond any shadow of doubt, breathed in the rider’s +low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you? We are seven here.” +</p> + +<p> +The rider dropped his sombrero and made a rapid movement, singular in that it +left him somewhat crouched, arms bent and stiff, with the big black gun-sheaths +swung round to the fore. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Lassiter!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +It was Venters’s wondering, thrilling cry that bridged the fateful +connection between the rider’s singular position and the dreaded name. +</p> + +<p> +Tull put out a groping hand. The life of his eyes dulled to the gloom with +which men of his fear saw the approach of death. But death, while it hovered +over him, did not descend, for the rider waited for the twitching fingers, the +downward flash of hand that did not come. Tull, gathering himself together, +turned to the horses, attended by his pale comrades. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"></a> +CHAPTER II.<br /> +COTTONWOODS</h2> + +<p> +Venters appeared too deeply moved to speak the gratitude his face expressed. +And Jane turned upon the rescuer and gripped his hands. Her smiles and tears +seemingly dazed him. Presently as something like calmness returned, she went to +Lassiter’s weary horse. +</p> + +<p> +“I will water him myself,” she said, and she led the horse to a +trough under a huge old cottonwood. With nimble fingers she loosened the bridle +and removed the bit. The horse snorted and bent his head. The trough was of +solid stone, hollowed out, moss-covered and green and wet and cool, and the +clear brown water that fed it spouted and splashed from a wooden pipe. +</p> + +<p> +“He has brought you far to-day?” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus01"></a> +<img src="images/img01.jpg" width="456" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“He has brought you far to-day?”</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am, a matter of over sixty miles, mebbe seventy.” +</p> + +<p> +“A long ride—a ride that—Ah, he is blind!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am,” replied Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +“What blinded him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some men once roped an’ tied him, an’ then held white-iron +close to his eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Men? You mean devils.... Were they your +enemies—Mormons?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +“To take revenge on a horse! Lassiter, the men of my creed are +unnaturally cruel. To my everlasting sorrow I confess it. They have been +driven, hated, scourged till their hearts have hardened. But we women hope and +pray for the time when our men will soften.” +</p> + +<p> +“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am—that time will never +come.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it will!... Lassiter, do you think Mormon women wicked? Has your +hand been against them, too?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I believe Mormon women are the best and noblest, the most +long-sufferin’, and the blindest, unhappiest women on earth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” She gave him a grave, thoughtful look. “Then you will +break bread with me?” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter had no ready response, and he uneasily shifted his weight from one leg +to another, and turned his sombrero round and round in his hands. +“Ma’am,” he began, presently, “I reckon your kindness +of heart makes you overlook things. Perhaps I ain’t well known +hereabouts, but back up North there’s Mormons who’d rest uneasy in +their graves at the idea of me sittin’ to table with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say. But—will you do it, anyway?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe you have a brother or relative who might drop in an’ be +offended, an’ I wouldn’t want to—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve not a relative in Utah that I know of. There’s no one +with a right to question my actions.” She turned smilingly to Venters. +“You will come in, Bern, and Lassiter will come in. We’ll eat and +be merry while we may.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m only wonderin’ if Tull an’ his men’ll raise +a storm down in the village,” said Lassiter, in his last weakening stand. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he’ll raise the storm—after he has prayed,” +replied Jane. “Come.” +</p> + +<p> +She led the way, with the bridle of Lassiter’s horse over her arm. They +entered a grove and walked down a wide path shaded by great low-branching +cottonwoods. The last rays of the setting sun sent golden bars through the +leaves. The grass was deep and rich, welcome contrast to sage-tired eyes. +Twittering quail darted across the path, and from a tree-top somewhere a robin +sang its evening song, and on the still air floated the freshness and murmur of +flowing water. +</p> + +<p> +The home of Jane Withersteen stood in a circle of cottonwoods, and was a flat, +long, red-stone structure with a covered court in the center through which +flowed a lively stream of amber-colored water. In the massive blocks of stone +and heavy timbers and solid doors and shutters showed the hand of a man who had +builded against pillage and time; and in the flowers and mosses lining the +stone-bedded stream, in the bright colors of rugs and blankets on the court +floor, and the cozy corner with hammock and books and the clean-linened table, +showed the grace of a daughter who lived for happiness and the day at hand. +</p> + +<p> +Jane turned Lassiter’s horse loose in the thick grass. “You will +want him to be near you,” she said, “or I’d have him taken to +the alfalfa fields.” At her call appeared women who began at once to +bustle about, hurrying to and fro, setting the table. Then Jane, excusing +herself, went within. +</p> + +<p> +She passed through a huge low ceiled chamber, like the inside of a fort, and +into a smaller one where a bright wood-fire blazed in an old open fireplace, +and from this into her own room. It had the same comfort as was manifested in +the home-like outer court; moreover, it was warm and rich in soft hues. +</p> + +<p> +Seldom did Jane Withersteen enter her room without looking into her mirror. She +knew she loved the reflection of that beauty which since early childhood she +had never been allowed to forget. Her relatives and friends, and later a horde +of Mormon and Gentile suitors, had fanned the flame of natural vanity in her. +So that at twenty-eight she scarcely thought at all of her wonderful influence +for good in the little community where her father had left her practically its +beneficent landlord, but cared most for the dream and the assurance and the +allurement of her beauty. This time, however, she gazed into her glass with +more than the usual happy motive, without the usual slight conscious smile. For +she was thinking of more than the desire to be fair in her own eyes, in those +of her friend; she wondered if she were to seem fair in the eyes of this +Lassiter, this man whose name had crossed the long, wild brakes of stone and +plains of sage, this gentle-voiced, sad-faced man who was a hater and a killer +of Mormons. It was not now her usual half-conscious vain obsession that +actuated her as she hurriedly changed her riding-dress to one of white, and +then looked long at the stately form with its gracious contours, at the fair +face with its strong chin and full firm lips, at the dark-blue, proud, and +passionate eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“If by some means I can keep him here a few days, a week—he will +never kill another Mormon,” she mused. “Lassiter!... I shudder when +I think of that name, of him. But when I look at the man I forget who he +is—I almost like him. I remember only that he saved Bern. He has +suffered. I wonder what it was—did he love a Mormon woman once? How +splendidly he championed us poor misunderstood souls! Somehow he +knows—much.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen joined her guests and bade them to her board. Dismissing her +woman, she waited upon them with her own hands. It was a bountiful supper and a +strange company. On her right sat the ragged and half-starved Venters; and +though blind eyes could have seen what he counted for in the sum of her +happiness, yet he looked the gloomy outcast his allegiance had made him, and +about him there was the shadow of the ruin presaged by Tull. On her left sat +black-leather-garbed Lassiter looking like a man in a dream. Hunger was not +with him, nor composure, nor speech, and when he twisted in frequent unquiet +movements the heavy guns that he had not removed knocked against the +table-legs. If it had been otherwise possible to forget the presence of +Lassiter those telling little jars would have rendered it unlikely. And Jane +Withersteen talked and smiled and laughed with all the dazzling play of lips +and eyes that a beautiful, daring woman could summon to her purpose. +</p> + +<p> +When the meal ended, and the men pushed back their chairs, she leaned closer to +Lassiter and looked square into his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you come to Cottonwoods?” +</p> + +<p> +Her question seemed to break a spell. The rider arose as if he had just +remembered himself and had tarried longer than his wont. +</p> + +<p> +“Ma’am, I have hunted all over the southern Utah and Nevada +for—somethin’. An’ through your name I learned where to find +it—here in Cottonwoods.” +</p> + +<p> +“My name! Oh, I remember. You did know my name when you spoke first. +Well, tell me where you heard it and from whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“At the little village—Glaze, I think it’s called—some +fifty miles or more west of here. An’ I heard it from a Gentile, a rider +who said you’d know where to tell me to find—” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” she demanded, imperiously, as Lassiter broke off. +</p> + +<p> +“Milly Erne’s grave,” he answered low, and the words came +with a wrench. +</p> + +<p> +Venters wheeled in his chair to regard Lassiter in amazement, and Jane slowly +raised herself in white, still wonder. +</p> + +<p> +“Milly Erne’s grave?” she echoed, in a whisper. “What +do you know of Milly Erne, my best-beloved friend—who died in my arms? +What were you to her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did I claim to be anythin’?” he inquired. “I know +people—relatives—who have long wanted to know where she’s +buried, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Relatives? She never spoke of relatives, except a brother who was shot +in Texas. Lassiter, Milly Erne’s grave is in a secret burying-ground on +my property.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you take me there?... You’ll be offendin’ Mormons worse +than by breakin’ bread with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed yes, but I’ll do it. Only we must go unseen. To-morrow, +perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Jane Withersteen,” replied the rider, and he bowed to +her and stepped backward out of the court. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you not stay—sleep under my roof?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No, ma’am, an’ thanks again. I never sleep indoors. +An’ even if I did there’s that gatherin’ storm in the village +below. No, no. I’ll go to the sage. I hope you won’t suffer none +for your kindness to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter,” said Venters, with a half-bitter laugh, “my bed +too, is the sage. Perhaps we may meet out there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe so. But the sage is wide an’ I won’t be near. Good +night.” +</p> + +<p> +At Lassiter’s low whistle the black horse whinnied, and carefully picked +his blind way out of the grove. The rider did not bridle him, but walked beside +him, leading him by touch of hand and together they passed slowly into the +shade of the cottonwoods. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, I must be off soon,” said Venters. “Give me my guns. +If I’d had my guns—” +</p> + +<p> +“Either my friend or the Elder of my church would be lying dead,” +she interposed. +</p> + +<p> +“Tull would be—surely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you fierce-blooded, savage youth! Can’t I teach you +forebearance, mercy? Bern, it’s divine to forgive your enemies. +‘Let not the sun go down upon thy wrath.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! Talk to me no more of mercy or religion—after to-day. To-day +this strange coming of Lassiter left me still a man, and now I’ll die a +man!... Give me my guns.” +</p> + +<p> +Silently she went into the house, to return with a heavy cartridge-belt and +gun-filled sheath and a long rifle; these she handed to him, and as he buckled +on the belt she stood before him in silent eloquence. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane,” he said, in gentler voice, “don’t look so. +I’m not going out to murder your churchman. I’ll try to avoid him +and all his men. But can’t you see I’ve reached the end of my rope? +Jane, you’re a wonderful woman. Never was there a woman so unselfish and +good. Only you’re blind in one way.... Listen!” +</p> + +<p> +From behind the grove came the clicking sound of horses in a rapid trot. +</p> + +<p> +“Some of your riders,” he continued. “It’s getting time +for the night shift. Let us go out to the bench in the grove and talk +there.” +</p> + +<p> +It was still daylight in the open, but under the spreading cottonwoods shadows +were obscuring the lanes. Venters drew Jane off from one of these into a +shrub-lined trail, just wide enough for the two to walk abreast, and in a +roundabout way led her far from the house to a knoll on the edge of the grove. +Here in a secluded nook was a bench from which, through an opening in the +tree-tops, could be seen the sage-slope and the wall of rock and the dim lines +of cañons. Jane had not spoken since Venters had shocked her with his first +harsh speech; but all the way she had clung to his arm, and now, as he stopped +and laid his rifle against the bench, she still clung to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, I’m afraid I must leave you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it looks that way. My position is not a happy one—I +can’t feel right—I’ve lost all—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give you anything you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, please. When I say loss I don’t mean what you think. I +mean loss of good-will, good name—that which would have enabled me to +stand up in this village without bitterness. Well, it’s too late.... Now, +as to the future, I think you’d do best to give me up. Tull is +implacable. You ought to see from his intention to-day that—But you +can’t see. Your blindness—your damned religion!... Jane, forgive +me—I’m sore within and something rankles. Well, I fear that +invisible hand will turn its hidden work to your ruin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Invisible hand? Bern!” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean your Bishop.” Venters said it deliberately and would not +release her as she started back. “He’s the law. The edict went +forth to ruin me. Well, look at me! It’ll now go forth to compel you to +the will of the Church.” +</p> + +<p> +“You wrong Bishop Dyer. Tull is hard, I know. But then he has been in +love with me for years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, your faith and your excuses! You can’t see what I +know—and if you did see it you’d not admit it to save your life. +That’s the Mormon of you. These elders and bishops will do absolutely any +deed to go on building up the power and wealth of their church, their empire. +Think of what they’ve done to the Gentiles here, to me—think of +Milly Erne’s fate!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you know of her story?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know enough—all, perhaps, except the name of the Mormon who +brought her here. But I must stop this kind of talk.” +</p> + +<p> +She pressed his hand in response. He helped her to a seat beside him on the +bench. And he respected a silence that he divined was full of woman’s +deep emotion beyond his understanding. +</p> + +<p> +It was the moment when the last ruddy rays of the sunset brightened momentarily +before yielding to twilight. And for Venters the outlook before him was in some +sense similar to a feeling of his future, and with searching eyes he studied +the beautiful purple, barren waste of sage. Here was the unknown and the +perilous. The whole scene impressed Venters as a wild, austere, and mighty +manifestation of nature. And as it somehow reminded him of his prospect in +life, so it suddenly resembled the woman near him, only in her there were +greater beauty and peril, a mystery more unsolvable, and something nameless +that numbed his heart and dimmed his eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Look! A rider!” exclaimed Jane, breaking the silence. “Can +that be Lassiter?” +</p> + +<p> +Venters moved his glance once more to the west. A horseman showed dark on the +sky-line, then merged into the color of the sage. +</p> + +<p> +“It might be. But I think not—that fellow was coming in. One of +your riders, more likely. Yes, I see him clearly now. And there’s +another.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see them, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, your riders seem as many as the bunches of sage. I ran into five +yesterday ’way down near the trail to Deception Pass. They were with the +white herd.” +</p> + +<p> +“You still go to that cañon? Bern, I wish you wouldn’t. Oldring +and his rustlers live somewhere down there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what of that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tull has already hinted to your frequent trips into Deception +Pass.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know.” Venters uttered a short laugh. “He’ll make a +rustler of me next. But, Jane, there’s no water for fifty miles after I +leave here, and the nearest is in the cañon. I must drink and water my horse. +There! I see more riders. They are going out.” +</p> + +<p> +“The red herd is on the slope, toward the Pass.” +</p> + +<p> +Twilight was fast falling. A group of horsemen crossed the dark line of low +ground to become more distinct as they climbed the slope. The silence broke to +a clear call from an incoming rider, and, almost like the peal of a +hunting-horn, floated back the answer. The outgoing riders moved swiftly, came +sharply into sight as they topped a ridge to show wild and black above the +horizon, and then passed down, dimming into the purple of the sage. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope they don’t meet Lassiter,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“So do I,” replied Venters. “By this time the riders of the +night shift know what happened to-day. But Lassiter will likely keep out of +their way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, who is Lassiter? He’s only a name to me—a terrible +name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is he? I don’t know, Jane. Nobody I ever met knows him. He +talks a little like a Texan, like Milly Erne. Did you note that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. How strange of him to know of her! And she lived here ten years and +has been dead two. Bern, what do you know of Lassiter? Tell me what he has +done—why you spoke of him to Tull—threatening to become another +Lassiter yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, I only heard things, rumors, stories, most of which I disbelieved. +At Glaze his name was known, but none of the riders or ranchers I knew there +ever met him. At Stone Bridge I never heard him mentioned. But at Sterling and +villages north of there he was spoken of often. I’ve never been in a +village which he had been known to visit. There were many conflicting stories +about him and his doings. Some said he had shot up this and that Mormon +village, and others denied it. I’m inclined to believe he has, and you +know how Mormons hide the truth. But there was one feature about Lassiter upon +which all agree—that he was what riders in this country call a gun-man. +He’s a man with a marvelous quickness and accuracy in the use of a Colt. +And now that I’ve seen him I know more. Lassiter was born without fear. I +watched him with eyes which saw him my friend. I’ll never forget the +moment I recognized him from what had been told me of his crouch before the +draw. It was then I yelled his name. I believe that yell saved Tull’s +life. At any rate, I know this, between Tull and death then there was not the +breadth of the littlest hair. If he or any of his men had moved a finger +downward—” +</p> + +<p> +Venters left his meaning unspoken, but at the suggestion Jane shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +The pale afterglow in the west darkened with the merging of twilight into +night. The sage now spread out black and gloomy. One dim star glimmered in the +southwest sky. The sound of trotting horses had ceased, and there was silence +broken only by a faint, dry pattering of cottonwood leaves in the soft night +wind. +</p> + +<p> +Into this peace and calm suddenly broke the high-keyed yelp of a coyote, and +from far off in the darkness came the faint answering note of a trailing mate. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello! the sage-dogs are barking,” said Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like to hear them,” replied Jane. “At night, +sometimes when I lie awake, listening to the long mourn or breaking bark or +wild howl, I think of you asleep somewhere in the sage, and my heart +aches.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, you couldn’t listen to sweeter music, nor could I have a +better bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just think! Men like Lassiter and you have no home, no comfort, no rest, +no place to lay your weary heads. Well!... Let us be patient. Tull’s +anger may cool, and time may help us. You might do some service to the +village—who can tell? Suppose you discovered the long-unknown +hiding-place of Oldring and his band, and told it to my riders? That would +disarm Tull’s ugly hints and put you in favor. For years my riders have +trailed the tracks of stolen cattle. You know as well as I how dearly +we’ve paid for our ranges in this wild country. Oldring drives our cattle +down into the network of deceiving cañons, and somewhere far to the north or +east he drives them up and out to Utah markets. If you will spend time in +Deception Pass try to find the trails.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, I’ve thought of that. I’ll try.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must go now. And it hurts, for now I’ll never be sure of seeing +you again. But to-morrow, Bern?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow surely. I’ll watch for Lassiter and ride in with +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she left him and moved away, a white, gliding shape that soon vanished in +the shadows. +</p> + +<p> +Venters waited until the faint slam of a door assured him she had reached the +house, and then, taking up his rifle, he noiselessly slipped through the +bushes, down the knoll, and on under the dark trees to the edge of the grove. +The sky was now turning from gray to blue; stars had begun to lighten the +earlier blackness; and from the wide flat sweep before him blew a cool wind, +fragrant with the breath of sage. Keeping close to the edge of the cottonwoods, +he went swiftly and silently westward. The grove was long, and he had not +reached the end when he heard something that brought him to a halt. Low padded +thuds told him horses were coming this way. He sank down in the gloom, waiting, +listening. Much before he had expected, judging from sound, to his amazement he +descried horsemen near at hand. They were riding along the border of the sage, +and instantly he knew the hoofs of the horses were muffled. Then the pale +starlight afforded him indistinct sight of the riders. But his eyes were keen +and used to the dark, and by peering closely he recognized the huge bulk and +black-bearded visage of Oldring and the lithe, supple form of the +rustler’s lieutenant, a masked rider. They passed on; the darkness +swallowed them. Then, farther out on the sage, a dark, compact body of horsemen +went by, almost without sound, almost like specters, and they, too, melted into +the night. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"></a> +CHAPTER III.<br /> +AMBER SPRING</h2> + +<p> +No unusual circumstance was it for Oldring and some of his men to visit +Cottonwoods in the broad light of day, but for him to prowl about in the dark +with the hoofs of his horses muffled meant that mischief was brewing. Moreover, +to Venters the presence of the masked rider with Oldring seemed especially +ominous. For about this man there was mystery, he seldom rode through the +village, and when he did ride through it was swiftly; riders seldom met by day +on the sage, but wherever he rode there always followed deeds as dark and +mysterious as the mask he wore. Oldring’s band did not confine themselves +to the rustling of cattle. +</p> + +<p> +Venters lay low in the shade of the cottonwoods, pondering this chance meeting, +and not for many moments did he consider it safe to move on. Then, with sudden +impulse, he turned the other way and went back along the grove. When he reached +the path leading to Jane’s home he decided to go down to the village. So +he hurried onward, with quick soft steps. Once beyond the grove he entered the +one and only street. It was wide, lined with tall poplars, and under each row +of trees, inside the foot-path, were ditches where ran the water from Jane +Withersteen’s spring. +</p> + +<p> +Between the trees twinkled lights of cottage candles, and far down flared +bright windows of the village stores. When Venters got closer to these he saw +knots of men standing together in earnest conversation. The usual lounging on +the corners and benches and steps was not in evidence. Keeping in the shadow +Venters went closer and closer until he could hear voices. But he could not +distinguish what was said. He recognized many Mormons, and looked hard for Tull +and his men, but looked in vain. Venters concluded that the rustlers had not +passed along the village street. No doubt these earnest men were discussing +Lassiter’s coming. But Venters felt positive that Tull’s intention +toward himself that day had not been and would not be revealed. +</p> + +<p> +So Venters, seeing there was little for him to learn, began retracing his +steps. The church was dark, Bishop Dyer’s home next to it was also dark, +and likewise Tull’s cottage. Upon almost any night at this hour there +would be lights here, and Venters marked the unusual omission. +</p> + +<p> +As he was about to pass out of the street to skirt the grove, he once more +slunk down at the sound of trotting horses. Presently he descried two mounted +men riding toward him. He hugged the shadow of a tree. Again the starlight, +brighter now, aided him, and he made out Tull’s stalwart figure, and +beside him the short, froglike shape of the rider Jerry. They were silent, and +they rode on to disappear. +</p> + +<p> +Venters went his way with busy, gloomy mind, revolving events of the day, +trying to reckon those brooding in the night. His thoughts overwhelmed him. Up +in that dark grove dwelt a woman who had been his friend. And he skulked about +her home, gripping a gun stealthily as an Indian, a man without place or people +or purpose. Above her hovered the shadow of grim, hidden, secret power. No +queen could have given more royally out of a bounteous store than Jane +Withersteen gave her people, and likewise to those unfortunates whom her people +hated. She asked only the divine right of all women—freedom; to love and +to live as her heart willed. And yet prayer and her hope were vain. +</p> + +<p> +“For years I’ve seen a storm clouding over her and the village of +Cottonwoods,” muttered Venters, as he strode on. “Soon it’ll +burst. I don’t like the prospects.” That night the villagers +whispered in the street—and night-riding rustlers muffled +horses—and Tull was at work in secret—and out there in the sage hid +a man who meant something terrible—Lassiter! +</p> + +<p> +Venters passed the black cottonwoods, and, entering the sage, climbed the +gradual slope. He kept his direction in line with a western star. From time to +time he stopped to listen and heard only the usual familiar bark of coyote and +sweep of wind and rustle of sage. Presently a low jumble of rocks loomed up +darkly somewhat to his right, and, turning that way, he whistled softly. Out of +the rocks glided a dog that leaped and whined about him. He climbed over rough, +broken rock, picking his way carefully, and then went down. Here it was darker, +and sheltered from the wind. A white object guided him. It was another dog, and +this one was asleep, curled up between a saddle and a pack. The animal awoke +and thumped his tail in greeting. Venters placed the saddle for a pillow, +rolled in his blankets, with his face upward to the stars. The white dog +snuggled close to him. The other whined and pattered a few yards to the rise of +ground and there crouched on guard. And in that wild covert Venters shut his +eyes under the great white stars and intense vaulted blue, bitterly comparing +their loneliness to his own, and fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +When he awoke, day had dawned and all about him was bright steel-gray. The air +had a cold tang. Arising, he greeted the fawning dogs and stretched his cramped +body, and then, gathering together bunches of dead sage sticks, he lighted a +fire. Strips of dried beef held to the blaze for a moment served him and the +dogs. He drank from a canteen. There was nothing else in his outfit; he had +grown used to a scant fire. Then he sat over the fire, palms outspread, and +waited. Waiting had been his chief occupation for months, and he scarcely knew +what he waited for unless it was the passing of the hours. But now he sensed +action in the immediate present; the day promised another meeting with Lassiter +and Jane, perhaps news of the rustlers; on the morrow he meant to take the +trail to Deception Pass. +</p> + +<p> +And while he waited he talked to his dogs. He called them Ring and Whitie; they +were sheep-dogs, half collie, half deerhound, superb in build, perfectly +trained. It seemed that in his fallen fortunes these dogs understood the nature +of their value to him, and governed their affection and faithfulness +accordingly. Whitie watched him with somber eyes of love, and Ring, crouched on +the little rise of ground above, kept tireless guard. When the sun rose, the +white dog took the place of the other, and Ring went to sleep at his +master’s feet. +</p> + +<p> +By and by Venters rolled up his blankets and tied them and his meager pack +together, then climbed out to look for his horse. He saw him, presently, a +little way off in the sage, and went to fetch him. In that country, where every +rider boasted of a fine mount and was eager for a race, where thoroughbreds +dotted the wonderful grazing ranges, Venters rode a horse that was sad proof of +his misfortunes. +</p> + +<p> +Then, with his back against a stone, Venters faced the east, and, stick in hand +and idle blade, he waited. The glorious sunlight filled the valley with purple +fire. Before him, to left, to right, waving, rolling, sinking, rising, like low +swells of a purple sea, stretched the sage. Out of the grove of cottonwoods, a +green patch on the purple, gleamed the dull red of Jane Withersteen’s old +stone house. And from there extended the wide green of the village gardens and +orchards marked by the graceful poplars; and farther down shone the deep, dark +richness of the alfalfa fields. Numberless red and black and white dots +speckled the sage, and these were cattle and horses. +</p> + +<p> +So, watching and waiting, Venters let the time wear away. At length he saw a +horse rise above a ridge, and he knew it to be Lassiter’s black. Climbing +to the highest rock, so that he would show against the sky-line, he stood and +waved his hat. The almost instant turning of Lassiter’s horse attested to +the quickness of that rider’s eye. Then Venters climbed down, saddled his +horse, tied on his pack, and, with a word to his dogs, was about to ride out to +meet Lassiter, when he concluded to wait for him there, on higher ground, where +the outlook was commanding. +</p> + +<p> +It had been long since Venters had experienced friendly greeting from a man. +Lassiter’s warmed in him something that had grown cold from neglect. And +when he had returned it, with a strong grip of the iron hand that held his, and +met the gray eyes, he knew that Lassiter and he were to be friends. +</p> + +<p> +“Venters, let’s talk awhile before we go down there,” said +Lassiter, slipping his bridle. “I ain’t in no hurry. Them’s +sure fine dogs you’ve got.” With a rider’s eye he took in the +points of Venter’s horse, but did not speak his thought. “Well, did +anythin’ come off after I left you last night?” +</p> + +<p> +Venters told him about the rustlers. +</p> + +<p> +“I was snug hid in the sage,” replied Lassiter, “an’ +didn’t see or hear no one. Oldrin’s got a high hand here, I reckon. +It’s no news up in Utah how he holes in cañons an’ leaves no +track.” Lassiter was silent a moment. “Me an’ Oldrin’ +wasn’t exactly strangers some years back when he drove cattle into +Bostil’s Ford, at the head of the Rio Virgin. But he got harassed there +an’ now he drives some place else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, you knew him? Tell me, is he Mormon or Gentile?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say. I’ve knowed Mormons who pretended to be +Gentiles.” +</p> + +<p> +“No Mormon ever pretended that unless he was a rustler,” declared +Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe so.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a hard country for any one, but hardest for Gentiles. Did you +ever know or hear of a Gentile prospering in a Mormon community?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I want to get out of Utah. I’ve a mother living in Illinois. +I want to go home. It’s eight years now.” +</p> + +<p> +The older man’s sympathy moved Venters to tell his story. He had left +Quincy, run off to seek his fortune in the gold fields had never gotten any +farther than Salt Lake City, wandered here and there as helper, teamster, +shepherd, and drifted southward over the divide and across the barrens and up +the rugged plateau through the passes to the last border settlements. Here he +became a rider of the sage, had stock of his own, and for a time prospered, +until chance threw him in the employ of Jane Withersteen. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, I needn’t tell you the rest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’d be no news to me. I know Mormons. I’ve seen their +women’s strange love en’ patience en’ sacrifice an’ +silence en’ whet I call madness for their idea of God. An’ over +against that I’ve seen the tricks of men. They work hand in hand, all +together, an’ in the dark. No man can hold out against them, unless he +takes to packin’ guns. For Mormons are slow to kill. That’s the +only good I ever seen in their religion. Venters, take this from me, these +Mormons ain’t just right in their minds. Else could a Mormon marry one +woman when he already has a wife, an’ call it duty?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, you think as I think,” returned Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“How’d it come then that you never throwed a gun on Tull or some of +them?” inquired the rider, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane pleaded with me, begged me to be patient, to overlook. She even +took my guns from me. I lost all before I knew it,” replied Venters, with +the red color in his face. “But, Lassiter, listen. Out of the wreck I +saved a Winchester, two Colts, and plenty of shells. I packed these down into +Deception Pass. There, almost every day for six months, I have practiced with +my rifle till the barrel burnt my hands. Practised the draw—the firing of +a Colt, hour after hour!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now that’s interestin’ to me,” said Lassiter, with a +quick uplift of his head and a concentration of his gray gaze on Venters. +“Could you throw a gun before you began that practisin’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. And now...” Venters made a lightning-swift movement. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter smiled, and then his bronzed eyelids narrowed till his eyes seemed +mere gray slits. “You’ll kill Tull!” He did not question; he +affirmed. +</p> + +<p> +“I promised Jane Withersteen I’d try to avoid Tull. I’ll keep +my word. But sooner or later Tull and I will meet. As I feel now, if he even +looks at me I’ll draw!” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon so. There’ll be hell down there, presently.” He +paused a moment and flicked a sage-brush with his quirt. “Venters, +seein’ as you’re considerable worked up, tell me Milly Erne’s +story.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters’s agitation stilled to the trace of suppressed eagerness in +Lassiter’s query. +</p> + +<p> +“Milly Erne’s story? Well, Lassiter, I’ll tell you what I +know. Milly Erne had been in Cottonwoods years when I first arrived there, and +most of what I tell you happened before my arrival. I got to know her pretty +well. She was a slip of a woman, and crazy on religion. I conceived an idea +that I never mentioned—I thought she was at heart more Gentile than +Mormon. But she passed as a Mormon, and certainly she had the Mormon +woman’s locked lips. You know, in every Mormon village there are women +who seem mysterious to us, but about Milly there was more than the ordinary +mystery. When she came to Cottonwoods she had a beautiful little girl whom she +loved passionately. Milly was not known openly in Cottonwoods as a Mormon wife. +That she really was a Mormon wife I have no doubt. Perhaps the Mormon’s +other wife or wives would not acknowledge Milly. Such things happen in these +villages. Mormon wives wear yokes, but they get jealous. Well, whatever had +brought Milly to this country—love or madness of religion—she +repented of it. She gave up teaching the village school. She quit the church. +And she began to fight Mormon upbringing for her baby girl. Then the Mormons +put on the screws—slowly, as is their way. At last the child disappeared. +‘Lost’ was the report. The child was stolen, I know that. So do +you. That wrecked Milly Erne. But she lived on in hope. She became a slave. She +worked her heart and soul and life out to get back her child. She never heard +of it again. Then she sank.... I can see her now, a frail thing, so transparent +you could almost look through her—white like ashes—and her eyes!... +Her eyes have always haunted me. She had one real friend—Jane +Withersteen. But Jane couldn’t mend a broken heart, and Milly +died.” +</p> + +<p> +For moments Lassiter did not speak, or turn his head. +</p> + +<p> +“The man!” he exclaimed, presently, in husky accents. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t the slightest idea who the Mormon was,” replied +Venters; “nor has any Gentile in Cottonwoods.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does Jane Withersteen know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But a red-hot running-iron couldn’t burn that name out of +her!” +</p> + +<p> +Without further speech Lassiter started off, walking his horse and Venters +followed with his dogs. Half a mile down the slope they entered a luxuriant +growth of willows, and soon came into an open space carpeted with grass like +deep green velvet. The rushing of water and singing of birds filled their ears. +Venters led his comrade to a shady bower and showed him Amber Spring. It was a +magnificent outburst of clear, amber water pouring from a dark, stone-lined +hole. Lassiter knelt and drank, lingered there to drink again. He made no +comment, but Venters did not need words. Next to his horse a rider of the sage +loved a spring. And this spring was the most beautiful and remarkable known to +the upland riders of southern Utah. It was the spring that made old Withersteen +a feudal lord and now enabled his daughter to return the toll which her father +had exacted from the toilers of the sage. +</p> + +<p> +The spring gushed forth in a swirling torrent, and leaped down joyously to make +its swift way along a willow-skirted channel. Moss and ferns and lilies +overhung its green banks. Except for the rough-hewn stones that held and +directed the water, this willow thicket and glade had been left as nature had +made it. +</p> + +<p> +Below were artificial lakes, three in number, one above the other in banks of +raised earth, and round about them rose the lofty green-foliaged shafts of +poplar trees. Ducks dotted the glassy surface of the lakes; a blue heron stood +motionless on a water-gate; kingfishers darted with shrieking flight along the +shady banks; a white hawk sailed above; and from the trees and shrubs came the +song of robins and cat-birds. It was all in strange contrast to the endless +slopes of lonely sage and the wild rock environs beyond. Venters thought of the +woman who loved the birds and the green of the leaves and the murmur of the +water. +</p> + +<p> +Next on the slope, just below the third and largest lake, were corrals and a +wide stone barn and open sheds and coops and pens. Here were clouds of dust, +and cracking sounds of hoofs, and romping colts and heehawing burros. Neighing +horses trampled to the corral fences. And on the little windows of the barn +projected bobbing heads of bays and blacks and sorrels. When the two men +entered the immense barnyard, from all around the din increased. This welcome, +however, was not seconded by the several men and boys who vanished on sight. +</p> + +<p> +Venters and Lassiter were turning toward the house when Jane appeared in the +lane leading a horse. In riding-skirt and blouse she seemed to have lost some +of her statuesque proportions, and looked more like a girl rider than the +mistress of Withersteen. She was brightly smiling, and her greeting was warmly +cordial. +</p> + +<p> +“Good news,” she announced. “I’ve been to the village. +All is quiet. I expected—I don’t know what. But there’s no +excitement. And Tull has ridden out on his way to Glaze.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tull gone?” inquired Venters, with surprise. He was wondering what +could have taken Tull away. Was it to avoid another meeting with Lassiter that +he went? Could it have any connection with the probable nearness of Oldring and +his gang? +</p> + +<p> +“Gone, yes, thank goodness,” replied Jane. “Now I’ll +have peace for a while. Lassiter, I want you to see my horses. You are a rider, +and you must be a judge of horseflesh. Some of mine have Arabian blood. My +father got his best strain in Nevada from Indians who claimed their horses were +bred down from the original stock left by the Spaniards.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, ma’am, the one you’ve been ridin’ takes my +eye,” said Lassiter, as he walked round the racy, clean-limbed, and +fine-pointed roan. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are the boys?” she asked, looking about. “Jerd, Paul, +where are you? Here, bring out the horses.” +</p> + +<p> +The sound of dropping bars inside the barn was the signal for the horses to +jerk their heads in the windows, to snort and stamp. Then they came pounding +out of the door, a file of thoroughbreds, to plunge about the barnyard, heads +and tails up, manes flying. They halted afar off, squared away to look, came +slowly forward with whinnies for their mistress, and doubtful snorts for the +strangers and their horses. +</p> + +<p> +“Come—come—come,” called Jane, holding out her hands. +“Why, Bells—Wrangle, where are your manners? Come, Black +Star—come, Night. Ah, you beauties! My racers of the sage!” +</p> + +<p> +Only two came up to her; those she called Night and Black Star. Venters never +looked at them without delight. The first was soft dead black, the other +glittering black, and they were perfectly matched in size, both being high and +long-bodied, wide through the shoulders, with lithe, powerful legs. That they +were a woman’s pets showed in the gloss of skin, the fineness of mane. It +showed, too, in the light of big eyes and the gentle reach of eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“I never seen their like,” was Lassiter’s encomium, +“an’ in my day I’ve seen a sight of horses. Now, ma’am, +if you was wantin’ to make a long an’ fast ride across the +sage—say to elope—” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter ended there with dry humor, yet behind that was meaning. Jane blushed +and made arch eyes at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Take care, Lassiter, I might think that a proposal,” she replied, +gaily. “It’s dangerous to propose elopement to a Mormon woman. +Well, I was expecting you. Now will be a good hour to show you Milly +Erne’s grave. The day-riders have gone, and the night-riders +haven’t come in. Bern, what do you make of that? Need I worry? You know I +have to be made to worry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s not usual for the night shift to ride in so +late,” replied Venters, slowly, and his glance sought Lassiter’s. +“Cattle are usually quiet after dark. Still, I’ve known even a +coyote to stampede your white herd.” +</p> + +<p> +“I refuse to borrow trouble. Come,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +They mounted, and, with Jane in the lead, rode down the lane, and, turning off +into a cattle trail, proceeded westward. Venters’s dogs trotted behind +them. On this side of the ranch the outlook was different from that on the +other; the immediate foreground was rough and the sage more rugged and less +colorful; there were no dark-blue lines of cañons to hold the eye, nor any +uprearing rock walls. It was a long roll and slope into gray obscurity. Soon +Jane left the trail and rode into the sage, and presently she dismounted and +threw her bridle. The men did likewise. Then, on foot, they followed her, +coming out at length on the rim of a low escarpment. She passed by several +little ridges of earth to halt before a faintly defined mound. It lay in the +shade of a sweeping sage-brush close to the edge of the promontory; and a rider +could have jumped his horse over it without recognizing a grave. +</p> + +<p> +“Here!” +</p> + +<p> +She looked sad as she spoke, but she offered no explanation for the neglect of +an unmarked, uncared-for grave. There was a little bunch of pale, sweet +lavender daisies, doubtless planted there by Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“I only come here to remember and to pray,” she said. “But I +leave no trail!” +</p> + +<p> +A grave in the sage! How lonely this resting-place of Milly Erne! The +cottonwoods or the alfalfa fields were not in sight, nor was there any rock or +ridge or cedar to lend contrast to the monotony. Gray slopes, tinging the +purple, barren and wild, with the wind waving the sage, swept away to the dim +horizon. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter looked at the grave and then out into space. At that moment he seemed +a figure of bronze. +</p> + +<p> +Jane touched Venters’s arm and led him back to the horses. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern!” cried Jane, when they were out of hearing. “Suppose +Lassiter were Milly’s husband—the father of that little girl lost +so long ago!” +</p> + +<p> +“It might be, Jane. Let us ride on. If he wants to see us again +he’ll come.” +</p> + +<p> +So they mounted and rode out to the cattle trail and began to climb. From the +height of the ridge, where they had started down, Venters looked back. He did +not see Lassiter, but his glance, drawn irresistibly farther out on the gradual +slope, caught sight of a moving cloud of dust. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, a rider!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I see,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“That fellow’s riding hard. Jane, there’s something +wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, there must be.... How he rides!” +</p> + +<p> +The horse disappeared in the sage, and then puffs of dust marked his course. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s short-cut on us—he’s making straight for the +corrals.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters and Jane galloped their steeds and reined in at the turning of the +lane. This lane led down to the right of the grove. Suddenly into its lower +entrance flashed a bay horse. Then Venters caught the fast rhythmic beat of +pounding hoofs. Soon his keen eye recognized the swing of the rider in his +saddle. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Judkins, your Gentile rider!” he cried. “Jane, +when Judkins rides like that it means hell!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"></a> +CHAPTER IV.<br /> +DECEPTION PASS</h2> + +<p> +The rider thundered up and almost threw his foam-flecked horse in the sudden +stop. He was a giant form, and with fearless eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, you’re all bloody!” cried Jane, in affright. +“Oh, you’ve been shot!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothin’ much Miss Withersteen. I got a nick in the shoulder. +I’m some wet an’ the hoss’s been throwin’ lather, so +all this ain’t blood.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s up?” queried Venters, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Rustlers sloped off with the red herd.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are my riders?” demanded Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen, I was alone all night with the herd. At daylight this +mornin’ the rustlers rode down. They began to shoot at me on sight. They +chased me hard an’ far, burnin’ powder all the time, but I got +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jud, they meant to kill you,” declared Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I wonder,” returned Judkins. “They wanted me bad. +An’ it ain’t regular for rustlers to waste time chasin’ one +rider.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank heaven you got away,” said Jane. “But my +riders—where are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. The night-riders weren’t there last night when +I rode down, en’ this mornin’ I met no day-riders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins! Bern, they’ve been set upon—killed by +Oldring’s men!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so,” replied Venters, decidedly. “Jane, +your riders haven’t gone out in the sage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, what do you mean?” Jane Withersteen turned deathly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“You remember what I said about the unseen hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!... Impossible!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so. But I fear—” Venters finished, with a shake of +his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, you’re bitter; but that’s only natural. We’ll +wait to see what’s happened to my riders. Judkins, come to the house with +me. Your wound must be attended to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, I’ll find out where Oldring drives the herd,” vowed +Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! Bern, don’t risk it now—when the rustlers are in +such shooting mood.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going. Jud, how many cattle in that red herd?” +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-five hundred head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whew! What on earth can Oldring do with so many cattle? Why, a hundred +head is a big steal. I’ve got to find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go,” implored Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, you want a hoss thet can run. Miss Withersteen, if it’s not +too bold of me to advise, make him take a fast hoss or don’t let him +go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, Judkins. He must ride a horse that can’t be caught. +Which one—Black Star—Night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, I won’t take either,” said Venters, emphatically. +“I wouldn’t risk losing one of your favorites.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wrangle, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thet’s the hoss,” replied Judkins. “Wrangle can outrun +Black Star an’ Night. You’d never believe it, Miss Withersteen, but +I know. Wrangle’s the biggest en’ fastest hoss on the sage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, Wrangle can’t beat Black Star. But, Bern, take Wrangle if +you will go. Ask Jerd for anything you need. Oh, be watchful, careful.... God +speed you.” +</p> + +<p> +She clasped his hand, turned quickly away, and went down a lane with the rider. +</p> + +<p> +Venters rode to the barn, and, leaping off, shouted for Jerd. The boy came +running. Venters sent him for meat, bread, and dried fruits, to be packed in +saddlebags. His own horse he turned loose into the nearest corral. Then he went +for Wrangle. The giant sorrel had earned his name for a trait the opposite of +amiability. He came readily out of the barn, but once in the yard he broke from +Venters, and plunged about with ears laid back. Venters had to rope him, and +then he kicked down a section of fence, stood on his hind legs, crashed down +and fought the rope. Jerd returned to lend a hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Wrangle don’t git enough work,” said Jerd, as the big saddle +went on. “He’s unruly when he’s corralled, an’ wants to +run. Wait till he smells the sage!” +</p> + +<p> +“Jerd, this horse is an iron-jawed devil. I never straddled him but once. +Run? Say, he’s swift as wind!” +</p> + +<p> +When Venters’s boot touched the stirrup the sorrel bolted, giving him the +rider’s flying mount. The swing of this fiery horse recalled to Venters +days that were not really long past, when he rode into the sage as the leader +of Jane Withersteen’s riders. Wrangle pulled hard on a tight rein. He +galloped out of the lane, down the shady border of the grove, and hauled up at +the watering-trough, where he pranced and champed his bit. Venters got off and +filled his canteen while the horse drank. The dogs, Ring and Whitie, came +trotting up for their drink. Then Venters remounted and turned Wrangle toward +the sage. +</p> + +<p> +A wide, white trail wound away down the slope. One keen, sweeping glance told +Venters that there was neither man nor horse nor steer within the limit of his +vision, unless they were lying down in the sage. Ring loped in the lead and +Whitie loped in the rear. Wrangle settled gradually into an easy swinging +canter, and Venters’s thoughts, now that the rush and flurry of the start +were past, and the long miles stretched before him, reverted to a calm +reckoning of late singular coincidences. +</p> + +<p> +There was the night ride of Tull’s, which, viewed in the light of +subsequent events, had a look of his covert machinations; Oldring and his +Masked Rider and his rustlers riding muffled horses; the report that Tull had +ridden out that morning with his man Jerry on the trail to Glaze, the strange +disappearance of Jane Withersteen’s riders, the unusually determined +attempt to kill the one Gentile still in her employ, an intention frustrated, +no doubt, only by Judkin’s magnificent riding of her racer, and lastly +the driving of the red herd. These events, to Venters’s color of mind, +had a dark relationship. Remembering Jane’s accusation of bitterness, he +tried hard to put aside his rancor in judging Tull. But it was bitter knowledge +that made him see the truth. He had felt the shadow of an unseen hand; he had +watched till he saw its dim outline, and then he had traced it to a man’s +hate, to the rivalry of a Mormon Elder, to the power of a Bishop, to the long, +far-reaching arm of a terrible creed. That unseen hand had made its first move +against Jane Withersteen. Her riders had been called in, leaving her without +help to drive seven thousand head of cattle. But to Venters it seemed +extraordinary that the power which had called in these riders had left so many +cattle to be driven by rustlers and harried by wolves. For hand in glove with +that power was an insatiate greed; they were one and the same. +</p> + +<p> +“What can Oldring do with twenty-five hundred head of cattle?” +muttered Venters. “Is he a Mormon? Did he meet Tull last night? It looks +like a black plot to me. But Tull and his churchmen wouldn’t ruin Jane +Withersteen unless the Church was to profit by that ruin. Where does Oldring +come in? I’m going to find out about these things.” +</p> + +<p> +Wrangle did the twenty-five miles in three hours and walked little of the way. +When he had gotten warmed up he had been allowed to choose his own gait. The +afternoon had well advanced when Venters struck the trail of the red herd and +found where it had grazed the night before. Then Venters rested the horse and +used his eyes. Near at hand were a cow and a calf and several yearlings, and +farther out in the sage some straggling steers. He caught a glimpse of coyotes +skulking near the cattle. The slow sweeping gaze of the rider failed to find +other living things within the field of sight. The sage about him was +breast-high to his horse, oversweet with its warm, fragrant breath, gray where +it waved to the light, darker where the wind left it still, and beyond the +wonderful haze-purple lent by distance. Far across that wide waste began the +slow lift of uplands through which Deception Pass cut its tortuous +many-cañoned way. +</p> + +<p> +Venters raised the bridle of his horse and followed the broad cattle trail. The +crushed sage resembled the path of a monster snake. In a few miles of travel he +passed several cows and calves that had escaped the drive. Then he stood on the +last high bench of the slope with the floor of the valley beneath. The opening +of the cañon showed in a break of the sage, and the cattle trail paralleled it +as far as he could see. That trail led to an undiscovered point where Oldring +drove cattle into the pass, and many a rider who had followed it had never +returned. Venters satisfied himself that the rustlers had not deviated from +their usual course, and then he turned at right angles off the cattle trail and +made for the head of the pass. +</p> + +<p> +The sun lost its heat and wore down to the western horizon, where it changed +from white to gold and rested like a huge ball about to roll on its golden +shadows down the slope. Venters watched the lengthening of the rays and bars, +and marveled at his own league-long shadow. The sun sank. There was instant +shading of brightness about him, and he saw a kind of cold purple bloom creep +ahead of him to cross the cañon, to mount the opposite slope and chase and +darken and bury the last golden flare of sunlight. +</p> + +<p> +Venters rode into a trail that he always took to get down into the cañon. He +dismounted and found no tracks but his own made days previous. Nevertheless he +sent the dog Ring ahead and waited. In a little while Ring returned. Whereupon +Venters led his horse on to the break in the ground. +</p> + +<p> +The opening into Deception Pass was one of the remarkable natural phenomena in +a country remarkable for vast slopes of sage, uplands insulated by gigantic red +walls, and deep cañons of mysterious source and outlet. Here the valley floor +was level, and here opened a narrow chasm, a ragged vent in yellow walls of +stone. The trail down the five hundred feet of sheer depth always tested +Venters’s nerve. It was bad going for even a burro. But Wrangle, as +Venters led him, snorted defiance or disgust rather than fear, and, like a +hobbled horse on the jump, lifted his ponderous iron-shod fore hoofs and +crashed down over the first rough step. Venters warmed to greater admiration of +the sorrel; and, giving him a loose bridle, he stepped down foot by foot. +Oftentimes the stones and shale started by Wrangle buried Venters to his knees; +again he was hard put to it to dodge a rolling boulder, there were times when +he could not see Wrangle for dust, and once he and the horse rode a sliding +shelf of yellow, weathered cliff. It was a trail on which there could be no +stops, and, therefore, if perilous, it was at least one that did not take long +in the descent. +</p> + +<p> +Venters breathed lighter when that was over, and felt a sudden assurance in the +success of his enterprise. For at first it had been a reckless determination to +achieve something at any cost, and now it resolved itself into an adventure +worthy of all his reason and cunning, and keenness of eye and ear. +</p> + +<p> +Piñon pines clustered in little clumps along the level floor of the pass. +Twilight had gathered under the walls. Venters rode into the trail and up the +cañon. Gradually the trees and caves and objects low down turned black, and +this blackness moved up the walls till night enfolded the pass, while day still +lingered above. The sky darkened; and stars began to show, at first pale and +then bright. Sharp notches of the rim-wall, biting like teeth into the blue, +were landmarks by which Venters knew where his camping site lay. He had to feel +his way through a thicket of slender oaks to a spring where he watered Wrangle +and drank himself. Here he unsaddled and turned Wrangle loose, having no fear +that the horse would leave the thick, cool grass adjacent to the spring. Next +he satisfied his own hunger, fed Ring and Whitie and, with them curled beside +him, composed himself to await sleep. +</p> + +<p> +There had been a time when night in the high altitude of these Utah uplands had +been satisfying to Venters. But that was before the oppression of enemies had +made the change in his mind. As a rider guarding the herd he had never thought +of the night’s wildness and loneliness; as an outcast, now when the full +silence set in, and the deep darkness, and trains of radiant stars shone cold +and calm, he lay with an ache in his heart. For a year he had lived as a black +fox, driven from his kind. He longed for the sound of a voice, the touch of a +hand. In the daytime there was riding from place to place, and the gun practice +to which something drove him, and other tasks that at least necessitated +action, at night, before he won sleep, there was strife in his soul. He yearned +to leave the endless sage slopes, the wilderness of cañons, and it was in the +lonely night that this yearning grew unbearable. It was then that he reached +forth to feel Ring or Whitie, immeasurably grateful for the love and +companionship of two dogs. +</p> + +<p> +On this night the same old loneliness beset Venters, the old habit of sad +thought and burning unquiet had its way. But from it evolved a conviction that +his useless life had undergone a subtle change. He had sensed it first when +Wrangle swung him up to the high saddle, he knew it now when he lay in the +gateway of Deception Pass. He had no thrill of adventure, rather a gloomy +perception of great hazard, perhaps death. He meant to find Oldring’s +retreat. The rustlers had fast horses, but none that could catch Wrangle. +Venters knew no rustler could creep upon him at night when Ring and Whitie +guarded his hiding-place. For the rest, he had eyes and ears, and a long rifle +and an unerring aim, which he meant to use. Strangely his foreshadowing of +change did not hold a thought of the killing of Tull. It related only to what +was to happen to him in Deception Pass; and he could no more lift the veil of +that mystery than tell where the trails led to in that unexplored cañon. +Moreover, he did not care. And at length, tired out by stress of thought, he +fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +When his eyes unclosed, day had come again, and he saw the rim of the opposite +wall tipped with the gold of sunrise. A few moments sufficed for the +morning’s simple camp duties. Near at hand he found Wrangle, and to his +surprise the horse came to him. Wrangle was one of the horses that left his +viciousness in the home corral. What he wanted was to be free of mules and +burros and steers, to roll in dust-patches, and then to run down the wide, +open, windy sage-plains, and at night browse and sleep in the cool wet grass of +a springhole. Jerd knew the sorrel when he said of him, “Wait till he +smells the sage!” +</p> + +<p> +Venters saddled and led him out of the oak thicket, and, leaping astride, rode +up the cañon, with Ring and Whitie trotting behind. An old grass-grown trail +followed the course of a shallow wash where flowed a thin stream of water. The +cañon was a hundred rods wide, its yellow walls were perpendicular; it had +abundant sage and a scant growth of oak and piñon. For five miles it held to a +comparatively straight bearing, and then began a heightening of rugged walls +and a deepening of the floor. Beyond this point of sudden change in the +character of the cañon Venters had never explored, and here was the real door +to the intricacies of Deception Pass. +</p> + +<p> +He reined Wrangle to a walk, halted now and then to listen, and then proceeded +cautiously with shifting and alert gaze. The cañon assumed proportions that +dwarfed those of its first ten miles. Venters rode on and on, not losing in the +interest of his wide surroundings any of his caution or keen search for tracks +or sight of living thing. If there ever had been a trail here, he could not +find it. He rode through sage and clumps of piñon-trees and grassy plots where +long-petaled purple lilies bloomed. He rode through a dark constriction of the +pass no wider than the lane in the grove at Cottonwoods. And he came out into a +great amphitheater into which jutted huge towering corners of a confluence of +intersecting cañons. +</p> + +<p> +Venters sat his horse, and, with a rider’s eye, studied this wild +cross-cut of huge stone gullies. Then he went on, guided by the course of +running water. If it had not been for the main stream of water flowing north he +would never have been able to tell which of those many openings was a +continuation of the pass. In crossing this amphitheater he went by the mouths +of five cañons, fording little streams that flowed into the larger one. +Gaining the outlet which he took to be the pass, he rode on again under over +hanging walls. One side was dark in shade, the other light in sun. This narrow +passageway turned and twisted and opened into a valley that amazed Venters. +</p> + +<p> +Here again was a sweep of purple sage, richer than upon the higher levels. The +valley was miles long, several wide, and inclosed by unscalable walls. But it +was the background of this valley that so forcibly struck him. Across the +sage-flat rose a strange up-flinging of yellow rocks. He could not tell which +were close and which were distant. Scrawled mounds of stone, like mountain +waves, seemed to roll up to steep bare slopes and towers. +</p> + +<p> +In this plain of sage Venters flushed birds and rabbits, and when he had +proceeded about a mile he caught sight of the bobbing white tails of a herd of +running antelope. He rode along the edge of the stream which wound toward the +western end of the slowly looming mounds of stone. The high slope retreated out +of sight behind the nearer protection. To Venters the valley appeared to have +been filled in by a mountain of melted stone that had hardened in strange +shapes of rounded outline. He followed the stream till he lost it in a deep +cut. Therefore Venters quit the dark slit which baffled further search in that +direction, and rode out along the curved edge of stone where it met the sage. +It was not long before he came to a low place, and here Wrangle readily climbed +up. +</p> + +<p> +All about him was ridgy roll of wind-smoothed, rain-washed rock. Not a tuft of +grass or a bunch of sage colored the dull rust-yellow. He saw where, to the +right, this uneven flow of stone ended in a blunt wall. Leftward, from the +hollow that lay at his feet, mounted a gradual slow-swelling slope to a great +height topped by leaning, cracked, and ruined crags. Not for some time did he +grasp the wonder of that acclivity. It was no less than a mountain-side, +glistening in the sun like polished granite, with cedar-trees springing as if +by magic out of the denuded surface. Winds had swept it clear of weathered +shale, and rains had washed it free of dust. Far up the curved slope its +beautiful lines broke to meet the vertical rim-wall, to lose its grace in a +different order and color of rock, a stained yellow cliff of cracks and caves +and seamed crags. And straight before Venters was a scene less striking but +more significant to his keen survey. For beyond a mile of the bare, hummocky +rock began the valley of sage, and the mouths of cañons, one of which surely +was another gateway into the pass. +</p> + +<p> +He got off his horse, and, giving the bridle to Ring to hold, he commenced a +search for the cleft where the stream ran. He was not successful and concluded +the water dropped into an underground passage. Then he returned to where he had +left Wrangle, and led him down off the stone to the sage. It was a short ride +to the opening cañons. There was no reason for a choice of which one to enter. +The one he rode into was a clear, sharp shaft in yellow stone a thousand feet +deep, with wonderful wind-worn caves low down and high above buttressed and +turreted ramparts. Farther on Venters came into a region where deep +indentations marked the line of cañon walls. These were huge, cove-like blind +pockets extending back to a sharp corner with a dense growth of underbrush and +trees. +</p> + +<p> +Venters penetrated into one of these offshoots, and, as he had hoped, he found +abundant grass. He had to bend the oak saplings to get his horse through. +Deciding to make this a hiding-place if he could find water, he worked back to +the limit of the shelving walls. In a little cluster of silver spruces he found +a spring. This inclosed nook seemed an ideal place to leave his horse and to +camp at night, and from which to make stealthy trips on foot. The thick grass +hid his trail; the dense growth of oaks in the opening would serve as a barrier +to keep Wrangle in, if, indeed, the luxuriant browse would not suffice for +that. So Venters, leaving Whitie with the horse, called Ring to his side, and, +rifle in hand, worked his way out to the open. A careful photographing in mind +of the formation of the bold outlines of rimrock assured him he would be able +to return to his retreat even in the dark. +</p> + +<p> +Bunches of scattered sage covered the center of the cañon, and among these +Venters threaded his way with the step of an Indian. At intervals he put his +hand on the dog and stopped to listen. There was a drowsy hum of insects, but +no other sound disturbed the warm midday stillness. Venters saw ahead a turn, +more abrupt than any yet. Warily he rounded this corner, once again to halt +bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +The cañon opened fan-shaped into a great oval of green and gray growths. It +was the hub of an oblong wheel, and from it, at regular distances, like spokes, +ran the outgoing cañons. Here a dull red color predominated over the fading +yellow. The corners of wall bluntly rose, scarred and scrawled, to taper into +towers and serrated peaks and pinnacled domes. +</p> + +<p> +Venters pushed on more heedfully than ever. Toward the center of this circle +the sage-brush grew smaller and farther apart. He was about to sheer off to the +right, where thickets and jumbles of fallen rock would afford him cover, when +he ran right upon a broad cattle trail. Like a road it was, more than a trail, +and the cattle tracks were fresh. What surprised him more, they were wet! He +pondered over this feature. It had not rained. The only solution to this puzzle +was that the cattle had been driven through water, and water deep enough to wet +their legs. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Ring growled low. Venters rose cautiously and looked over the sage. A +band of straggling horsemen were riding across the oval. He sank down, startled +and trembling. “Rustlers!” he muttered. Hurriedly he glanced about +for a place to hide. Near at hand there was nothing but sage-brush. He dared +not risk crossing the open patches to reach the rocks. Again he peeped over the +sage. The rustlers—four—five—seven—eight in all, were +approaching, but not directly in line with him. That was relief for a cold +deadness which seemed to be creeping inward along his veins. He crouched down +with bated breath and held the bristling dog. +</p> + +<p> +He heard the click of iron-shod hoofs on stone, the coarse laughter of men, and +then voices gradually dying away. Long moments passed. Then he rose. The +rustlers were riding into a cañon. Their horses were tired, and they had +several pack animals; evidently they had traveled far. Venters doubted that +they were the rustlers who had driven the red herd. Olding’s band had +split. Venters watched these horsemen disappear under a bold cañon wall. +</p> + +<p> +The rustlers had come from the northwest side of the oval. Venters kept a +steady gaze in that direction, hoping, if there were more, to see from what +cañon they rode. A quarter of an hour went by. Reward for his vigilance came +when he descried three more mounted men, far over to the north. But out of what +cañon they had ridden it was too late to tell. He watched the three ride +across the oval and round the jutting red corner where the others had gone. +</p> + +<p> +“Up that cañon!” exclaimed Venters. “Oldring’s den! +I’ve found it!” +</p> + +<p> +A knotty point for Venters was the fact that the cattle tracks all pointed +west. The broad trail came from the direction of the cañon into which the +rustlers had ridden, and undoubtedly the cattle had been driven out of it +across the oval. There were no tracks pointing the other way. It had been in +his mind that Oldring had driven the red herd toward the rendezvous, and not +from it. Where did that broad trail come down into the pass, and where did it +lead? Venters knew he wasted time in pondering the question, but it held a +fascination not easily dispelled. For many years Oldring’s mysterious +entrance and exit to Deception Pass had been all-absorbing topics to +sage-riders. +</p> + +<p> +All at once the dog put an end to Venters’s pondering. Ring sniffed the +air, turned slowly in his tracks with a whine, and then growled. Venters +wheeled. Two horsemen were within a hundred yards, coming straight at him. One, +lagging behind the other, was Oldring’s Masked Rider. +</p> + +<p> +Venters cunningly sank, slowly trying to merge into sage-brush. But, guarded as +his action was, the first horse detected it. He stopped short, snorted, and +shot up his ears. The rustler bent forward, as if keenly peering ahead. Then, +with a swift sweep, he jerked a gun from its sheath and fired. +</p> + +<p> +The bullet zipped through the sage-brush. Flying bits of wood struck Venters, +and the hot, stinging pain seemed to lift him in one leap. Like a flash the +blue barrel of his rifle gleamed level and he shot once—twice. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus02"></a> +<img src="images/img02.jpg" width="461" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Like a flash the blue barrel of his rifle gleamed level and +he shot once—twice.</p> +</div> + +<p> +The foremost rustler dropped his weapon and toppled from his saddle, to fall +with his foot catching in a stirrup. The horse snorted wildly and plunged away, +dragging the rustler through the sage. +</p> + +<p> +The Masked Rider huddled over his pommel slowly swaying to one side, and then, +with a faint, strange cry, slipped out of the saddle. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"></a> +CHAPTER V.<br /> +THE MASKED RIDER</h2> + +<p> +Venters looked quickly from the fallen rustlers to the cañon where the others +had disappeared. He calculated on the time needed for running horses to return +to the open, if their riders heard shots. He waited breathlessly. But the +estimated time dragged by and no riders appeared. Venters began presently to +believe that the rifle reports had not penetrated into the recesses of the +cañon, and felt safe for the immediate present. +</p> + +<p> +He hurried to the spot where the first rustler had been dragged by his horse. +The man lay in deep grass, dead, jaw fallen, eyes protruding—a sight that +sickened Venters. The first man at whom he had ever aimed a weapon he had shot +through the heart. With the clammy sweat oozing from every pore Venters dragged +the rustler in among some boulders and covered him with slabs of rock. Then he +smoothed out the crushed trail in grass and sage. The rustler’s horse had +stopped a quarter of a mile off and was grazing. +</p> + +<p> +When Venters rapidly strode toward the Masked Rider not even the cold nausea +that gripped him could wholly banish curiosity. For he had shot Oldring’s +infamous lieutenant, whose face had never been seen. Venters experienced a grim +pride in the feat. What would Tull say to this achievement of the outcast who +rode too often to Deception Pass? +</p> + +<p> +Venters’s curious eagerness and expectation had not prepared him for the +shock he received when he stood over a slight, dark figure. The rustler wore +the black mask that had given him his name, but he had no weapons. Venters +glanced at the drooping horse, there were no gun-sheaths on the saddle. +</p> + +<p> +“A rustler who didn’t pack guns!” muttered Venters. “He +wears no belt. He couldn’t pack guns in that rig.... Strange!” +</p> + +<p> +A low, gasping intake of breath and a sudden twitching of body told Venters the +rider still lived. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s alive!... I’ve got to stand here and watch him die. And +I shot an unarmed man.” +</p> + +<p> +Shrinkingly Venters removed the rider’s wide sombrero and the black cloth +mask. This action disclosed bright chestnut hair, inclined to curl, and a +white, youthful face. Along the lower line of cheek and jaw was a clear +demarcation, where the brown of tanned skin met the white that had been hidden +from the sun. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s only a boy!... What! Can he be Oldring’s Masked +Rider?” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus03"></a> +<img src="images/img03.jpg" width="458" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“Oh, he’s only a boy!... What! Can he be +Oldring’s Masked Rider?”</p> +</div> + +<p> +The boy showed signs of returning consciousness. He stirred; his lips moved; a +small brown hand clenched in his blouse. +</p> + +<p> +Venters knelt with a gathering horror of his deed. His bullet had entered the +rider’s right breast, high up to the shoulder. With hands that shook, +Venters untied a black scarf and ripped open the blood-wet blouse. +</p> + +<p> +First he saw a gaping hole, dark red against a whiteness of skin, from which +welled a slender red stream. Then the graceful, beautiful swell of a +woman’s breast! +</p> + +<p> +“A woman!” he cried. “A girl!... I’ve killed a +girl!” +</p> + +<p> +She suddenly opened eyes that transfixed Venters. They were fathomless blue. +Consciousness of death was there, a blended terror and pain, but no +consciousness of sight. She did not see Venters. She stared into the unknown. +</p> + +<p> +Then came a spasm of vitality. She writhed in a torture of reviving strength, +and in her convulsions she almost tore from Ventner’s grasp. Slowly she +relaxed and sank partly back. The ungloved hand sought the wound, and pressed +so hard that her wrist half buried itself in her bosom. Blood trickled between +her spread fingers. And she looked at Venters with eyes that saw him. +</p> + +<p> +He cursed himself and the unerring aim of which he had been so proud. He had +seen that look in the eyes of a crippled antelope which he was about to finish +with his knife. But in her it had infinitely more—a revelation of mortal +spirit. The instinctive bringing to life was there, and the divining +helplessness and the terrible accusation of the stricken. +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me! I didn’t know!” burst out Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“You shot me—you’ve killed me!” she whispered, in +panting gasps. Upon her lips appeared a fluttering, bloody froth. By that +Venters knew the air in her lungs was mixing with blood. “Oh, I +knew—it would—come—some day!... Oh, the burn!... Hold +me—I’m sinking—it’s all dark.... Ah, God!... +Mercy—” +</p> + +<p> +Her rigidity loosened in one long quiver and she lay back limp, still, white as +snow, with closed eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Venters thought then that she died. But the faint pulsation of her breast +assured him that life yet lingered. Death seemed only a matter of moments, for +the bullet had gone clear through her. Nevertheless, he tore sageleaves from a +bush, and, pressing them tightly over her wounds, he bound the black scarf +round her shoulder, tying it securely under her arm. Then he closed the blouse, +hiding from his sight that blood-stained, accusing breast. +</p> + +<p> +“What—now?” he questioned, with flying mind. “I must +get out of here. She’s dying—but I can’t leave her.” +</p> + +<p> +He rapidly surveyed the sage to the north and made out no animate object. Then +he picked up the girl’s sombrero and the mask. This time the mask gave +him as great a shock as when he first removed it from her face. For in the +woman he had forgotten the rustler, and this black strip of felt-cloth +established the identity of Oldring’s Masked Rider. Venters had solved +the mystery. He slipped his rifle under her, and, lifting her carefully upon +it, he began to retrace his steps. The dog trailed in his shadow. And the +horse, that had stood drooping by, followed without a call. Venters chose the +deepest tufts of grass and clumps of sage on his return. From time to time he +glanced over his shoulder. He did not rest. His concern was to avoid jarring +the girl and to hide his trail. Gaining the narrow cañon, he turned and held +close to the wall till he reached his hiding-place. When he entered the dense +thicket of oaks he was hard put to it to force a way through. But he held his +burden almost upright, and by slipping side wise and bending the saplings he +got in. Through sage and grass he hurried to the grove of silver spruces. +</p> + +<p> +He laid the girl down, almost fearing to look at her. Though marble pale and +cold, she was living. Venters then appreciated the tax that long carry had been +to his strength. He sat down to rest. Whitie sniffed at the pale girl and +whined and crept to Venters’s feet. Ring lapped the water in the runway +of the spring. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Venters went out to the opening, caught the horse and, leading him +through the thicket, unsaddled him and tied him with a long halter. Wrangle +left his browsing long enough to whinny and toss his head. Venters felt that he +could not rest easily till he had secured the other rustler’s horse; so, +taking his rifle and calling for Ring, he set out. Swiftly yet watchfully he +made his way through the cañon to the oval and out to the cattle trail. What +few tracks might have betrayed him he obliterated, so only an expert tracker +could have trailed him. Then, with many a wary backward glance across the sage, +he started to round up the rustler’s horse. This was unexpectedly easy. +He led the horse to lower ground, out of sight from the opposite side of the +oval along the shadowy western wall, and so on into his cañon and secluded +camp. +</p> + +<p> +The girl’s eyes were open; a feverish spot burned in her cheeks she +moaned something unintelligible to Venters, but he took the movement of her +lips to mean that she wanted water. Lifting her head, he tipped the canteen to +her lips. After that she again lapsed into unconsciousness or a weakness which +was its counterpart. Venters noted, however, that the burning flush had faded +into the former pallor. +</p> + +<p> +The sun set behind the high cañon rim, and a cool shade darkened the walls. +Venters fed the dogs and put a halter on the dead rustlers horse. He allowed +Wrangle to browse free. This done, he cut spruce boughs and made a lean-to for +the girl. Then, gently lifting her upon a blanket, he folded the sides over +her. The other blanket he wrapped about his shoulders and found a comfortable +seat against a spruce-tree that upheld the little shack. Ring and Whitie lay +near at hand, one asleep, the other watchful. +</p> + +<p> +Venters dreaded the night’s vigil. At night his mind was active, and this +time he had to watch and think and feel beside a dying girl whom he had all but +murdered. A thousand excuses he invented for himself, yet not one made any +difference in his act or his self-reproach. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to him that when night fell black he could see her white face so much +more plainly. +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll go, presently,” he said, “and be out of +agony—thank God!” +</p> + +<p> +Every little while certainty of her death came to him with a shock; and then he +would bend over and lay his ear on her breast. Her heart still beat. +</p> + +<p> +The early night blackness cleared to the cold starlight. The horses were not +moving, and no sound disturbed the deathly silence of the cañon. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bury her here,” thought Venters, “and let her +grave be as much a mystery as her life was.” +</p> + +<p> +For the girl’s few words, the look of her eyes, the prayer, had strangely +touched Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“She was only a girl,” he soliloquized. “What was she to +Oldring? Rustlers don’t have wives nor sisters nor daughters. She was +bad—that’s all. But somehow... well, she may not have willingly +become the companion of rustlers. That prayer of hers to God for mercy!... Life +is strange and cruel. I wonder if other members of Oldring’s gang are +women? Likely enough. But what was his game? Oldring’s Masked Rider! A +name to make villagers hide and lock their doors. A name credited with a dozen +murders, a hundred forays, and a thousand stealings of cattle. What part did +the girl have in this? It may have served Oldring to create mystery.” +</p> + +<p> +Hours passed. The white stars moved across the narrow strip of dark-blue sky +above. The silence awoke to the low hum of insects. Venters watched the +immovable white face, and as he watched, hour by hour waiting for death, the +infamy of her passed from his mind. He thought only of the sadness, the truth +of the moment. Whoever she was—whatever she had done—she was young +and she was dying. +</p> + +<p> +The after-part of the night wore on interminably. The starlight failed and the +gloom blackened to the darkest hour. “She’ll die at the gray of +dawn,” muttered Venters, remembering some old woman’s fancy. The +blackness paled to gray, and the gray lightened and day peeped over the eastern +rim. Venters listened at the breast of the girl. She still lived. Did he only +imagine that her heart beat stronger, ever so slightly, but stronger? He +pressed his ear closer to her breast. And he rose with his own pulse +quickening. +</p> + +<p> +“If she doesn’t die soon—she’s got a chance—the +barest chance to live,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He wondered if the internal bleeding had ceased. There was no more film of +blood upon her lips. But no corpse could have been whiter. Opening her blouse, +he untied the scarf, and carefully picked away the sage leaves from the wound +in her shoulder. It had closed. Lifting her lightly, he ascertained that the +same was true of the hole where the bullet had come out. He reflected on the +fact that clean wounds closed quickly in the healing upland air. He recalled +instances of riders who had been cut and shot apparently to fatal issues; yet +the blood had clotted, the wounds closed, and they had recovered. He had no way +to tell if internal hemorrhage still went on, but he believed that it had +stopped. Otherwise she would surely not have lived so long. He marked the +entrance of the bullet, and concluded that it had just touched the upper lobe +of her lung. Perhaps the wound in the lung had also closed. As he began to wash +the blood stains from her breast and carefully rebandage the wound, he was +vaguely conscious of a strange, grave happiness in the thought that she might +live. +</p> + +<p> +Broad daylight and a hint of sunshine high on the cliff-rim to the west brought +him to consideration of what he had better do. And while busy with his few camp +tasks he revolved the thing in his mind. It would not be wise for him to remain +long in his present hiding-place. And if he intended to follow the cattle trail +and try to find the rustlers he had better make a move at once. For he knew +that rustlers, being riders, would not make much of a day’s or +night’s absence from camp for one or two of their number; but when the +missing ones failed to show up in reasonable time there would be a search. And +Venters was afraid of that. +</p> + +<p> +“A good tracker could trail me,” he muttered. “And I’d +be cornered here. Let’s see. Rustlers are a lazy set when they’re +not on the ride. I’ll risk it. Then I’ll change my +hiding-place.” +</p> + +<p> +He carefully cleaned and reloaded his guns. When he rose to go he bent a long +glance down upon the unconscious girl. Then ordering Whitie and Ring to keep +guard, he left the camp. +</p> + +<p> +The safest cover lay close under the wall of the cañon, and here through the +dense thickets Venters made his slow, listening advance toward the oval. Upon +gaining the wide opening he decided to cross it and follow the left wall till +he came to the cattle trail. He scanned the oval as keenly as if hunting for +antelope. Then, stooping, he stole from one cover to another, taking advantage +of rocks and bunches of sage, until he had reached the thickets under the +opposite wall. Once there, he exercised extreme caution in his surveys of the +ground ahead, but increased his speed when moving. Dodging from bush to bush, +he passed the mouths of two cañons, and in the entrance of a third cañon he +crossed a wash of swift clear water, to come abruptly upon the cattle trail. +</p> + +<p> +It followed the low bank of the wash, and, keeping it in sight, Venters hugged +the line of sage and thicket. Like the curves of a serpent the cañon wound for +a mile or more and then opened into a valley. Patches of red showed clear +against the purple of sage, and farther out on the level dotted strings of red +led away to the wall of rock. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, the red herd!” exclaimed Venters. +</p> + +<p> +Then dots of white and black told him there were cattle of other colors in this +inclosed valley. Oldring, the rustler, was also a rancher. Venters’s +calculating eye took count of stock that outnumbered the red herd. +</p> + +<p> +“What a range!” went on Venters. “Water and grass enough for +fifty thousand head, and no riders needed!” +</p> + +<p> +After his first burst of surprise and rapid calculation Venters lost no time +there, but slunk again into the sage on his back trail. With the discovery of +Oldring’s hidden cattle-range had come enlightenment on several problems. +Here the rustler kept his stock, here was Jane Withersteen’s red herd; +here were the few cattle that had disappeared from the Cottonwoods slopes +during the last two years. Until Oldring had driven the red herd his thefts of +cattle for that time had not been more than enough to supply meat for his men. +Of late no drives had been reported from Sterling or the villages north. And +Venters knew that the riders had wondered at Oldring’s inactivity in that +particular field. He and his band had been active enough in their visits to +Glaze and Cottonwoods; they always had gold; but of late the amount gambled +away and drunk and thrown away in the villages had given rise to much +conjecture. Oldring’s more frequent visits had resulted in new saloons, +and where there had formerly been one raid or shooting fray in the little +hamlets there were now many. Perhaps Oldring had another range farther on up +the pass, and from there drove the cattle to distant Utah towns where he was +little known. But Venters came finally to doubt this. And, from what he had +learned in the last few days, a belief began to form in Venters’s mind +that Oldring’s intimidations of the villages and the mystery of the +Masked Rider, with his alleged evil deeds, and the fierce resistance offered +any trailing riders, and the rustling of cattle—these things were only +the craft of the rustler-chief to conceal his real life and purpose and work in +Deception Pass. +</p> + +<p> +And like a scouting Indian Venters crawled through the sage of the oval valley, +crossed trail after trail on the north side, and at last entered the cañon out +of which headed the cattle trail, and into which he had watched the rustlers +disappear. +</p> + +<p> +If he had used caution before, now he strained every nerve to force himself to +creeping stealth and to sensitiveness of ear. He crawled along so hidden that +he could not use his eyes except to aid himself in the toilsome progress +through the brakes and ruins of cliff-wall. Yet from time to time, as he +rested, he saw the massive red walls growing higher and wilder, more looming +and broken. He made note of the fact that he was turning and climbing. The sage +and thickets of oak and brakes of alder gave place to piñon pine growing out +of rocky soil. Suddenly a low, dull murmur assailed his ears. At first he +thought it was thunder, then the slipping of a weathered slope of rock. But it +was incessant, and as he progressed it filled out deeper and from a murmur +changed into a soft roar. +</p> + +<p> +“Falling water,” he said. “There’s volume to that. I +wonder if it’s the stream I lost.” +</p> + +<p> +The roar bothered him, for he could hear nothing else. Likewise, however, no +rustlers could hear him. Emboldened by this and sure that nothing but a bird +could see him, he arose from his hands and knees to hurry on. An opening in the +piñons warned him that he was nearing the height of slope. +</p> + +<p> +He gained it, and dropped low with a burst of astonishment. Before him +stretched a short cañon with rounded stone floor bare of grass or sage or +tree, and with curved, shelving walls. A broad rippling stream flowed toward +him, and at the back of the cañon waterfall burst from a wide rent in the +cliff, and, bounding down in two green steps, spread into a long white sheet. +</p> + +<p> +If Venters had not been indubitably certain that he had entered the right +cañon his astonishment would not have been so great. There had been no breaks +in the walls, no side cañons entering this one where the rustlers’ +tracks and the cattle trail had guided him, and, therefore, he could not be +wrong. But here the cañon ended, and presumably the trails also. +</p> + +<p> +“That cattle trail headed out of here,” Venters kept saying to +himself. “It headed out. Now what I want to know is how on earth did +cattle ever get in here?” +</p> + +<p> +If he could be sure of anything it was of the careful scrutiny he had given +that cattle track, every hoofmark of which headed straight west. He was now +looking east at an immense round boxed corner of cañon down which tumbled a +thin, white veil of water, scarcely twenty yards wide. Somehow, somewhere, his +calculations had gone wrong. For the first time in years he found himself +doubting his rider’s skill in finding tracks, and his memory of what he +had actually seen. In his anxiety to keep under cover he must have lost himself +in this offshoot of Deception Pass, and thereby in some unaccountable manner, +missed the cañon with the trails. There was nothing else for him to think. +Rustlers could not fly, nor cattle jump down thousand-foot precipices. He was +only proving what the sage-riders had long said of this labyrinthine system of +deceitful cañons and valleys—trails led down into Deception Pass, but no +rider had ever followed them. +</p> + +<p> +On a sudden he heard above the soft roar of the waterfall an unusual sound that +he could not define. He dropped flat behind a stone and listened. From the +direction he had come swelled something that resembled a strange muffled +pounding and splashing and ringing. Despite his nerve the chill sweat began to +dampen his forehead. What might not be possible in this stonewalled maze of +mystery? The unnatural sound passed beyond him as he lay gripping his rifle and +fighting for coolness. Then from the open came the sound, now distinct and +different. Venters recognized a hobble-bell of a horse, and the cracking of +iron on submerged stones, and the hollow splash of hoofs in water. +</p> + +<p> +Relief surged over him. His mind caught again at realities, and curiosity +prompted him to peep from behind the rock. +</p> + +<p> +In the middle of the stream waded a long string of packed burros driven by +three superbly mounted men. Had Venters met these dark-clothed, dark-visaged, +heavily armed men anywhere in Utah, let alone in this robbers’ retreat, +he would have recognized them as rustlers. The discerning eye of a rider saw +the signs of a long, arduous trip. These men were packing in supplies from one +of the northern villages. They were tired, and their horses were almost played +out, and the burros plodded on, after the manner of their kind when exhausted, +faithful and patient, but as if every weary, splashing, slipping step would be +their last. +</p> + +<p> +All this Venters noted in one glance. After that he watched with a thrilling +eagerness. Straight at the waterfall the rustlers drove the burros, and +straight through the middle, where the water spread into a fleecy, thin film +like dissolving smoke. Following closely, the rustlers rode into this white +mist, showing in bold black relief for an instant, and then they vanished. +</p> + +<p> +Venters drew a full breath that rushed out in brief and sudden utterance. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Heaven! Of all the holes for a rustler!... There’s a cavern +under that waterfall, and a passageway leading out to a cañon beyond. Oldring +hides in there. He needs only to guard a trail leading down from the sage-flat +above. Little danger of this outlet to the pass being discovered. I stumbled on +it by luck, after I had given up. And now I know the truth of what puzzled me +most—why that cattle trail was wet!” +</p> + +<p> +He wheeled and ran down the slope, and out to the level of the sage-brush. +Returning, he had no time to spare, only now and then, between dashes, a moment +when he stopped to cast sharp eyes ahead. The abundant grass left no trace of +his trail. Short work he made of the distance to the circle of cañons. He +doubted that he would ever see it again; he knew he never wanted to; yet he +looked at the red corners and towers with the eyes of a rider picturing +landmarks never to be forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +Here he spent a panting moment in a slow-circling gaze of the sage-oval and the +gaps between the bluffs. Nothing stirred except the gentle wave of the tips of +the brush. Then he pressed on past the mouths of several cañons and over +ground new to him, now close under the eastern wall. This latter part proved to +be easy traveling, well screened from possible observation from the north and +west, and he soon covered it and felt safer in the deepening shade of his own +cañon. Then the huge, notched bulge of red rim loomed over him, a mark by +which he knew again the deep cove where his camp lay hidden. As he penetrated +the thicket, safe again for the present, his thoughts reverted to the girl he +had left there. The afternoon had far advanced. How would he find her? He ran +into camp, frightening the dogs. +</p> + +<p> +The girl lay with wide-open, dark eyes, and they dilated when he knelt beside +her. The flush of fever shone in her cheeks. He lifted her and held water to +her dry lips, and felt an inexplicable sense of lightness as he saw her swallow +in a slow, choking gulp. Gently he laid her back. +</p> + +<p> +“Who—are—you?” she whispered, haltingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m the man who shot you,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll—not—kill me—now?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no.” +</p> + +<p> +“What—will—you—do—with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“When you get better—strong enough—I’ll take you back +to the cañon where the rustlers ride through the waterfall.” +</p> + +<p> +As with a faint shadow from a flitting wing overhead, the marble whiteness of +her face seemed to change. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t—take—me—back—there!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"></a> +CHAPTER VI.<br /> +THE MILL-WHEEL OF STEERS</h2> + +<p> +Meantime, at the ranch, when Judkins’s news had sent Venters on the trail +of the rustlers, Jane Withersteen led the injured man to her house and with +skilled fingers dressed the gunshot wound in his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, what do you think happened to my riders?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I d rather not say,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me. Whatever you’ll tell me I’ll keep to myself. +I’m beginning to worry about more than the loss of a herd of cattle. +Venters hinted of—but tell me, Judkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Miss Withersteen, I think as Venters thinks—your riders have +been called in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins!... By whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know who handles the reins of your Mormon riders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you dare insinuate that my churchmen have ordered in my +riders?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t insinuatin’ nothin’, Miss Withersteen,” +answered Judkins, with spirit. “I know what I’m talking about. I +didn’t want to tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can’t believe that! I’ll not believe it! Would Tull +leave my herds at the mercy of rustlers and wolves just +because—because—? No, no! It’s unbelievable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, thet particular thing’s onheard of around Cottonwoods. But, +beggin’ pardon, Miss Withersteen, there never was any other rich Mormon +woman here on the border, let alone one thet’s taken the bit between her +teeth.” +</p> + +<p> +That was a bold thing for the reserved Judkins to say, but it did not anger +her. This rider’s crude hint of her spirit gave her a glimpse of what +others might think. Humility and obedience had been hers always. But had she +taken the bit between her teeth? Still she wavered. And then, with quick spurt +of warm blood along her veins, she thought of Black Star when he got the bit +fast between his iron jaws and ran wild in the sage. If she ever started to +run! Jane smothered the glow and burn within her, ashamed of a passion for +freedom that opposed her duty. +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, go to the village,” she said, “and when you have +learned anything definite about my riders please come to me at once.” +</p> + +<p> +When he had gone Jane resolutely applied her mind to a number of tasks that of +late had been neglected. Her father had trained her in the management of a +hundred employees and the working of gardens and fields; and to keep record of +the movements of cattle and riders. And beside the many duties she had added to +this work was one of extreme delicacy, such as required all her tact and +ingenuity. It was an unobtrusive, almost secret aid which she rendered to the +Gentile families of the village. Though Jane Withersteen never admitted so to +herself, it amounted to no less than a system of charity. But for her invention +of numberless kinds of employment, for which there was no actual need, these +families of Gentiles, who had failed in a Mormon community, would have starved. +</p> + +<p> +In aiding these poor people Jane thought she deceived her keen churchmen, but +it was a kind of deceit for which she did not pray to be forgiven. Equally as +difficult was the task of deceiving the Gentiles, for they were as proud as +they were poor. It had been a great grief to her to discover how these people +hated her people; and it had been a source of great joy that through her they +had come to soften in hatred. At any time this work called for a clearness of +mind that precluded anxiety and worry; but under the present circumstances it +required all her vigor and obstinate tenacity to pin her attention upon her +task. +</p> + +<p> +Sunset came, bringing with the end of her labor a patient calmness and power to +wait that had not been hers earlier in the day. She expected Judkins, but he +did not appear. Her house was always quiet; to-night, however, it seemed +unusually so. At supper her women served her with a silent assiduity; it spoke +what their sealed lips could not utter—the sympathy of Mormon women. Jerd +came to her with the key of the great door of the stone stable, and to make his +daily report about the horses. One of his daily duties was to give Black Star +and Night and the other racers a ten-mile run. This day it had been omitted, +and the boy grew confused in explanations that she had not asked for. She did +inquire if he would return on the morrow, and Jerd, in mingled surprise and +relief, assured her he would always work for her. Jane missed the rattle and +trot, canter and gallop of the incoming riders on the hard trails. Dusk shaded +the grove where she walked; the birds ceased singing; the wind sighed through +the leaves of the cottonwoods, and the running water murmured down its +stone-bedded channel. The glimmering of the first star was like the peace and +beauty of the night. Her faith welled up in her heart and said that all would +soon be right in her little world. She pictured Venters about his lonely +camp-fire sitting between his faithful dogs. She prayed for his safety, for the +success of his undertaking. +</p> + +<p> +Early the next morning one of Jane’s women brought in word that Judkins +wished to speak to her. She hurried out, and in her surprise to see him armed +with rifle and revolver, she forgot her intention to inquire about his wound. +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins! Those guns? You never carried guns.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s high time, Miss Withersteen,” he replied. “Will +you come into the grove? It ain’t jest exactly safe for me to be seen +here.” +</p> + +<p> +She walked with him into the shade of the cottonwoods. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen, I went to my mother’s house last night. While +there, some one knocked, an’ a man asked for me. I went to the door. He +wore a mask. He said I’d better not ride any more for Jane Withersteen. +His voice was hoarse an’ strange, disguised I reckon, like his face. He +said no more, an’ ran off in the dark.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know who he was?” asked Jane, in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane did not ask to know; she did not want to know; she feared to know. All her +calmness fled at a single thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Thet’s why I’m packin’ guns,” went on Judkins. +“For I’ll never quit ridin’ for you, Miss Withersteen, till +you let me go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, do you want to leave me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I look thet way? Give me a hoss—a fast hoss, an’ send me +out on the sage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, thank you, Judkins! You’re more faithful than my own people. I +ought not accept your loyalty—you might suffer more through it. But what +in the world can I do? My head whirls. The wrong to Venters—the stolen +herd—these masks, threats, this coil in the dark! I can’t +understand! But I feel something dark and terrible closing in around me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen, it’s all simple enough,” said Judkins, +earnestly. “Now please listen—an’ beggin’ your +pardon—jest turn thet deaf Mormon ear aside, an’ let me talk clear +an’ plain in the other. I went around to the saloons an’ the stores +an’ the loafin’ places yesterday. All your riders are in. +There’s talk of a vigilance band organized to hunt down rustlers. They +call themselves ‘The Riders.’ Thet’s the +report—thet’s the reason given for your riders leavin’ you. +Strange thet only a few riders of other ranchers joined the band! An’ +Tull’s man, Jerry Card—he’s the leader. I seen him en’ +his hoss. He ain’t been to Glaze. I’m not easy to fool on the looks +of a hoss thet’s traveled the sage. Tull an’ Jerry didn’t +ride to Glaze!... Well, I met Blake en’ Dorn, both good friends of mine, +usually, as far as their Mormon lights will let ’em go. But these fellers +couldn’t fool me, an’ they didn’t try very hard. I asked +them, straight out like a man, why they left you like thet. I didn’t +forget to mention how you nursed Blake’s poor old mother when she was +sick, an’ how good you was to Dorn’s kids. They looked ashamed, +Miss Withersteen. An’ they jest froze up—thet dark set look thet +makes them strange an’ different to me. But I could tell the difference +between thet first natural twinge of conscience an’ the later look of +some secret thing. An’ the difference I caught was thet they +couldn’t help themselves. They hadn’t no say in the matter. They +looked as if their bein’ unfaithful to you was bein’ faithful to a +higher duty. An’ there’s the secret. Why it’s as plain +as—as sight of my gun here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Plain!... My herds to wander in the sage—to be stolen! Jane +Withersteen a poor woman! Her head to be brought low and her spirit broken!... +Why, Judkins, it’s plain enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen, let me get what boys I can gather, an’ hold the +white herd. It’s on the slope now, not ten miles out—three thousand +head, an’ all steers. They’re wild, an’ likely to stampede at +the pop of a jack-rabbit’s ears. We’ll camp right with them, +en’ try to hold them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, I’ll reward you some day for your service, unless all is +taken from me. Get the boys and tell Jerd to give you pick of my horses, except +Black Star and Night. But—do not shed blood for my cattle nor heedlessly +risk your lives.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen rushed to the silence and seclusion of her room, and there +could not longer hold back the bursting of her wrath. She went stone-blind in +the fury of a passion that had never before showed its power. Lying upon her +bed, sightless, voiceless, she was a writhing, living flame. And she tossed +there while her fury burned and burned, and finally burned itself out. +</p> + +<p> +Then, weak and spent, she lay thinking, not of the oppression that would break +her, but of this new revelation of self. Until the last few days there had been +little in her life to rouse passions. Her forefathers had been Vikings, savage +chieftains who bore no cross and brooked no hindrance to their will. Her father +had inherited that temper; and at times, like antelope fleeing before fire on +the slope, his people fled from his red rages. Jane Withersteen realized that +the spirit of wrath and war had lain dormant in her. She shrank from black +depths hitherto unsuspected. The one thing in man or woman that she scorned +above all scorn, and which she could not forgive, was hate. Hate headed a +flaming pathway straight to hell. All in a flash, beyond her control there had +been in her a birth of fiery hate. And the man who had dragged her peaceful and +loving spirit to this degradation was a minister of God’s word, an Elder +of her church, the counselor of her beloved Bishop. +</p> + +<p> +The loss of herds and ranges, even of Amber Spring and the Old Stone House, no +longer concerned Jane Withersteen, she faced the foremost thought of her life, +what she now considered the mightiest problem—the salvation of her soul. +</p> + +<p> +She knelt by her bedside and prayed; she prayed as she had never prayed in all +her life—prayed to be forgiven for her sin to be immune from that dark, +hot hate; to love Tull as her minister, though she could not love him as a man; +to do her duty by her church and people and those dependent upon her bounty; to +hold reverence of God and womanhood inviolate. +</p> + +<p> +When Jane Withersteen rose from that storm of wrath and prayer for help she was +serene, calm, sure—a changed woman. She would do her duty as she saw it, +live her life as her own truth guided her. She might never be able to marry a +man of her choice, but she certainly never would become the wife of Tull. Her +churchmen might take her cattle and horses, ranges and fields, her corrals and +stables, the house of Withersteen and the water that nourished the village of +Cottonwoods; but they could not force her to marry Tull, they could not change +her decision or break her spirit. Once resigned to further loss, and sure of +herself, Jane Withersteen attained a peace of mind that had not been hers for a +year. She forgave Tull, and felt a melancholy regret over what she knew he +considered duty, irrespective of his personal feeling for her. First of all, +Tull, as he was a man, wanted her for himself; and secondly, he hoped to save +her and her riches for his church. She did not believe that Tull had been +actuated solely by his minister’s zeal to save her soul. She doubted her +interpretation of one of his dark sayings—that if she were lost to him +she might as well be lost to heaven. Jane Withersteen’s common sense took +arms against the binding limits of her religion; and she doubted that her +Bishop, whom she had been taught had direct communication with God—would +damn her soul for refusing to marry a Mormon. As for Tull and his churchmen, +when they had harassed her, perhaps made her poor, they would find her +unchangeable, and then she would get back most of what she had lost. So she +reasoned, true at last to her faith in all men, and in their ultimate goodness. +</p> + +<p> +The clank of iron hoofs upon the stone courtyard drew her hurriedly from her +retirement. There, beside his horse, stood Lassiter, his dark apparel and the +great black gun-sheaths contrasting singularly with his gentle smile. +Jane’s active mind took up her interest in him and her half-determined +desire to use what charm she had to foil his evident design in visiting +Cottonwoods. If she could mitigate his hatred of Mormons, or at least keep him +from killing more of them, not only would she be saving her people, but also be +leading back this bloodspiller to some semblance of the human. +</p> + +<p> +“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said, black sombrero in hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter I’m not an old woman, or even a madam,” she +replied, with her bright smile. “If you can’t say Miss +Withersteen—call me Jane.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon Jane would be easier. First names are always handy for +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, use mine, then. Lassiter, I’m glad to see you. I’m in +trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +Then she told him of Judkins’s return, of the driving of the red herd, of +Venters’s departure on Wrangle, and the calling-in of her riders. +</p> + +<p> +“’Pears to me you’re some smilin’ an’ pretty for +a woman with so much trouble,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter! Are you paying me compliments? But, seriously I’ve made +up my mind not to be miserable. I’ve lost much, and I’ll lose more. +Nevertheless, I won’t be sour, and I hope I’ll never be +unhappy—again.” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter twisted his hat round and round, as was his way, and took his time in +replying. +</p> + +<p> +“Women are strange to me. I got to back-trailin’ myself from them +long ago. But I’d like a game woman. Might I ask, seein’ as how you +take this trouble, if you’re goin’ to fight?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fight! How? Even if I would, I haven’t a friend except that boy +who doesn’t dare stay in the village.” +</p> + +<p> +“I make bold to say, ma’am—Jane—that there’s +another, if you want him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!... Thank you. But how can I accept you as a friend? Think! +Why, you’d ride down into the village with those terrible guns and kill +my enemies—who are also my churchmen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I might be riled up to jest about that,” he replied, +dryly. +</p> + +<p> +She held out both hands to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter! I’ll accept your friendship—be proud of +it—return it—if I may keep you from killing another Mormon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you one thing,” he said, bluntly, as the gray +lightning formed in his eyes. “You’re too good a woman to be +sacrificed as you’re goin’ to be.... No, I reckon you an’ me +can’t be friends on such terms.” +</p> + +<p> +In her earnestness she stepped closer to him, repelled yet fascinated by the +sudden transition of his moods. That he would fight for her was at once +horrible and wonderful. +</p> + +<p> +“You came here to kill a man—the man whom Milly Erne—” +</p> + +<p> +“The man who dragged Milly Erne to hell—put it that way!... Jane +Withersteen, yes, that’s why I came here. I’d tell so much to no +other livin’ soul.... There’re things such a woman as you’d +never dream of—so don’t mention her again. Not till you tell me the +name of the man!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell you! I? Never!” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon you will. An’ I’ll never ask you. I’m a man +of strange beliefs an’ ways of thinkin’, an’ I seem to see +into the future an’ feel things hard to explain. The trail I’ve +been followin’ for so many years was twisted en’ tangled, but +it’s straightenin’ out now. An’, Jane Withersteen, you +crossed it long ago to ease poor Milly’s agony. That, whether you want or +not, makes Lassiter your friend. But you cross it now strangely to mean +somethin’ to me—God knows what!—unless by your noble +blindness to incite me to greater hatred of Mormon men.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane felt swayed by a strength that far exceeded her own. In a clash of wills +with this man she would go to the wall. If she were to influence him it must be +wholly through womanly allurement. There was that about Lassiter which +commanded her respect. She had abhorred his name; face to face with him, she +found she feared only his deeds. His mystic suggestion, his foreshadowing of +something that she was to mean to him, pierced deep into her mind. She believed +fate had thrown in her way the lover or husband of Milly Erne. She believed +that through her an evil man might be reclaimed. His allusion to what he called +her blindness terrified her. Such a mistaken idea of his might unleash the +bitter, fatal mood she sensed in him. At any cost she must placate this man; +she knew the die was cast, and that if Lassiter did not soften to a +woman’s grace and beauty and wiles, then it would be because she could +not make him. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon you’ll hear no more such talk from me,” Lassiter +went on, presently. “Now, Miss Jane, I rode in to tell you that your herd +of white steers is down on the slope behind them big ridges. An’ I seen +somethin’ goin’ on that’d be mighty interestin’ to you, +if you could see it. Have you a field-glass?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have two glasses. I’ll get them and ride out with you. +Wait, Lassiter, please,” she said, and hurried within. Sending word to +Jerd to saddle Black Star and fetch him to the court, she then went to her room +and changed to the riding-clothes she always donned when going into the sage. +In this male attire her mirror showed her a jaunty, handsome rider. If she +expected some little need of admiration from Lassiter, she had no cause for +disappointment. The gentle smile that she liked, which made of him another +person, slowly overspread his face. +</p> + +<p> +“If I didn’t take you for a boy!” he exclaimed. +“It’s powerful queer what difference clothes make. Now I’ve +been some scared of your dignity, like when the other night you was all in +white but in this rig—” +</p> + +<p> +Black Star came pounding into the court, dragging Jerd half off his feet, and +he whistled at Lassiter’s black. But at sight of Jane all his defiant +lines seemed to soften, and with tosses of his beautiful head he whipped his +bridle. +</p> + +<p> +“Down, Black Star, down,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +He dropped his head, and, slowly lengthening, he bent one foreleg, then the +other, and sank to his knees. Jane slipped her left foot in the stirrup, swung +lightly into the saddle, and Black Star rose with a ringing stamp. It was not +easy for Jane to hold him to a canter through the grove, and like the wind he +broke when he saw the sage. Jane let him have a couple of miles of free running +on the open trail, and then she coaxed him in and waited for her companion. +Lassiter was not long in catching up, and presently they were riding side by +side. It reminded her how she used to ride with Venters. Where was he now? She +gazed far down the slope to the curved purple lines of Deception Pass and +involuntarily shut her eyes with a trembling stir of nameless fear. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll turn off here,” Lassiter said, “en’ take +to the sage a mile or so. The white herd is behind them big ridges.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you going to show me?” asked Jane. “I’m +prepared—don’t be afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled as if he meant that bad news came swiftly enough without being +presaged by speech. +</p> + +<p> +When they reached the lee of a rolling ridge Lassiter dismounted, motioning to +her to do likewise. They left the horses standing, bridles down. Then Lassiter, +carrying the field-glasses began to lead the way up the slow rise of ground. +Upon nearing the summit he halted her with a gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon we’d see more if we didn’t show ourselves against +the sky,” he said. “I was here less than an hour ago. Then the herd +was seven or eight miles south, an’ if they ain’t bolted +yet—” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!... Bolted?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I said. Now let’s see.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane climbed a few more paces behind him and then peeped over the ridge. Just +beyond began a shallow swale that deepened and widened into a valley and then +swung to the left. Following the undulating sweep of sage, Jane saw the +straggling lines and then the great body of the white herd. She knew enough +about steers, even at a distance of four or five miles, to realize that +something was in the wind. Bringing her field-glass into use, she moved it +slowly from left to right, which action swept the whole herd into range. The +stragglers were restless; the more compactly massed steers were browsing. Jane +brought the glass back to the big sentinels of the herd, and she saw them trot +with quick steps, stop short and toss wide horns, look everywhere, and then +trot in another direction. +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins hasn’t been able to get his boys together yet,” said +Jane. “But he’ll be there soon. I hope not too late. Lassiter, +what’s frightening those big leaders?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothin’ jest on the minute,” replied Lassiter. “Them +steers are quietin’ down. They’ve been scared, but not bad yet. I +reckon the whole herd has moved a few miles this way since I was here.” +</p> + +<p> +“They didn’t browse that distance—not in less than an hour. +Cattle aren’t sheep.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, they jest run it, en’ that looks bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, what frightened them?” repeated Jane, impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Put down your glass. You’ll see at first better with a naked eye. +Now look along them ridges on the other side of the herd, the ridges where the +sun shines bright on the sage.... That’s right. Now look en’ look +hard en’ wait.” +</p> + +<p> +Long-drawn moments of straining sight rewarded Jane with nothing save the low, +purple rim of ridge and the shimmering sage. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s begun again!” whispered Lassiter, and he gripped her +arm. “Watch.... There, did you see that?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no. Tell me what to look for?” +</p> + +<p> +“A white flash—a kind of pin-point of quick light—a gleam as +from sun shinin’ on somethin’ white.” +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Jane’s concentrated gaze caught a fleeting glint. Quickly she +brought her glass to bear on the spot. Again the purple sage, magnified in +color and size and wave, for long moments irritated her with its monotony. Then +from out of the sage on the ridge flew up a broad, white object, flashed in the +sunlight and vanished. Like magic it was, and bewildered Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth is that?” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus04"></a> +<img src="images/img04.jpg" width="463" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“What on earth is that?”</p> +</div> + +<p> +“I reckon there’s some one behind that ridge throwin’ up a +sheet or a white blanket to reflect the sunshine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” queried Jane, more bewildered than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“To stampede the herd,” replied Lassiter, and his teeth clicked. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” She made a fierce, passionate movement, clutched the glass +tightly, shook as with the passing of a spasm, and then dropped her head. +Presently she raised it to greet Lassiter with something like a smile. +“My righteous brethren are at work again,” she said, in scorn. She +had stifled the leap of her wrath, but for perhaps the first time in her life a +bitter derision curled her lips. Lassiter’s cool gray eyes seemed to +pierce her. “I said I was prepared for anything; but that was hardly +true. But why would they—anybody stampede my cattle?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a Mormon’s godly way of bringin’ a woman to her +knees.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, I’ll die before I ever bend my knees. I might be led: I +won’t be driven. Do you expect the herd to bolt?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like the looks of them big steers. But you can never tell. +Cattle sometimes stampede as easily as buffalo. Any little flash or move will +start them. A rider gettin’ down an’ walkin’ toward them +sometimes will make them jump an’ fly. Then again nothin’ seems to +scare them. But I reckon that white flare will do the biz. It’s a new one +on me, an’ I’ve seen some ridin’ an’ rustlin’. It +jest takes one of them God-fearin’ Mormons to think of devilish +tricks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, might not this trick be done by Oldring’s men?” +asked Jane, ever grasping at straws. +</p> + +<p> +“It might be, but it ain’t,” replied Lassiter. +“Oldring’s an honest thief. He don’t skulk behind ridges to +scatter your cattle to the four winds. He rides down on you, an’ if you +don’t like it you can throw a gun.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane bit her tongue to refrain from championing men who at the very moment were +proving to her that they were little and mean compared even with rustlers. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!... Jane, them leadin’ steers have bolted. They’re +drawin’ the stragglers, an’ that’ll pull the whole +herd.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane was not quick enough to catch the details called out by Lassiter, but she +saw the line of cattle lengthening. Then, like a stream of white bees pouring +from a huge swarm, the steers stretched out from the main body. In a few +moments, with astonishing rapidity, the whole herd got into motion. A faint +roar of trampling hoofs came to Jane’s ears, and gradually swelled; low, +rolling clouds of dust began to rise above the sage. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a stampede, an’ a hummer,” said Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lassiter! The herd’s running with the valley! It leads into +the cañon! There’s a straight jump-off!” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon they’ll run into it, too. But that’s a good many +miles yet. An’, Jane, this valley swings round almost north before it +goes east. That stampede will pass within a mile of us.” +</p> + +<p> +The long, white, bobbing line of steers streaked swiftly through the sage, and +a funnel-shaped dust-cloud arose at a low angle. A dull rumbling filled +Jane’s ears. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m thinkin’ of millin’ that herd,” said +Lassiter. His gray glance swept up the slope to the west. “There’s +some specks an’ dust way off toward the village. Mebbe that’s +Judkins an’ his boys. It ain’t likely he’ll get here in time +to help. You’d better hold Black Star here on this high ridge.” +</p> + +<p> +He ran to his horse and, throwing off saddle-bags and tightening the cinches, +he leaped astride and galloped straight down across the valley. +</p> + +<p> +Jane went for Black Star and, leading him to the summit of the ridge, she +mounted and faced the valley with excitement and expectancy. She had heard of +milling stampeded cattle, and knew it was a feat accomplished by only the most +daring riders. +</p> + +<p> +The white herd was now strung out in a line two miles long. The dull rumble of +thousands of hoofs deepened into continuous low thunder, and as the steers +swept swiftly closer the thunder became a heavy roll. Lassiter crossed in a few +moments the level of the valley to the eastern rise of ground and there waited +the coming of the herd. Presently, as the head of the white line reached a +point opposite to where Jane stood, Lassiter spurred his black into a run. +</p> + +<p> +Jane saw him take a position on the off side of the leaders of the stampede, +and there he rode. It was like a race. They swept on down the valley, and when +the end of the white line neared Lassiter’s first stand the head had +begun to swing round to the west. It swung slowly and stubbornly, yet surely, +and gradually assumed a long, beautiful curve of moving white. To Jane’s +amaze she saw the leaders swinging, turning till they headed back toward her +and up the valley. Out to the right of these wild plunging steers ran +Lassiter’s black, and Jane’s keen eye appreciated the fleet stride +and sure-footedness of the blind horse. Then it seemed that the herd moved in a +great curve, a huge half-moon with the points of head and tail almost opposite, +and a mile apart. But Lassiter relentlessly crowded the leaders, sheering them +to the left, turning them little by little. And the dust-blinded wild followers +plunged on madly in the tracks of their leaders. This ever-moving, +ever-changing curve of steers rolled toward Jane and when below her, scarce +half a mile, it began to narrow and close into a circle. Lassiter had ridden +parallel with her position, turned toward her, then aside, and now he was +riding directly away from her, all the time pushing the head of that bobbing +line inward. +</p> + +<p> +It was then that Jane, suddenly understanding Lassiter’s feat stared and +gasped at the riding of this intrepid man. His horse was fleet and tireless, +but blind. He had pushed the leaders around and around till they were about to +turn in on the inner side of the end of that line of steers. The leaders were +already running in a circle; the end of the herd was still running almost +straight. But soon they would be wheeling. Then, when Lassiter had the circle +formed, how would he escape? With Jane Withersteen prayer was as ready as +praise; and she prayed for this man’s safety. A circle of dust began to +collect. Dimly, as through a yellow veil, Jane saw Lassiter press the leaders +inward to close the gap in the sage. She lost sight of him in the dust, again +she thought she saw the black, riderless now, rear and drag himself and fall. +Lassiter had been thrown—lost! Then he reappeared running out of the dust +into the sage. He had escaped, and she breathed again. +</p> + +<p> +Spellbound, Jane Withersteen watched this stupendous millwheel of steers. Here +was the milling of the herd. The white running circle closed in upon the open +space of sage. And the dust circles closed above into a pall. The ground quaked +and the incessant thunder of pounding hoofs rolled on. Jane felt deafened, yet +she thrilled to a new sound. As the circle of sage lessened the steers began to +bawl, and when it closed entirely there came a great upheaval in the center, +and a terrible thumping of heads and clicking of horns. Bawling, climbing, +goring, the great mass of steers on the inside wrestled in a crashing din, +heaved and groaned under the pressure. Then came a deadlock. The inner strife +ceased, and the hideous roar and crash. Movement went on in the outer circle, +and that, too, gradually stilled. The white herd had come to a stop, and the +pall of yellow dust began to drift away on the wind. +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen waited on the ridge with full and grateful heart. Lassiter +appeared, making his weary way toward her through the sage. And up on the slope +Judkins rode into sight with his troop of boys. For the present, at least, the +white herd would be looked after. +</p> + +<p> +When Lassiter reached her and laid his hand on Black Star’s mane, Jane +could not find speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Killed—my—hoss,” he panted. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I’m sorry,” cried Jane. “Lassiter! I know you +can’t replace him, but I’ll give you any one of my +racers—Bells, or Night, even Black Star.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll take a fast hoss, Jane, but not one of your favorites,” +he replied. “Only—will you let me have Black Star now an’ +ride him over there an’ head off them fellers who stampeded the +herd?” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed to several moving specks of black and puffs of dust in the purple +sage. +</p> + +<p> +“I can head them off with this hoss, an’ then—” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, Lassiter?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll never stampede no more cattle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! No! No!... Lassiter, I won’t let you go!” +</p> + +<p> +But a flush of fire flamed in her cheeks, and her trembling hands shook Black +Star’s bridle, and her eyes fell before Lassiter’s. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"></a> +CHAPTER VII.<br /> +THE DAUGHTER OF WITHERSTEEN</h2> + +<p> +“Lassiter, will you be my rider?” Jane had asked him. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon so,” he had replied. +</p> + +<p> +Few as the words were, Jane knew how infinitely much they implied. She wanted +him to take charge of her cattle and horse and ranges, and save them if that +were possible. Yet, though she could not have spoken aloud all she meant, she +was perfectly honest with herself. Whatever the price to be paid, she must keep +Lassiter close to her; she must shield from him the man who had led Milly Erne +to Cottonwoods. In her fear she so controlled her mind that she did not whisper +this Mormon’s name to her own soul, she did not even think it. Besides, +beyond this thing she regarded as a sacred obligation thrust upon her, was the +need of a helper, of a friend, of a champion in this critical time. If she +could rule this gun-man, as Venters had called him, if she could even keep him +from shedding blood, what strategy to play his flame and his presence against +the game of oppression her churchmen were waging against her? Never would she +forget the effect on Tull and his men when Venters shouted Lassiter’s +name. If she could not wholly control Lassiter, then what she could do might +put off the fatal day. +</p> + +<p> +One of her safe racers was a dark bay, and she called him Bells because of the +way he struck his iron shoes on the stones. When Jerd led out this slender, +beautifully built horse Lassiter suddenly became all eyes. A rider’s love +of a thoroughbred shone in them. Round and round Bells he walked, plainly +weakening all the time in his determination not to take one of Jane’s +favorite racers. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, you’re half horse, and Bells sees it already,” +said Jane, laughing. “Look at his eyes. He likes you. He’ll love +you, too. How can you resist him? Oh, Lassiter, but Bells can run! It’s +nip and tuck between him and Wrangle, and only Black Star can beat him. +He’s too spirited a horse for a woman. Take him. He’s yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“I jest am weak where a hoss’s concerned,” said Lassiter. +“I’ll take him, an’ I’ll take your orders, +ma’am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m glad, but never mind the ma’am. Let it still be +Jane.” +</p> + +<p> +From that hour, it seemed, Lassiter was always in the saddle, riding early and +late, and coincident with his part in Jane’s affairs the days assumed +their old tranquillity. Her intelligence told her this was only the lull before +the storm, but her faith would not have it so. +</p> + +<p> +She resumed her visits to the village, and upon one of these she encountered +Tull. He greeted her as he had before any trouble came between them, and she, +responsive to peace if not quick to forget, met him halfway with manner almost +cheerful. He regretted the loss of her cattle; he assured her that the +vigilantes which had been organized would soon rout the rustlers; when that had +been accomplished her riders would likely return to her. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve done a headstrong thing to hire this man Lassiter,” +Tull went on, severely. “He came to Cottonwoods with evil intent.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had to have somebody. And perhaps making him my rider may turn out +best in the end for the Mormons of Cottonwoods.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean to stay his hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do—if I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“A woman like you can do anything with a man. That would be well, and +would atone in some measure for the errors you have made.” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed and passed on. Jane resumed her walk with conflicting thoughts. She +resented Elder Tull’s cold, impassive manner that looked down upon her as +one who had incurred his just displeasure. Otherwise he would have been the +same calm, dark-browed, impenetrable man she had known for ten years. In fact, +except when he had revealed his passion in the matter of the seizing of +Venters, she had never dreamed he could be other than the grave, reproving +preacher. He stood out now a strange, secretive man. She would have thought +better of him if he had picked up the threads of their quarrel where they had +parted. Was Tull what he appeared to be? The question flung itself +in-voluntarily over Jane Withersteen’s inhibitive habit of faith without +question. And she refused to answer it. Tull could not fight in the open. +Venters had said, Lassiter had said, that her Elder shirked fight and worked in +the dark. Just now in this meeting Tull had ignored the fact that he had sued, +exhorted, demanded that she marry him. He made no mention of Venters. His +manner was that of the minister who had been outraged, but who overlooked the +frailties of a woman. Beyond question he seemed unutterably aloof from all +knowledge of pressure being brought to bear upon her, absolutely guiltless of +any connection with secret power over riders, with night journeys, with +rustlers and stampedes of cattle. And that convinced her again of unjust +suspicions. But it was convincement through an obstinate faith. She shuddered +as she accepted it, and that shudder was the nucleus of a terrible revolt. +</p> + +<p> +Jane turned into one of the wide lanes leading from the main street and entered +a huge, shady yard. Here were sweet-smelling clover, alfalfa, flowers, and +vegetables, all growing in happy confusion. And like these fresh green things +were the dozens of babies, tots, toddlers, noisy urchins, laughing girls, a +whole multitude of children of one family. For Collier Brandt, the father of +all this numerous progeny, was a Mormon with four wives. +</p> + +<p> +The big house where they lived was old, solid, picturesque, the lower part +built of logs, the upper of rough clapboards, with vines growing up the outside +stone chimneys. There were many wooden-shuttered windows, and one pretentious +window of glass proudly curtained in white. As this house had four mistresses, +it likewise had four separate sections, not one of which communicated with +another, and all had to be entered from the outside. +</p> + +<p> +In the shade of a wide, low, vine-roofed porch Jane found Brandt’s wives +entertaining Bishop Dyer. They were motherly women, of comparatively similar +ages, and plain-featured, and just at this moment anything but grave. The +Bishop was rather tall, of stout build, with iron-gray hair and beard, and eyes +of light blue. They were merry now; but Jane had seen them when they were not, +and then she feared him as she had feared her father. +</p> + +<p> +The women flocked around her in welcome. +</p> + +<p> +“Daughter of Withersteen,” said the Bishop, gaily, as he took her +hand, “you have not been prodigal of your gracious self of late. A +Sabbath without you at service! I shall reprove Elder Tull.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bishop, the guilt is mine. I’ll come to you and confess,” +Jane replied, lightly; but she felt the undercurrent of her words. +</p> + +<p> +“Mormon love-making!” exclaimed the Bishop, rubbing his hands. +“Tull keeps you all to himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. He is not courting me.” +</p> + +<p> +“What? The laggard! If he does not make haste I’ll go a-courting +myself up to Withersteen House.” +</p> + +<p> +There was laughter and further bantering by the Bishop, and then mild talk of +village affairs, after which he took his leave, and Jane was left with her +friend, Mary Brandt. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, you’re not yourself. Are you sad about the rustling of the +cattle? But you have so many, you are so rich.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Jane confided in her, telling much, yet holding back her doubts of fear. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, why don’t you marry Tull and be one of us?” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Mary, I don’t love Tull,” said Jane, stubbornly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t blame you for that. But, Jane Withersteen, you’ve +got to choose between the love of man and love of God. Often we Mormon women +have to do that. It’s not easy. The kind of happiness you want I wanted +once. I never got it, nor will you, unless you throw away your soul. +We’ve all watched your affair with Venters in fear and trembling. Some +dreadful thing will come of it. You don’t want him hanged or +shot—or treated worse, as that Gentile boy was treated in Glaze for +fooling round a Mormon woman. Marry Tull. It’s your duty as a Mormon. +You’ll feel no rapture as his wife—but think of Heaven! Mormon +women don’t marry for what they expect on earth. Take up the cross, Jane. +Remember your father found Amber Spring, built these old houses, brought +Mormons here, and fathered them. You are the daughter of Withersteen!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane left Mary Brandt and went to call upon other friends. They received her +with the same glad welcome as had Mary, lavished upon her the pent-up affection +of Mormon women, and let her go with her ears ringing of Tull, Venters, +Lassiter, of duty to God and glory in Heaven. +</p> + +<p> +“Verily,” murmured Jane, “I don’t know myself when, +through all this, I remain unchanged—nay, more fixed of purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +She returned to the main street and bent her thoughtful steps toward the center +of the village. A string of wagons drawn by oxen was lumbering along. These +“sage-freighters,” as they were called, hauled grain and flour and +merchandise from Sterling, and Jane laughed suddenly in the midst of her +humility at the thought that they were her property, as was one of the three +stores for which they freighted goods. The water that flowed along the path at +her feet, and turned into each cottage-yard to nourish garden and orchard, also +was hers, no less her private property because she chose to give it free. Yet +in this village of Cottonwoods, which her father had founded and which she +maintained she was not her own mistress; she was not able to abide by her own +choice of a husband. She was the daughter of Withersteen. Suppose she proved +it, imperiously! But she quelled that proud temptation at its birth. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing could have replaced the affection which the village people had for her; +no power could have made her happy as the pleasure her presence gave. As she +went on down the street past the stores with their rude platform entrances, and +the saloons where tired horses stood with bridles dragging, she was again +assured of what was the bread and wine of life to her—that she was loved. +Dirty boys playing in the ditch, clerks, teamsters, riders, loungers on the +corners, ranchers on dusty horses, little girls running errands, and women +hurrying to the stores all looked up at her coming with glad eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Jane’s various calls and wandering steps at length led her to the Gentile +quarter of the village. This was at the extreme southern end, and here some +thirty Gentile families lived in huts and shacks and log-cabins and several +dilapidated cottages. The fortunes of these inhabitants of Cottonwoods could be +read in their abodes. Water they had in abundance, and therefore grass and +fruit-trees and patches of alfalfa and vegetable gardens. Some of the men and +boys had a few stray cattle, others obtained such intermittent employment as +the Mormons reluctantly tendered them. But none of the families was prosperous, +many were very poor, and some lived only by Jane Withersteen’s +beneficence. +</p> + +<p> +As it made Jane happy to go among her own people, so it saddened her to come in +contact with these Gentiles. Yet that was not because she was unwelcome; here +she was gratefully received by the women, passionately by the children. But +poverty and idleness, with their attendant wretchedness and sorrow, always hurt +her. That she could alleviate this distress more now than ever before proved +the adage that it was an ill wind that blew nobody good. While her Mormon +riders were in her employ she had found few Gentiles who would stay with her, +and now she was able to find employment for all the men and boys. No little +shock was it to have man after man tell her that he dare not accept her kind +offer. +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t do,” said one Carson, an intelligent man who had +seen better days. “We’ve had our warning. Plain and to the point! +Now there’s Judkins, he packs guns, and he can use them, and so can the +daredevil boys he’s hired. But they’ve little responsibility. Can +we risk having our homes burned in our absence?” +</p> + +<p> +Jane felt the stretching and chilling of the skin of her face as the blood left +it. +</p> + +<p> +“Carson, you and the others rent these houses?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to know, Miss Withersteen. Some of them are yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know?... Carson, I never in my life took a day’s labor for rent +or a yearling calf or a bunch of grass, let alone gold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bivens, your store-keeper, sees to that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Carson,” went on Jane, hurriedly, and now her cheeks +were burning. “You and Black and Willet pack your goods and move your +families up to my cabins in the grove. They’re far more comfortable than +these. Then go to work for me. And if aught happens to you there I’ll +give you money—gold enough to leave Utah!” +</p> + +<p> +The man choked and stammered, and then, as tears welled into his eyes, he found +the use of his tongue and cursed. No gentle speech could ever have equaled that +curse in eloquent expression of what he felt for Jane Withersteen. How +strangely his look and tone reminded her of Lassiter! +</p> + +<p> +“No, it won’t do,” he said, when he had somewhat recovered +himself. “Miss Withersteen, there are things that you don’t know, +and there’s not a soul among us who can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I seem to be learning many things, Carson. Well, then, will you let me +aid you—say till better times?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will,” he replied, with his face lighting up. “I see +what it means to you, and you know what it means to me. Thank you! And if +better times ever come, I’ll be only too happy to work for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Better times will come. I trust God and have faith in man. Good day, +Carson.” +</p> + +<p> +The lane opened out upon the sage-inclosed alfalfa fields, and the last +habitation, at the end of that lane of hovels, was the meanest. Formerly it had +been a shed; now it was a home. The broad leaves of a wide-spreading cottonwood +sheltered the sunken roof of weathered boards. Like an Indian hut, it had one +floor. Round about it were a few scanty rows of vegetables, such as the hand of +a weak woman had time and strength to cultivate. This little dwelling-place was +just outside the village limits, and the widow who lived there had to carry her +water from the nearest irrigation ditch. As Jane Withersteen entered the +unfenced yard a child saw her, shrieked with joy, and came tearing toward her +with curls flying. This child was a little girl of four called Fay. Her name +suited her, for she was an elf, a sprite, a creature so fairy-like and +beautiful that she seemed unearthly. +</p> + +<p> +“Muvver sended for oo,” cried Fay, as Jane kissed her, +“an’ oo never tome.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know, Fay; but I’ve come now.” +</p> + +<p> +Fay was a child of outdoors, of the garden and ditch and field, and she was +dirty and ragged. But rags and dirt did not hide her beauty. The one thin +little bedraggled garment she wore half covered her fine, slim body. Red as +cherries were her cheeks and lips; her eyes were violet blue, and the crown of +her childish loveliness was the curling golden hair. All the children of +Cottonwoods were Jane Withersteen’s friends, she loved them all. But Fay +was dearest to her. Fay had few playmates, for among the Gentile children there +were none near her age, and the Mormon children were forbidden to play with +her. So she was a shy, wild, lonely child. +</p> + +<p> +“Muvver’s sick,” said Fay, leading Jane toward the door of +the hut. +</p> + +<p> +Jane went in. There was only one room, rather dark and bare, but it was clean +and neat. A woman lay upon a bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Larkin, how are you?” asked Jane, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been pretty bad for a week, but I’m better now.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t been here all alone—with no one to wait on +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no! My women neighbors are kind. They take turns coming in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you send for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, several times.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I had no word—no messages ever got to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I sent the boys, and they left word with your women that I was ill and +would you please come.” +</p> + +<p> +A sudden deadly sickness seized Jane. She fought the weakness, as she fought to +be above suspicious thoughts, and it passed, leaving her conscious of her utter +impotence. That, too, passed as her spirit rebounded. But she had again caught +a glimpse of dark underhand domination, running its secret lines this time into +her own household. Like a spider in the blackness of night an unseen hand had +begun to run these dark lines, to turn and twist them about her life, to plait +and weave a web. Jane Withersteen knew it now, and in the realization further +coolness and sureness came to her, and the fighting courage of her ancestors. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Larkin, you’re better, and I’m so glad,” said +Jane. “But may I not do something for you—a turn at nursing, or +send you things, or take care of Fay?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re so good. Since my husband’s been gone what would have +become of Fay and me but for you? It was about Fay that I wanted to speak to +you. This time I thought surely I’d die, and I was worried about Fay. +Well, I’ll be around all right shortly, but my strength’s gone and +I won’t live long. So I may as well speak now. You remember you’ve +been asking me to let you take Fay and bring her up as your daughter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed yes, I remember. I’ll be happy to have her. But I hope the +day—” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind that. The day’ll come—sooner or later. I refused +your offer, and now I’ll tell you why.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know why,” interposed Jane. “It’s because you +don’t want her brought up as a Mormon.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it wasn’t altogether that.” Mrs. Larkin raised her thin +hand and laid it appealingly on Jane’s. “I don’t like to tell +you. But—it’s this: I told all my friends what you wanted. They +know you, care for you, and they said for me to trust Fay to you. Women will +talk, you know. It got to the ears of Mormons—gossip of your love for Fay +and your wanting her. And it came straight back to me, in jealousy, perhaps, +that you wouldn’t take Fay as much for love of her as because of your +religious duty to bring up another girl for some Mormon to marry.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a damnable lie!” cried Jane Withersteen. +</p> + +<p> +“It was what made me hesitate,” went on Mrs. Larkin, “but I +never believed it at heart. And now I guess I’ll let you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait! Mrs. Larkin, I may have told little white lies in my life, but +never a lie that mattered, that hurt any one. Now believe me. I love little +Fay. If I had her near me I’d grow to worship her. When I asked for her I +thought only of that love.... Let me prove this. You and Fay come to live with +me. I’ve such a big house, and I’m so lonely. I’ll help nurse +you, take care of you. When you’re better you can work for me. I’ll +keep little Fay and bring her up—without Mormon teaching. When +she’s grown, if she should want to leave me, I’ll send her, and not +empty-handed, back to Illinois where you came from. I promise you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew it was a lie,” replied the mother, and she sank back upon +her pillow with something of peace in her white, worn face. “Jane +Withersteen, may Heaven bless you! I’ve been deeply grateful to you. But +because you’re a Mormon I never felt close to you till now. I don’t +know much about religion as religion, but your God and my God are the +same.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"></a> +CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +SURPRISE VALLEY</h2> + +<p> +Back in that strange cañon, which Venters had found indeed a valley of +surprises, the wounded girl’s whispered appeal, almost a prayer, not to +take her back to the rustlers crowned the events of the last few days with a +confounding climax. That she should not want to return to them staggered +Venters. Presently, as logical thought returned, her appeal confirmed his first +impression—that she was more unfortunate than bad—and he +experienced a sensation of gladness. If he had known before that +Oldring’s Masked Rider was a woman his opinion would have been formed and +he would have considered her abandoned. But his first knowledge had come when +he lifted a white face quivering in a convulsion of agony; he had heard +God’s name whispered by blood-stained lips; through her solemn and awful +eyes he had caught a glimpse of her soul. And just now had come the entreaty to +him, “Don’t—take—me—back—there!” +</p> + +<p> +Once for all Venters’s quick mind formed a permanent conception of this +poor girl. He based it, not upon what the chances of life had made her, but +upon the revelation of dark eyes that pierced the infinite, upon a few pitiful, +halting words that betrayed failure and wrong and misery, yet breathed the +truth of a tragic fate rather than a natural leaning to evil. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your name?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess what?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s enough—just Bess.” +</p> + +<p> +The red that deepened in her cheeks was not all the flush of fever. Venters +marveled anew, and this time at the tint of shame in her face, at the momentary +drooping of long lashes. She might be a rustler’s girl, but she was still +capable of shame, she might be dying, but she still clung to some little +remnant of honor. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Bess. It doesn’t matter,” he said. “But +this matters—what shall I do with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are—you—a rider?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Not now. I was once. I drove the Withersteen herds. But I lost my +place—lost all I owned—and now I’m—I’m a sort of +outcast. My name’s Bern Venters.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t—take me—to Cottonwoods—or Glaze? +I’d be—hanged.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed. But I must do something with you. For it’s not safe +for me here. I shot that rustler who was with you. Sooner or later he’ll +be found, and then my tracks. I must find a safer hiding-place where I +can’t be trailed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave me—here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alone—to die!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not.” Venters spoke shortly with a kind of ring in his +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What—do you want—to do—with me?” Her whispering +grew difficult, so low and faint that Venters had to stoop to hear her. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, let’s see,” he replied, slowly. “I’d like +to take you some place where I could watch by you, nurse you, till you’re +all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“And—then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’ll be time to think of that when you’re cured of +your wound. It’s a bad one. And—Bess, if you don’t want to +live—if you don’t fight for life—you’ll +never—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I want—to live! I’m afraid—to die. But I’d +rather—die—than go back—to—to—” +</p> + +<p> +“To Oldring?” asked Venters, interrupting her in turn. +</p> + +<p> +Her lips moved in an affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“I promise not to take you back to him or to Cottonwoods or to +Glaze.” +</p> + +<p> +The mournful earnestness of her gaze suddenly shone with unutterable gratitude +and wonder. And as suddenly Venters found her eyes beautiful as he had never +seen or felt beauty. They were as dark blue as the sky at night. Then the +flashing changed to a long, thoughtful look, in which there was a wistful, +unconscious searching of his face, a look that trembled on the verge of hope +and trust. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try—to live,” she said. The broken whisper just +reached his ears. “Do what—you want—with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rest then—don’t worry—sleep,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +Abruptly he arose, as if words had been decision for him, and with a sharp +command to the dogs he strode from the camp. Venters was conscious of an +indefinite conflict of change within him. It seemed to be a vague passing of +old moods, a dim coalescing of new forces, a moment of inexplicable transition. +He was both cast down and uplifted. He wanted to think and think of the +meaning, but he resolutely dispelled emotion. His imperative need at present +was to find a safe retreat, and this called for action. +</p> + +<p> +So he set out. It still wanted several hours before dark. This trip he turned +to the left and wended his skulking way southward a mile or more to the opening +of the valley, where lay the strange scrawled rocks. He did not, however, +venture boldly out into the open sage, but clung to the right-hand wall and +went along that till its perpendicular line broke into the long incline of bare +stone. +</p> + +<p> +Before proceeding farther he halted, studying the strange character of this +slope and realizing that a moving black object could be seen far against such +background. Before him ascended a gradual swell of smooth stone. It was hard, +polished, and full of pockets worn by centuries of eddying rain-water. A +hundred yards up began a line of grotesque cedar-trees, and they extended along +the slope clear to its most southerly end. Beyond that end Venters wanted to +get, and he concluded the cedars, few as they were, would afford some cover. +</p> + +<p> +Therefore he climbed swiftly. The trees were farther up than he had estimated, +though he had from long habit made allowance for the deceiving nature of +distances in that country. When he gained the cover of cedars he paused to rest +and look, and it was then he saw how the trees sprang from holes in the bare +rock. Ages of rain had run down the slope, circling, eddying in depressions, +wearing deep round holes. There had been dry seasons, accumulations of dust, +wind-blown seeds, and cedars rose wonderfully out of solid rock. But these were +not beautiful cedars. They were gnarled, twisted into weird contortions, as if +growth were torture, dead at the tops, shrunken, gray, and old. Theirs had been +a bitter fight, and Venters felt a strange sympathy for them. This country was +hard on trees—and men. +</p> + +<p> +He slipped from cedar to cedar, keeping them between him and the open valley. +As he progressed, the belt of trees widened and he kept to its upper margin. He +passed shady pockets half full of water, and, as he marked the location for +possible future need, he reflected that there had been no rain since the winter +snows. From one of these shady holes a rabbit hopped out and squatted down, +laying its ears flat. +</p> + +<p> +Venters wanted fresh meat now more than when he had only himself to think of. +But it would not do to fire his rifle there. So he broke off a cedar branch and +threw it. He crippled the rabbit, which started to flounder up the slope. +Venters did not wish to lose the meat, and he never allowed crippled game to +escape, to die lingeringly in some covert. So after a careful glance below, and +back toward the cañon, he began to chase the rabbit. +</p> + +<p> +The fact that rabbits generally ran uphill was not new to him. But it presently +seemed singular why this rabbit, that might have escaped downward, chose to +ascend the slope. Venters knew then that it had a burrow higher up. More than +once he jerked over to seize it, only in vain, for the rabbit by renewed effort +eluded his grasp. Thus the chase continued on up the bare slope. The farther +Venters climbed the more determined he grew to catch his quarry. At last, +panting and sweating, he captured the rabbit at the foot of a steeper grade. +Laying his rifle on the bulge of rising stone, he killed the animal and slung +it from his belt. +</p> + +<p> +Before starting down he waited to catch his breath. He had climbed far up that +wonderful smooth slope, and had almost reached the base of yellow cliff that +rose skyward, a huge scarred and cracked bulk. It frowned down upon him as if +to forbid further ascent. Venters bent over for his rifle, and, as he picked it +up from where it leaned against the steeper grade, he saw several little nicks +cut in the solid stone. +</p> + +<p> +They were only a few inches deep and about a foot apart. Venters began to count +them—one—two—three—four—on up to sixteen. That +number carried his glance to the top of his first bulging bench of cliff-base. +Above, after a more level offset, was still steeper slope, and the line of +nicks kept on, to wind round a projecting corner of wall. +</p> + +<p> +A casual glance would have passed by these little dents; if Venters had not +known what they signified he would never have bestowed upon them the second +glance. But he knew they had been cut there by hand, and, though age-worn, he +recognized them as steps cut in the rock by the cliff-dwellers. With a pulse +beginning to beat and hammer away his calmness, he eyed that indistinct line of +steps, up to where the buttress of wall hid further sight of them. He knew that +behind the corner of stone would be a cave or a crack which could never be +suspected from below. Chance, that had sported with him of late, now directed +him to a probable hiding-place. Again he laid aside his rifle, and, removing +boots and belt, he began to walk up the steps. Like a mountain goat, he was +agile, sure-footed, and he mounted the first bench without bending to use his +hands. The next ascent took grip of fingers as well as toes, but he climbed +steadily, swiftly, to reach the projecting corner, and slipped around it. Here +he faced a notch in the cliff. At the apex he turned abruptly into a ragged +vent that split the ponderous wall clear to the top, showing a narrow streak of +blue sky. +</p> + +<p> +At the base this vent was dark, cool, and smelled of dry, musty dust. It +zigzagged so that he could not see ahead more than a few yards at a time. He +noticed tracks of wildcats and rabbits in the dusty floor. At every turn he +expected to come upon a huge cavern full of little square stone houses, each +with a small aperture like a staring dark eye. The passage lightened and +widened, and opened at the foot of a narrow, steep, ascending chute. +</p> + +<p> +Venters had a moment’s notice of the rock, which was of the same +smoothness and hardness as the slope below, before his gaze went irresistibly +upward to the precipitous walls of this wide ladder of granite. These were +ruined walls of yellow sandstone, and so split and splintered, so overhanging +with great sections of balancing rim, so impending with tremendous crumbling +crags, that Venters caught his breath sharply, and, appalled, he instinctively +recoiled as if a step upward might jar the ponderous cliffs from their +foundation. Indeed, it seemed that these ruined cliffs were but awaiting a +breath of wind to collapse and come tumbling down. Venters hesitated. It would +be a foolhardy man who risked his life under the leaning, waiting avalanches of +rock in that gigantic split. Yet how many years had they leaned there without +falling! At the bottom of the incline was an immense heap of weathered +sandstone all crumbling to dust, but there were no huge rocks as large as +houses, such as rested so lightly and frightfully above, waiting patiently and +inevitably to crash down. Slowly split from the parent rock by the weathering +process, and carved and sculptured by ages of wind and rain, they waited their +moment. Venters felt how foolish it was for him to fear these broken walls; to +fear that, after they had endured for thousands of years, the moment of his +passing should be the one for them to slip. Yet he feared it. +</p> + +<p> +“What a place to hide!” muttered Venters. “I’ll +climb—I’ll see where this thing goes. If only I can find +water!” +</p> + +<p> +With teeth tight shut he essayed the incline. And as he climbed he bent his +eyes downward. This, however, after a little grew impossible; he had to look to +obey his eager, curious mind. He raised his glance and saw light between row on +row of shafts and pinnacles and crags that stood out from the main wall. Some +leaned against the cliff, others against each other; many stood sheer and +alone; all were crumbling, cracked, rotten. It was a place of yellow, ragged +ruin. The passage narrowed as he went up; it became a slant, hard for him to +stick on; it was smooth as marble. Finally he surmounted it, surprised to find +the walls still several hundred feet high, and a narrow gorge leading down on +the other side. This was a divide between two inclines, about twenty yards +wide. At one side stood an enormous rock. Venters gave it a second glance, +because it rested on a pedestal. It attracted closer attention. It was like a +colossal pear of stone standing on its stem. Around the bottom were thousands +of little nicks just distinguishable to the eye. They were marks of stone +hatchets. The cliff-dwellers had chipped and chipped away at this boulder till +it rested its tremendous bulk upon a mere pin-point of its surface. Venters +pondered. Why had the little stone-men hacked away at that big boulder? It bore +no semblance to a statue or an idol or a godhead or a sphinx. Instinctively he +put his hands on it and pushed; then his shoulder and heaved. The stone seemed +to groan, to stir, to grate, and then to move. It tipped a little downward and +hung balancing for a long instant, slowly returned, rocked slightly, groaned, +and settled back to its former position. +</p> + +<p> +Venters divined its significance. It had been meant for defense. The +cliff-dwellers, driven by dreaded enemies to this last stand, had cunningly cut +the rock until it balanced perfectly, ready to be dislodged by strong hands. +Just below it leaned a tottering crag that would have toppled, starting an +avalanche on an acclivity where no sliding mass could stop. Crags and +pinnacles, splintered cliffs, and leaning shafts and monuments, would have +thundered down to block forever the outlet to Deception Pass. +</p> + +<p> +“That was a narrow shave for me,” said Venters, soberly. “A +balancing rock! The cliff-dwellers never had to roll it. They died, vanished, +and here the rock stands, probably little changed.... But it might serve +another lonely dweller of the cliffs. I’ll hide up here somewhere, if I +can only find water.” +</p> + +<p> +He descended the gorge on the other side. The slope was gradual, the space +narrow, the course straight for many rods. A gloom hung between the up-sweeping +walls. In a turn the passage narrowed to scarce a dozen feet, and here was +darkness of night. But light shone ahead; another abrupt turn brought day +again, and then wide open space. +</p> + +<p> +Above Venters loomed a wonderful arch of stone bridging the cañon rims, and +through the enormous round portal gleamed and glistened a beautiful valley +shining under sunset gold reflected by surrounding cliffs. He gave a start of +surprise. The valley was a cove a mile long, half that wide, and its enclosing +walls were smooth and stained, and curved inward, forming great caves. He +decided that its floor was far higher than the level of Deception Pass and the +intersecting cañons. No purple sage colored this valley floor. Instead there +were the white of aspens, streaks of branch and slender trunk glistening from +the green of leaves, and the darker green of oaks, and through the middle of +this forest, from wall to wall, ran a winding line of brilliant green which +marked the course of cottonwoods and willows. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s water here—and this is the place for me,” said +Venters. “Only birds can peep over those walls, I’ve gone Oldring +one better.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters waited no longer, and turned swiftly to retrace his steps. He named the +cañon Surprise Valley and the huge boulder that guarded the outlet Balancing +Rock. Going down he did not find himself attended by such fears as had beset +him in the climb; still, he was not easy in mind and could not occupy himself +with plans of moving the girl and his outfit until he had descended to the +notch. There he rested a moment and looked about him. The pass was darkening +with the approach of night. At the corner of the wall, where the stone steps +turned, he saw a spur of rock that would serve to hold the noose of a lasso. He +needed no more aid to scale that place. As he intended to make the move under +cover of darkness, he wanted most to be able to tell where to climb up. So, +taking several small stones with him, he stepped and slid down to the edge of +the slope where he had left his rifle and boots. He placed the stones some +yards apart. He left the rabbit lying upon the bench where the steps began. +Then he addressed a keen-sighted, remembering gaze to the rim-wall above. It +was serrated, and between two spears of rock, directly in line with his +position, showed a zigzag crack that at night would let through the gleam of +sky. This settled, he put on his belt and boots and prepared to descend. Some +consideration was necessary to decide whether or not to leave his rifle there. +On the return, carrying the girl and a pack, it would be added encumbrance; and +after debating the matter he left the rifle leaning against the bench. As he +went straight down the slope he halted every few rods to look up at his mark on +the rim. It changed, but he fixed each change in his memory. When he reached +the first cedar-tree, he tied his scarf upon a dead branch, and then hurried +toward camp, having no more concern about finding his trail upon the return +trip. +</p> + +<p> +Darkness soon emboldened and lent him greater speed. It occurred to him, as he +glided into the grassy glade near camp and head the whinny of a horse, that he +had forgotten Wrangle. The big sorrel could not be gotten into Surprise Valley. +He would have to be left here. +</p> + +<p> +Venters determined at once to lead the other horses out through the thicket and +turn them loose. The farther they wandered from this cañon the better it would +suit him. He easily descried Wrangle through the gloom, but the others were not +in sight. Venters whistled low for the dogs, and when they came trotting to him +he sent them out to search for the horses, and followed. It soon developed that +they were not in the glade nor the thicket. Venters grew cold and rigid at the +thought of rustlers having entered his retreat. But the thought passed, for the +demeanor of Ring and Whitie reassured him. The horses had wandered away. +</p> + +<p> +Under the clump of silver spruces a denser mantle of darkness, yet not so thick +that Venter’s night-practiced eyes could not catch the white oval of a +still face. He bent over it with a slight suspension of breath that was both +caution lest he frighten her and chill uncertainty of feeling lest he find her +dead. But she slept, and he arose to renewed activity. +</p> + +<p> +He packed his saddle-bags. The dogs were hungry, they whined about him and +nosed his busy hands; but he took no time to feed them nor to satisfy his own +hunger. He slung the saddlebags over his shoulders and made them secure with +his lasso. Then he wrapped the blankets closer about the girl and lifted her in +his arms. Wrangle whinnied and thumped the ground as Venters passed him with +the dogs. The sorrel knew he was being left behind, and was not sure whether he +liked it or not. Venters went on and entered the thicket. Here he had to feel +his way in pitch blackness and to wedge his progress between the close +saplings. Time meant little to him now that he had started, and he edged along +with slow side movement till he got clear of the thicket. Ring and Whitie stood +waiting for him. Taking to the open aisles and patches of the sage, he walked +guardedly, careful not to stumble or step in dust or strike against spreading +sage-branches. +</p> + +<p> +If he were burdened he did not feel it. From time to time, when he passed out +of the black lines of shade into the wan starlight, he glanced at the white +face of the girl lying in his arms. She had not awakened from her sleep or +stupor. He did not rest until he cleared the black gate of the cañon. Then he +leaned against a stone breast-high to him and gently released the girl from his +hold. His brow and hair and the palms of his hands were wet, and there was a +kind of nervous contraction of his muscles. They seemed to ripple and string +tense. He had a desire to hurry and no sense of fatigue. A wind blew the scent +of sage in his face. The first early blackness of night passed with the +brightening of the stars. Somewhere back on his trail a coyote yelped, +splitting the dead silence. Venters’s faculties seemed singularly acute. +</p> + +<p> +He lifted the girl again and pressed on. The valley afforded better traveling +than the cañon. It was lighter, freer of sage, and there were no rocks. Soon, +out of the pale gloom shone a still paler thing, and that was the low swell of +slope. Venters mounted it and his dogs walked beside him. Once upon the stone +he slowed to snail pace, straining his sight to avoid the pockets and holes. +Foot by foot he went up. The weird cedars, like great demons and witches +chained to the rock and writhing in silent anguish, loomed up with wide and +twisting naked arms. Venters crossed this belt of cedars, skirted the upper +border, and recognized the tree he had marked, even before he saw his waving +scarf. +</p> + +<p> +Here he knelt and deposited the girl gently, feet first and slowly laid her out +full length. What he feared was to reopen one of her wounds. If he gave her a +violent jar, or slipped and fell! But the supreme confidence so strangely felt +that night admitted no such blunders. +</p> + +<p> +The slope before him seemed to swell into obscurity to lose its definite +outline in a misty, opaque cloud that shaded into the over-shadowing wall. He +scanned the rim where the serrated points speared the sky, and he found the +zigzag crack. It was dim, only a shade lighter than the dark ramparts, but he +distinguished it, and that served. +</p> + +<p> +Lifting the girl, he stepped upward, closely attending to the nature of the +path under his feet. After a few steps he stopped to mark his line with the +crack in the rim. The dogs clung closer to him. While chasing the rabbit this +slope had appeared interminable to him; now, burdened as he was, he did not +think of length or height or toil. He remembered only to avoid a misstep and to +keep his direction. He climbed on, with frequent stops to watch the rim, and +before he dreamed of gaining the bench he bumped his knees into it, and saw, in +the dim gray light, his rifle and the rabbit. He had come straight up without +mishap or swerving off his course, and his shut teeth unlocked. +</p> + +<p> +As he laid the girl down in the shallow hollow of the little ridge with her +white face upturned, she opened her eyes. Wide, staring black, at once like +both the night and the stars, they made her face seem still whiter. +</p> + +<p> +“Is—it—you?” she asked, faintly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Where—are we?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m taking you to a safe place where no one will ever find you. I +must climb a little here and call the dogs. Don’t be afraid. I’ll +soon come for you.” +</p> + +<p> +She said no more. Her eyes watched him steadily for a moment and then closed. +Venters pulled off his boots and then felt for the little steps in the rock. +The shade of the cliff above obscured the point he wanted to gain, but he could +see dimly a few feet before him. What he had attempted with care he now went at +with surpassing lightness. Buoyant, rapid, sure, he attained the corner of wall +and slipped around it. Here he could not see a hand before his face, so he +groped along, found a little flat space, and there removed the saddle-bags. The +lasso he took back with him to the corner and looped the noose over the spur of +rock. +</p> + +<p> +“Ring—Whitie—come,” he called, softly. +</p> + +<p> +Low whines came up from below. +</p> + +<p> +“Here! Come, Whitie—Ring,” he repeated, this time sharply. +</p> + +<p> +Then followed scraping of claws and pattering of feet; and out of the gray +gloom below him swiftly climbed the dogs to reach his side and pass beyond. +</p> + +<p> +Venters descended, holding to the lasso. He tested its strength by throwing all +his weight upon it. Then he gathered the girl up, and, holding her securely in +his left arm, he began to climb, at every few steps jerking his right hand +upward along the lasso. It sagged at each forward movement he made, but he +balanced himself lightly during the interval when he lacked the support of a +taut rope. He climbed as if he had wings, the strength of a giant, and knew not +the sense of fear. The sharp corner of cliff seemed to cut out of the darkness. +He reached it and the protruding shelf, and then, entering the black shade of +the notch, he moved blindly but surely to the place where he had left the +saddle-bags. He heard the dogs, though he could not see them. Once more he +carefully placed the girl at his feet. Then, on hands and knees, he went over +the little flat space, feeling for stones. He removed a number, and, scraping +the deep dust into a heap, he unfolded the outer blanket from around the girl +and laid her upon this bed. Then he went down the slope again for his boots, +rifle, and the rabbit, and, bringing also his lasso with him, he made short +work of that trip. +</p> + +<p> +“Are—you—there?” The girl’s voice came low from +the blackness. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he replied, and was conscious that his laboring breast made +speech difficult. +</p> + +<p> +“Are we—in a cave?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, listen!... The waterfall!... I hear it! You’ve brought me +back!” +</p> + +<p> +Venters heard a murmuring moan that one moment swelled to a pitch almost softly +shrill and the next lulled to a low, almost inaudible sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s—wind blowing—in the—cliffs,” he +panted. “You’re far from Oldring’s—cañon.” +</p> + +<p> +The effort it cost him to speak made him conscious of extreme lassitude +following upon great exertion. It seemed that when he lay down and drew his +blanket over him the action was the last before utter prostration. He stretched +inert, wet, hot, his body one great strife of throbbing, stinging nerves and +bursting veins. And there he lay for a long while before he felt that he had +begun to rest. +</p> + +<p> +Rest came to him that night, but no sleep. Sleep he did not want. The hours of +strained effort were now as if they had never been, and he wanted to think. +Earlier in the day he had dismissed an inexplicable feeling of change; but now, +when there was no longer demand on his cunning and strength and he had time to +think, he could not catch the illusive thing that had sadly perplexed as well +as elevated his spirit. +</p> + +<p> +Above him, through a V-shaped cleft in the dark rim of the cliff, shone the +lustrous stars that had been his lonely accusers for a long, long year. +To-night they were different. He studied them. Larger, whiter, more radiant +they seemed; but that was not the difference he meant. Gradually it came to him +that the distinction was not one he saw, but one he felt. In this he divined as +much of the baffling change as he thought would be revealed to him then. And as +he lay there, with the singing of the cliff-winds in his ears, the white stars +above the dark, bold vent, the difference which he felt was that he was no +longer alone. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"></a> +CHAPTER IX.<br /> +SILVER SPRUCE AND ASPENS</h2> + +<p> +The rest of that night seemed to Venters only a few moments of starlight, a +dark overcasting of sky, an hour or so of gray gloom, and then the lighting of +dawn. +</p> + +<p> +When he had bestirred himself, feeding the hungry dogs and breaking his long +fast, and had repacked his saddle-bags, it was clear daylight, though the sun +had not tipped the yellow wall in the east. He concluded to make the climb and +descent into Surprise Valley in one trip. To that end he tied his blanket upon +Ring and gave Whitie the extra lasso and the rabbit to carry. Then, with the +rifle and saddle-bags slung upon his back, he took up the girl. She did not +awaken from heavy slumber. +</p> + +<p> +That climb up under the rugged, menacing brows of the broken cliffs, in the +face of a grim, leaning boulder that seemed to be weary of its age-long +wavering, was a tax on strength and nerve that Venters felt equally with +something sweet and strangely exulting in its accomplishment. He did not pause +until he gained the narrow divide and there he rested. Balancing Rock loomed +huge, cold in the gray light of dawn, a thing without life, yet it spoke +silently to Venters: “I am waiting to plunge down, to shatter and crash, +roar and boom, to bury your trail, and close forever the outlet to Deception +Pass!” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus05"></a> +<img src="images/img05.jpg" width="460" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">He did not pause until he gained the narrow divide</p> +</div> + +<p> +On the descent of the other side Venters had easy going, but was somewhat +concerned because Whitie appeared to have succumbed to temptation, and while +carrying the rabbit was also chewing on it. And Ring evidently regarded this as +an injury to himself, especially as he had carried the heavier load. Presently +he snapped at one end of the rabbit and refused to let go. But his action +prevented Whitie from further misdoing, and then the two dogs pattered down, +carrying the rabbit between them. +</p> + +<p> +Venters turned out of the gorge, and suddenly paused stock-still, astounded at +the scene before him. The curve of the great stone bridge had caught the +sunrise, and through the magnificent arch burst a glorious stream of gold that +shone with a long slant down into the center of Surprise Valley. Only through +the arch did any sunlight pass, so that all the rest of the valley lay still +asleep, dark green, mysterious, shadowy, merging its level into walls as misty +and soft as morning clouds. +</p> + +<p> +Venters then descended, passing through the arch, looking up at its tremendous +height and sweep. It spanned the opening to Surprise Valley, stretching in +almost perfect curve from rim to rim. Even in his hurry and concern Venters +could not but feel its majesty, and the thought came to him that the +cliff-dwellers must have regarded it as an object of worship. +</p> + +<p> +Down, down, down Venters strode, more and more feeling the weight of his burden +as he descended, and still the valley lay below him. As all other cañons and +coves and valleys had deceived him, so had this deep, nestling oval. At length +he passed beyond the slope of weathered stone that spread fan-shape from the +arch, and encountered a grassy terrace running to the right and about on a +level with the tips of the oaks and cottonwoods below. Scattered here and there +upon this shelf were clumps of aspens, and he walked through them into a glade +that surpassed in beauty and adaptability for a wild home, any place he had +ever seen. Silver spruces bordered the base of a precipitous wall that rose +loftily. Caves indented its surface, and there were no detached ledges or +weathered sections that might dislodge a stone. The level ground, beyond the +spruces, dropped down into a little ravine. This was one dense line of slender +aspens from which came the low splashing of water. And the terrace, lying open +to the west, afforded unobstructed view of the valley of green treetops. +</p> + +<p> +For his camp Venters chose a shady, grassy plot between the silver spruces and +the cliff. Here, in the stone wall, had been wonderfully carved by wind or +washed by water several deep caves above the level of the terrace. They were +clean, dry, roomy. +</p> + +<p> +He cut spruce boughs and made a bed in the largest cave and laid the girl +there. The first intimation that he had of her being aroused from sleep or +lethargy was a low call for water. +</p> + +<p> +He hurried down into the ravine with his canteen. It was a shallow, grass-green +place with aspens growing up everywhere. To his delight he found a tiny brook +of swift-running water. Its faint tinge of amber reminded him of the spring at +Cottonwoods, and the thought gave him a little shock. The water was so cold it +made his fingers tingle as he dipped the canteen. Having returned to the cave, +he was glad to see the girl drink thirstily. This time he noted that she could +raise her head slightly without his help. +</p> + +<p> +“You were thirsty,” he said. “It’s good water. +I’ve found a fine place. Tell me—how do you feel?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s pain—here,” she replied, and moved her hand to +her left side. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that’s strange! Your wounds are on your right side. I believe +you’re hungry. Is the pain a kind of dull ache—a gnawing?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s like—that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s hunger.” Venters laughed, and suddenly caught +himself with a quick breath and felt again the little shock. When had he +laughed? “It’s hunger,” he went on. “I’ve had +that gnaw many a time. I’ve got it now. But you mustn’t eat. You +can have all the water you want, but no food just yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t I—starve?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, people don’t starve easily. I’ve discovered that. You +must lie perfectly still and rest and sleep—for days.” +</p> + +<p> +“My hands—are dirty; my face feels—so hot and sticky; my +boots hurt.” It was her longest speech as yet, and it trailed off in a +whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m a fine nurse!” +</p> + +<p> +It annoyed him that he had never thought of these things. But then, awaiting +her death and thinking of her comfort were vastly different matters. He +unwrapped the blanket which covered her. What a slender girl she was! No wonder +he had been able to carry her miles and pack her up that slippery ladder of +stone. Her boots were of soft, fine leather, reaching clear to her knees. He +recognized the make as one of a boot-maker in Sterling. Her spurs, that he had +stupidly neglected to remove, consisted of silver frames and gold chains, and +the rowels, large as silver dollars, were fancifully engraved. The boots +slipped off rather hard. She wore heavy woollen rider’s stockings, half +length, and these were pulled up over the ends of her short trousers. Venters +took off the stockings to note her little feet were red and swollen. He bathed +them. Then he removed his scarf and bathed her face and hands. +</p> + +<p> +“I must see your wounds now,” he said, gently. +</p> + +<p> +She made no reply, but watched him steadily as he opened her blouse and untied +the bandage. His strong fingers trembled a little as he removed it. If the +wounds had reopened! A chill struck him as he saw the angry red bullet-mark, +and a tiny stream of blood winding from it down her white breast. Very +carefully he lifted her to see that the wound in her back had closed perfectly. +Then he washed the blood from her breast, bathed the wound, and left it +unbandaged, open to the air. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes thanked him. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen,” he said, earnestly. “I’ve had some wounds, +and I’ve seen many. I know a little about them. The hole in your back has +closed. If you lie still three days the one in your breast will close and +you’ll be safe. The danger from hemorrhage will be over.” +</p> + +<p> +He had spoken with earnest sincerity, almost eagerness. +</p> + +<p> +“Why—do you—want me—to get well?” she asked, +wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +The simple question seemed unanswerable except on grounds of humanity. But the +circumstances under which he had shot this strange girl, the shock and +realization, the waiting for death, the hope, had resulted in a condition of +mind wherein Venters wanted her to live more than he had ever wanted anything. +Yet he could not tell why. He believed the killing of the rustler and the +subsequent excitement had disturbed him. For how else could he explain the +throbbing of his brain, the heat of his blood, the undefined sense of full +hours, charged, vibrant with pulsating mystery where once they had dragged in +loneliness? +</p> + +<p> +“I shot you,” he said, slowly, “and I want you to get well so +I shall not have killed a woman. But—for your own sake, too—” +</p> + +<p> +A terrible bitterness darkened her eyes, and her lips quivered. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush,” said Venters. “You’ve talked too much +already.” +</p> + +<p> +In her unutterable bitterness he saw a darkness of mood that could not have +been caused by her present weak and feverish state. She hated the life she had +led, that she probably had been compelled to lead. She had suffered some +unforgivable wrong at the hands of Oldring. With that conviction Venters felt a +shame throughout his body, and it marked the rekindling of fierce anger and +ruthlessness. In the past long year he had nursed resentment. He had hated the +wilderness—the loneliness of the uplands. He had waited for something to +come to pass. It had come. Like an Indian stealing horses he had skulked into +the recesses of the cañons. He had found Oldring’s retreat; he had +killed a rustler; he had shot an unfortunate girl, then had saved her from this +unwitting act, and he meant to save her from the consequent wasting of blood, +from fever and weakness. Starvation he had to fight for her and for himself. +Where he had been sick at the letting of blood, now he remembered it in grim, +cold calm. And as he lost that softness of nature, so he lost his fear of men. +He would watch for Oldring, biding his time, and he would kill this great +black-bearded rustler who had held a girl in bondage, who had used her to his +infamous ends. +</p> + +<p> +Venters surmised this much of the change in him—idleness had passed; +keen, fierce vigor flooded his mind and body; all that had happened to him at +Cottonwoods seemed remote and hard to recall; the difficulties and perils of +the present absorbed him, held him in a kind of spell. +</p> + +<p> +First, then, he fitted up the little cave adjoining the girl’s room for +his own comfort and use. His next work was to build a fireplace of stones and +to gather a store of wood. That done, he spilled the contents of his +saddle-bags upon the grass and took stock. His outfit consisted of a +small-handled axe, a hunting-knife, a large number of cartridges for rifle or +revolver, a tin plate, a cup, and a fork and spoon, a quantity of dried beef +and dried fruits, and small canvas bags containing tea, sugar, salt, and +pepper. For him alone this supply would have been bountiful to begin a sojourn +in the wilderness, but he was no longer alone. Starvation in the uplands was +not an unheard-of thing; he did not, however, worry at all on that score, and +feared only his possible inability to supply the needs of a woman in a weakened +and extremely delicate condition. +</p> + +<p> +If there was no game in the valley—a contingency he doubted—it +would not be a great task for him to go by night to Oldring’s herd and +pack out a calf. The exigency of the moment was to ascertain if there were game +in Surprise Valley. Whitie still guarded the dilapidated rabbit, and Ring slept +near by under a spruce. Venters called Ring and went to the edge of the +terrace, and there halted to survey the valley. +</p> + +<p> +He was prepared to find it larger than his unstudied glances had made it +appear; for more than a casual idea of dimensions and a hasty conception of +oval shape and singular beauty he had not had time. Again the felicity of the +name he had given the valley struck him forcibly. Around the red perpendicular +walls, except under the great arc of stone, ran a terrace fringed at the +cliff-base by silver spruces; below that first terrace sloped another wider one +densely overgrown with aspens, and the center of the valley was a level circle +of oaks and alders, with the glittering green line of willows and cottonwood +dividing it in half. Venters saw a number and variety of birds flitting among +the trees. To his left, facing the stone bridge, an enormous cavern opened in +the wall; and low down, just above the tree-tops, he made out a long shelf of +cliff-dwellings, with little black, staring windows or doors. Like eyes they +were, and seemed to watch him. The few cliff-dwellings he had seen—all +ruins—had left him with haunting memory of age and solitude and of +something past. He had come, in a way, to be a cliff-dweller himself, and those +silent eyes would look down upon him, as if in surprise that after thousands of +years a man had invaded the valley. Venters felt sure that he was the only +white man who had ever walked under the shadow of the wonderful stone bridge, +down into that wonderful valley with its circle of caves and its terraced rings +of silver spruce and aspens. +</p> + +<p> +The dog growled below and rushed into the forest. Venters ran down the +declivity to enter a zone of light shade streaked with sunshine. The oak-trees +were slender, none more than half a foot thick, and they grew close together, +intermingling their branches. Ring came running back with a rabbit in his +mouth. Venters took the rabbit and, holding the dog near him, stole softly on. +There were fluttering of wings among the branches and quick bird-notes, and +rustling of dead leaves and rapid patterings. Venters crossed well-worn trails +marked with fresh tracks; and when he had stolen on a little farther he saw +many birds and running quail, and more rabbits than he could count. He had not +penetrated the forest of oaks for a hundred yards, had not approached anywhere +near the line of willows and cottonwoods which he knew grew along a stream. But +he had seen enough to know that Surprise Valley was the home of many wild +creatures. +</p> + +<p> +Venters returned to camp. He skinned the rabbits, and gave the dogs the one +they had quarreled over, and the skin of this he dressed and hung up to dry, +feeling that he would like to keep it. It was a particularly rich, furry pelt +with a beautiful white tail. Venters remembered that but for the bobbing of +that white tail catching his eye he would not have espied the rabbit, and he +would never have discovered Surprise Valley. Little incidents of chance like +this had turned him here and there in Deception Pass; and now they had assumed +to him the significance and direction of destiny. +</p> + +<p> +His good fortune in the matter of game at hand brought to his mind the +necessity of keeping it in the valley. Therefore he took the axe and cut +bundles of aspens and willows, and packed them up under the bridge to the +narrow outlet of the gorge. Here he began fashioning a fence, by driving aspens +into the ground and lacing them fast with willows. Trip after trip he made down +for more building material, and the afternoon had passed when he finished the +work to his satisfaction. Wildcats might scale the fence, but no coyote could +come in to search for prey, and no rabbits or other small game could escape +from the valley. +</p> + +<p> +Upon returning to camp he set about getting his supper at ease, around a fine +fire, without hurry or fear of discovery. After hard work that had definite +purpose, this freedom and comfort gave him peculiar satisfaction. He caught +himself often, as he kept busy round the camp-fire, stopping to glance at the +quiet form in the cave, and at the dogs stretched cozily near him, and then out +across the beautiful valley. The present was not yet real to him. +</p> + +<p> +While he ate, the sun set beyond a dip in the rim of the curved wall. As the +morning sun burst wondrously through a grand arch into this valley, in a +golden, slanting shaft, so the evening sun, at the moment of setting, shone +through a gap of cliffs, sending down a broad red burst to brighten the oval +with a blaze of fire. To Venters both sunrise and sunset were unreal. +</p> + +<p> +A cool wind blew across the oval, waving the tips of oaks, and while the light +lasted, fluttering the aspen leaves into millions of facets of red, and +sweeping the graceful spruces. Then with the wind soon came a shade and a +darkening, and suddenly the valley was gray. Night came there quickly after the +sinking of the sun. Venters went softly to look at the girl. She slept, and her +breathing was quiet and slow. He lifted Ring into the cave, with stern whisper +for him to stay there on guard. Then he drew the blanket carefully over her and +returned to the camp-fire. +</p> + +<p> +Though exceedingly tired, he was yet loath to yield to lassitude, but this +night it was not from listening, watchful vigilance; it was from a desire to +realize his position. The details of his wild environment seemed the only +substance of a strange dream. He saw the darkening rims, the gray oval turning +black, the undulating surface of forest, like a rippling lake, and the +spear-pointed spruces. He heard the flutter of aspen leaves and the soft, +continuous splash of falling water. The melancholy note of a cañon bird broke +clear and lonely from the high cliffs. Venters had no name for this night +singer, and he had never seen one, but the few notes, always pealing out just +at darkness, were as familiar to him as the cañon silence. Then they ceased, +and the rustle of leaves and the murmur of water hushed in a growing sound that +Venters fancied was not of earth. Neither had he a name for this, only it was +inexpressibly wild and sweet. The thought came that it might be a moan of the +girl in her last outcry of life, and he felt a tremor shake him. But no! This +sound was not human, though it was like despair. He began to doubt his +sensitive perceptions, to believe that he half-dreamed what he thought he +heard. Then the sound swelled with the strengthening of the breeze, and he +realized it was the singing of the wind in the cliffs. +</p> + +<p> +By and by a drowsiness overcame him, and Venters began to nod, half asleep, +with his back against a spruce. Rousing himself and calling Whitie, he went to +the cave. The girl lay barely visible in the dimness. Ring crouched beside her, +and the patting of his tail on the stone assured Venters that the dog was awake +and faithful to his duty. Venters sought his own bed of fragrant boughs; and as +he lay back, somehow grateful for the comfort and safety, the night seemed to +steal away from him and he sank softly into intangible space and rest and +slumber. +</p> + +<p> +Venters awakened to the sound of melody that he imagined was only the haunting +echo of dream music. He opened his eyes to another surprise of this valley of +beautiful surprises. Out of his cave he saw the exquisitely fine foliage of the +silver spruces crossing a round space of blue morning sky; and in this lacy +leafage fluttered a number of gray birds with black and white stripes and long +tails. They were mocking-birds, and they were singing as if they wanted to +burst their throats. Venters listened. One long, silver-tipped branch dropped +almost to his cave, and upon it, within a few yards of him, sat one of the +graceful birds. Venters saw the swelling and quivering of its throat in song. +He arose, and when he slid down out of his cave the birds fluttered and flew +farther away. +</p> + +<p> +Venters stepped before the opening of the other cave and looked in. The girl +was awake, with wide eyes and listening look, and she had a hand on +Ring’s neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Mocking-birds!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Venters, “and I believe they like our +company.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are we?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind now. After a little I’ll tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“The birds woke me. When I heard them—and saw the shiny +trees—and the blue sky—and then a blaze of gold dropping +down—I wondered—” +</p> + +<p> +She did not complete her fancy, but Venters imagined he understood her meaning. +She appeared to be wandering in mind. Venters felt her face and hands and found +them burning with fever. He went for water, and was glad to find it almost as +cold as if flowing from ice. That water was the only medicine he had, and he +put faith in it. She did not want to drink, but he made her swallow, and then +he bathed her face and head and cooled her wrists. +</p> + +<p> +The day began with the heightening of the fever. Venters spent the time +reducing her temperature, cooling her hot cheeks and temples. He kept close +watch over her, and at the least indication of restlessness, that he knew led +to tossing and rolling of the body, he held her tightly, so no violent move +could reopen her wounds. Hour after hour she babbled and laughed and cried and +moaned in delirium; but whatever her secret was she did not reveal it. Attended +by something somber for Venters, the day passed. At night in the cool winds the +fever abated and she slept. +</p> + +<p> +The second day was a repetition of the first. On the third he seemed to see her +wither and waste away before his eyes. That day he scarcely went from her side +for a moment, except to run for fresh, cool water; and he did not eat. The +fever broke on the fourth day and left her spent and shrunken, a slip of a girl +with life only in her eyes. They hung upon Venters with a mute observance, and +he found hope in that. +</p> + +<p> +To rekindle the spark that had nearly flickered out, to nourish the little life +and vitality that remained in her, was Venters’s problem. But he had +little resource other than the meat of the rabbits and quail; and from these he +made broths and soups as best he could, and fed her with a spoon. It came to +him that the human body, like the human soul, was a strange thing and capable +of recovering from terrible shocks. For almost immediately she showed faint +signs of gathering strength. There was one more waiting day, in which he +doubted, and spent long hours by her side as she slept, and watched the gentle +swell of her breast rise and fall in breathing, and the wind stir the tangled +chestnut curls. On the next day he knew that she would live. +</p> + +<p> +Upon realizing it he abruptly left the cave and sought his accustomed seat +against the trunk of a big spruce, where once more he let his glance stray +along the sloping terraces. She would live, and the somber gloom lifted out of +the valley, and he felt relief that was pain. Then he roused to the call of +action, to the many things he needed to do in the way of making camp fixtures +and utensils, to the necessity of hunting food, and the desire to explore the +valley. +</p> + +<p> +But he decided to wait a few more days before going far from camp, because he +fancied that the girl rested easier when she could see him near at hand. And on +the first day her languor appeared to leave her in a renewed grip of life. She +awoke stronger from each short slumber; she ate greedily, and she moved about +in her bed of boughs; and always, it seemed to Venters, her eyes followed him. +He knew now that her recovery would be rapid. She talked about the dogs, about +the caves, the valley, about how hungry she was, till Venters silenced her, +asking her to put off further talk till another time. She obeyed, but she sat +up in her bed, and her eyes roved to and fro, and always back to him. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the second morning she sat up when he awakened her, and would not permit +him to bathe her face and feed her, which actions she performed for herself. +She spoke little, however, and Venters was quick to catch in her the first +intimations of thoughtfulness and curiosity and appreciation of her situation. +He left camp and took Whitie out to hunt for rabbits. Upon his return he was +amazed and somewhat anxiously concerned to see his invalid sitting with her +back to a corner of the cave and her bare feet swinging out. Hurriedly he +approached, intending to advise her to lie down again, to tell her that perhaps +she might overtax her strength. The sun shone upon her, glinting on the little +head with its tangle of bright hair and the small, oval face with its pallor, +and dark-blue eyes underlined by dark-blue circles. She looked at him and he +looked at her. In that exchange of glances he imagined each saw the other in +some different guise. It seemed impossible to Venters that this frail girl +could be Oldring’s Masked Rider. It flashed over him that he had made a +mistake which presently she would explain. +</p> + +<p> +“Help me down,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“But—are you well enough?” he protested. “Wait—a +little longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m weak—dizzy. But I want to get down.” +</p> + +<p> +He lifted her—what a light burden now!—and stood her upright beside +him, and supported her as she essayed to walk with halting steps. She was like +a stripling of a boy; the bright, small head scarcely reached his shoulder. But +now, as she clung to his arm, the rider’s costume she wore did not +contradict, as it had done at first, his feeling of her femininity. She might +be the famous Masked Rider of the uplands, she might resemble a boy; but her +outline, her little hands and feet, her hair, her big eyes and tremulous lips, +and especially a something that Venters felt as a subtle essence rather than +what he saw, proclaimed her sex. +</p> + +<p> +She soon tired. He arranged a comfortable seat for her under the spruce that +overspread the camp-fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Now tell me—everything,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He recounted all that had happened from the time of his discovery of the +rustlers in the cañon up to the present moment. +</p> + +<p> +“You shot me—and now you’ve saved my life?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. After almost killing you I’ve pulled you through.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you glad?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should say so!” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were unusually expressive, and they regarded him steadily; she was +unconscious of that mirroring of her emotions and they shone with gratefulness +and interest and wonder and sadness. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me—about yourself?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +He made this a briefer story, telling of his coming to Utah, his various +occupations till he became a rider, and then how the Mormons had practically +driven him out of Cottonwoods, an outcast. +</p> + +<p> +Then, no longer able to withstand his own burning curiosity, he questioned her +in turn. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you Oldring’s Masked Rider?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied, and dropped her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew it—I recognized your figure—and mask, for I saw you +once. Yet I can’t believe it!... But you never <i>were</i> really that +rustler, as we riders knew him? A thief—a marauder—a kidnapper of +women—a murderer of sleeping riders!” +</p> + +<p> +“No! I never stole—or harmed any one—in all my life. I only +rode and rode—” +</p> + +<p> +“But why—why?” he burst out. “Why the name? I +understand Oldring made you ride. But the black mask—the +mystery—the things laid to your hands—the threats in your infamous +name—the night-riding credited to you—the evil deeds deliberately +blamed on you and acknowledged by rustlers—even Oldring himself! Why? +Tell me why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never knew that,” she answered low. Her drooping head +straightened, and the large eyes, larger now and darker, met Venters’s +with a clear, steadfast gaze in which he read truth. It verified his own +conviction. +</p> + +<p> +“Never knew? That’s strange! Are you a Mormon?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Oldring a Mormon?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you—care for him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I hate his men—his life—sometimes I almost hate +him!” +</p> + +<p> +Venters paused in his rapid-fire questioning, as if to brace him self to ask +for a truth that would be abhorrent for him to confirm, but which he seemed +driven to hear. +</p> + +<p> +“What are—what <i>were</i> you to Oldring?” +</p> + +<p> +Like some delicate thing suddenly exposed to blasting heat, the girl wilted; +her head dropped, and into her white, wasted cheeks crept the red of shame. +</p> + +<p> +Venters would have given anything to recall that question. It seemed so +different—his thought when spoken. Yet her shame established in his mind +something akin to the respect he had strangely been hungering to feel for her. +</p> + +<p> +“D—n that question!—forget it!” he cried, in a passion +of pain for her and anger at himself. “But once and for all—tell +me—I know it, yet I want to hear you say so—you couldn’t help +yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that makes it all right with me,” he went on, honestly. +“I—I want you to feel that... you see—we’ve been thrown +together—and—and I want to help you—not hurt you. I thought +life had been cruel to me, but when I think of yours I feel mean and little for +my complaining. Anyway, I was a lonely outcast. And now!... I don’t see +very clearly what it all means. Only we are here—together. We’ve +got to stay here, for long, surely till you are well. But you’ll never go +back to Oldring. And I’m sure helping you will help me, for I was sick in +mind. There’s something now for me to do. And if I can win back your +strength—then get you away, out of this wild country—help you +somehow to a happier life—just think how good that’ll be for +me!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"></a> +CHAPTER X.<br /> +LOVE</h2> + +<p> +During all these waiting days Venters, with the exception of the afternoon when +he had built the gate in the gorge, had scarcely gone out of sight of camp and +never out of hearing. His desire to explore Surprise Valley was keen, and on +the morning after his long talk with the girl he took his rifle and, calling +Ring, made a move to start. The girl lay back in a rude chair of boughs he had +put together for her. She had been watching him, and when he picked up the gun +and called the dog Venters thought she gave a nervous start. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m only going to look over the valley,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you be gone long?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied, and started off. The incident set him thinking of +his former impression that, after her recovery from fever, she did not seem at +ease unless he was close at hand. It was fear of being alone, due, he +concluded, most likely to her weakened condition. He must not leave her much +alone. +</p> + +<p> +As he strode down the sloping terrace, rabbits scampered before him, and the +beautiful valley quail, as purple in color as the sage on the uplands, ran +fleetly along the ground into the forest. It was pleasant under the trees, in +the gold-flecked shade, with the whistle of quail and twittering of birds +everywhere. Soon he had passed the limit of his former excursions and entered +new territory. Here the woods began to show open glades and brooks running down +from the slope, and presently he emerged from shade into the sunshine of a +meadow. The shaking of the high grass told him of the running of animals, what +species he could not tell, but from Ring’s manifest desire to have a +chase they were evidently some kind wilder than rabbits. Venters approached the +willow and cottonwood belt that he had observed from the height of slope. He +penetrated it to find a considerable stream of water and great half-submerged +mounds of brush and sticks, and all about him were old and new gnawed circles +at the base of the cottonwoods. +</p> + +<p> +“Beaver!” he exclaimed. “By all that’s lucky! The +meadow’s full of beaver! How did they ever get here?” +</p> + +<p> +Beaver had not found a way into the valley by the trail of the cliff-dwellers, +of that he was certain; and he began to have more than curiosity as to the +outlet or inlet of the stream. When he passed some dead water, which he noted +was held by a beaver dam, there was a current in the stream, and it flowed +west. Following its course, he soon entered the oak forest again, and passed +through to find himself before massed and jumbled ruins of cliff wall. There +were tangled thickets of wild plum-trees and other thorny growths that made +passage extremely laborsome. He found innumerable tracks of wildcats and foxes. +Rustlings in the thick undergrowth told him of stealthy movements of these +animals. At length his further advance appeared futile, for the reason that the +stream disappeared in a split at the base of immense rocks over which he could +not climb. To his relief he concluded that though beaver might work their way +up the narrow chasm where the water rushed, it would be impossible for men to +enter the valley there. +</p> + +<p> +This western curve was the only part of the valley where the walls had been +split asunder, and it was a wildly rough and inaccessible corner. Going back a +little way, he leaped the stream and headed toward the southern wall. Once out +of the oaks he found again the low terrace of aspens, and above that the wide, +open terrace fringed by silver spruces. This side of the valley contained the +wind or water worn caves. As he pressed on, keeping to the upper terrace, cave +after cave opened out of the cliff; now a large one, now a small one. Then +yawned, quite suddenly and wonderfully above him, the great cavern of the +cliff-dwellers. +</p> + +<p> +It was still a goodly distance, and he tried to imagine, if it appeared so huge +from where he stood, what it would be when he got there. He climbed the terrace +and then faced a long, gradual ascent of weathered rock and dust, which made +climbing too difficult for attention to anything else. At length he entered a +zone of shade, and looked up. He stood just within the hollow of a cavern so +immense that he had no conception of its real dimensions. The curved roof, +stained by ages of leakage, with buff and black and rust-colored streaks, swept +up and loomed higher and seemed to soar to the rim of the cliff. Here again was +a magnificent arch, such as formed the grand gateway to the valley, only in +this instance it formed the dome of a cave instead of the span of a bridge. +</p> + +<p> +Venters passed onward and upward. The stones he dislodged rolled down with +strange, hollow crack and roar. He had climbed a hundred rods inward, and yet +he had not reached the base of the shelf where the cliff-dwellings rested, a +long half-circle of connected stone house, with little dark holes that he had +fancied were eyes. At length he gained the base of the shelf, and here found +steps cut in the rock. These facilitated climbing, and as he went up he thought +how easily this vanished race of men might once have held that stronghold +against an army. There was only one possible place to ascend, and this was +narrow and steep. +</p> + +<p> +Venters had visited cliff-dwellings before, and they had been in ruins, and of +no great character or size but this place was of proportions that stunned him, +and it had not been desecrated by the hand of man, nor had it been crumbled by +the hand of time. It was a stupendous tomb. It had been a city. It was just as +it had been left by its builders. The little houses were there, the +smoke-blackened stains of fires, the pieces of pottery scattered about cold +hearths, the stone hatchets; and stone pestles and mealing-stones lay beside +round holes polished by years of grinding maize—lay there as if they had +been carelessly dropped yesterday. But the cliff-dwellers were gone! +</p> + +<p> +Dust! They were dust on the floor or at the foot of the shelf, and their +habitations and utensils endured. Venters felt the sublimity of that marvelous +vaulted arch, and it seemed to gleam with a glory of something that was gone. +How many years had passed since the cliff-dwellers gazed out across the +beautiful valley as he was gazing now? How long had it been since women ground +grain in those polished holes? What time had rolled by since men of an unknown +race lived, loved, fought, and died there? Had an enemy destroyed them? Had +disease destroyed them, or only that greatest destroyer—time? Venters saw +a long line of blood-red hands painted low down upon the yellow roof of stone. +Here was strange portent, if not an answer to his queries. The place oppressed +him. It was light, but full of a transparent gloom. It smelled of dust and +musty stone, of age and disuse. It was sad. It was solemn. It had the look of a +place where silence had become master and was now irrevocable and terrible and +could not be broken. Yet, at the moment, from high up in the carved crevices of +the arch, floated down the low, strange wail of wind—a knell indeed for +all that had gone. +</p> + +<p> +Venters, sighing, gathered up an armful of pottery, such pieces as he thought +strong enough and suitable for his own use, and bent his steps toward camp. He +mounted the terrace at an opposite point to which he had left. He saw the girl +looking in the direction he had gone. His footsteps made no sound in the deep +grass, and he approached close without her being aware of his presence. Whitie +lay on the ground near where she sat, and he manifested the usual actions of +welcome, but the girl did not notice them. She seemed to be oblivious to +everything near at hand. She made a pathetic figure drooping there, with her +sunny hair contrasting so markedly with her white, wasted cheeks and her hands +listlessly clasped and her little bare feet propped in the framework of the +rude seat. Venters could have sworn and laughed in one breath at the idea of +the connection between this girl and Oldring’s Masked Rider. She was the +victim of more than accident of fate—a victim to some deep plot the +mystery of which burned him. As he stepped forward with a half-formed thought +that she was absorbed in watching for his return, she turned her head and saw +him. A swift start, a change rather than rush of blood under her white cheeks, +a flashing of big eyes that fixed their glance upon him, transformed her face +in that single instant of turning, and he knew she had been watching for him, +that his return was the one thing in her mind. She did not smile; she did not +flush; she did not look glad. All these would have meant little compared to her +indefinite expression. Venters grasped the peculiar, vivid, vital something +that leaped from her face. It was as if she had been in a dead, hopeless clamp +of inaction and feeling, and had been suddenly shot through and through with +quivering animation. Almost it was as if she had returned to life. +</p> + +<p> +And Venters thought with lightning swiftness, “I’ve saved +her—I’ve unlinked her from that old life—she was watching as +if I were all she had left on earth—she belongs to me!” The thought +was startlingly new. Like a blow it was in an unprepared moment. The cheery +salutation he had ready for her died unborn and he tumbled the pieces of +pottery awkwardly on the grass while some unfamiliar, deep-seated emotion, +mixed with pity and glad assurance of his power to succor her, held him dumb. +</p> + +<p> +“What a load you had!” she said. “Why, they’re pots and +crocks! Where did you get them?” +</p> + +<p> +Venters laid down his rifle, and, filling one of the pots from his canteen, he +placed it on the smoldering campfire. +</p> + +<p> +“Hope it’ll hold water,” he said, presently. “Why, +there’s an enormous cliff-dwelling just across here. I got the pottery +there. Don’t you think we needed something? That tin cup of mine has +served to make tea, broth, soup—everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I noticed we hadn’t a great deal to cook in.” +</p> + +<p> +She laughed. It was the first time. He liked that laugh, and though he was +tempted to look at her, he did not want to show his surprise or his pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you take me over there, and all around in the valley—pretty +soon, when I’m well?” she added. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I shall. It’s a wonderful place. Rabbits so thick you +can’t step without kicking one out. And quail, beaver, foxes, wildcats. +We’re in a regular den. But—haven’t you ever seen a +cliff-dwelling?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I’ve heard about them, though. The—the men say the Pass +is full of old houses and ruins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I should think you’d have run across one in all your riding +around,” said Venters. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully, and +he essayed a perfectly casual manner, and pretended to be busy assorting pieces +of pottery. She must have no cause again to suffer shame for curiosity of his. +Yet never in all his days had he been so eager to hear the details of +anyone’s life. +</p> + +<p> +“When I rode—I rode like the wind,” she replied, “and +never had time to stop for anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember that day I—I met you in the Pass—how dusty you +were, how tired your horse looked. Were you always riding?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no. Sometimes not for months, when I was shut up in the +cabin.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters tried to subdue a hot tingling. +</p> + +<p> +“You were shut up, then?” he asked, carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“When Oldring went away on his long trips—he was gone for months +sometimes—he shut me up in the cabin.” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps to keep me from running away. I always threatened that. Mostly, +though, because the men got drunk at the villages. But they were always good to +me. I wasn’t afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“A prisoner! That must have been hard on you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I liked that. As long as I can remember I’ve been locked up there +at times, and those times were the only happy ones I ever had. It’s a big +cabin, high up on a cliff, and I could look out. Then I had dogs and pets I had +tamed, and books. There was a spring inside, and food stored, and the men +brought me fresh meat. Once I was there one whole winter.” +</p> + +<p> +It now required deliberation on Venters’s part to persist in his +unconcern and to keep at work. He wanted to look at her, to volley questions at +her. +</p> + +<p> +“As long as you can remember—you’ve lived in Deception +Pass?” he went on. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve a dim memory of some other place, and women and children; but +I can’t make anything of it. Sometimes I think till I’m +weary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you can read—you have books?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, I can read, and write, too, pretty well. Oldring is educated. He +taught me, and years ago an old rustler lived with us, and he had been +something different once. He was always teaching me.” +</p> + +<p> +“So Oldring takes long trips,” mused Venters. “Do you know +where he goes?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Every year he drives cattle north of Sterling—then does not +return for months. I heard him accused once of living two lives—and he +killed the man. That was at Stone Bridge.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters dropped his apparent task and looked up with an eagerness he no longer +strove to hide. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess,” he said, using her name for the first time, “I +suspected Oldring was something besides a rustler. Tell me, what’s his +purpose here in the Pass? I believe much that he has done was to hide his real +work here.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right. He’s more than a rustler. In fact, as the men +say, his rustling cattle is now only a bluff. There’s gold in the +cañons!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there’s gold, not in great quantities, but gold enough for +him and his men. They wash for gold week in and week out. Then they drive a few +cattle and go into the villages to drink and shoot and kill—to bluff the +riders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Drive a few cattle! But, Bess, the Withersteen herd, the red +herd—twenty-five hundred head! That’s not a few. And I tracked them +into a valley near here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oldring never stole the red herd. He made a deal with Mormons. The +riders were to be called in, and Oldring was to drive the herd and keep it till +a certain time—I won’t know when—then drive it back to the +range. What his share was I didn’t hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you hear <i>why</i> that deal was made?” queried Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“No. But it was a trick of Mormons. They’re full of tricks. +I’ve heard Oldring’s men tell about Mormons. Maybe the Withersteen +woman wasn’t minding her halter! I saw the man who made the deal. He was +a little, queer-shaped man, all humped up. He sat his horse well. I heard one +of our men say afterward there was no better rider on the sage than this +fellow. What was the name? I forget.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jerry Card?” suggested Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it. I remember—it’s a name easy to +remember—and Jerry Card appeared to be on fair terms with Oldring’s +men.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder,” replied Venters, thoughtfully. +Verification of his suspicions in regard to Tull’s underhand +work—for the deal with Oldring made by Jerry Card assuredly had its +inception in the Mormon Elder’s brain, and had been accomplished through +his orders—revived in Venters a memory of hatred that had been smothered +by press of other emotions. Only a few days had elapsed since the hour of his +encounter with Tull, yet they had been forgotten and now seemed far off, and +the interval one that now appeared large and profound with incalculable change +in his feelings. Hatred of Tull still existed in his heart, but it had lost its +white heat. His affection for Jane Withersteen had not changed in the least; +nevertheless, he seemed to view it from another angle and see it as another +thing—what, he could not exactly define. The recalling of these two +feelings was to Venters like getting glimpses into a self that was gone; and +the wonder of them—perhaps the change which was too illusive for +him—was the fact that a strange irritation accompanied the memory and a +desire to dismiss it from mind. And straightway he did dismiss it, to return to +thoughts of his significant present. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, tell me one more thing,” he said. “Haven’t you +known any women—any young people?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes there were women with the men; but Oldring never let me know +them. And all the young people I ever saw in my life was when I rode fast +through the villages.” +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps that was the most puzzling and thought-provoking thing she had yet said +to Venters. He pondered, more curious the more he learned, but he curbed his +inquisitive desires, for he saw her shrinking on the verge of that shame, the +causing of which had occasioned him such self-reproach. He would ask no more. +Still he had to think, and he found it difficult to think clearly. This +sad-eyed girl was so utterly different from what it would have been reason to +believe such a remarkable life would have made her. On this day he had found +her simple and frank, as natural as any girl he had ever known. About her there +was something sweet. Her voice was low and well modulated. He could not look +into her face, meet her steady, unabashed, yet wistful eyes, and think of her +as the woman she had confessed herself. Oldring’s Masked Rider sat before +him, a girl dressed as a man. She had been made to ride at the head of infamous +forays and drives. She had been imprisoned for many months of her life in an +obscure cabin. At times the most vicious of men had been her companions; and +the vilest of women, if they had not been permitted to approach her, had, at +least, cast their shadows over her. But—but in spite of all +this—there thundered at Venters some truth that lifted its voice higher +than the clamoring facts of dishonor, some truth that was the very life of her +beautiful eyes; and it was innocence. +</p> + +<p> +In the days that followed, Venters balanced perpetually in mind this haunting +conception of innocence over against the cold and sickening fact of an +unintentional yet actual gift. How could it be possible for the two things to +be true? He believed the latter to be true, and he would not relinquish his +conviction of the former; and these conflicting thoughts augmented the mystery +that appeared to be a part of Bess. In those ensuing days, however, it became +clear as clearest light that Bess was rapidly regaining strength; that, unless +reminded of her long association with Oldring, she seemed to have forgotten it; +that, like an Indian who lives solely from moment to moment, she was utterly +absorbed in the present. +</p> + +<p> +Day by day Venters watched the white of her face slowly change to brown, and +the wasted cheeks fill out by imperceptible degrees. There came a time when he +could just trace the line of demarcation between the part of her face once +hidden by a mask and that left exposed to wind and sun. When that line +disappeared in clear bronze tan it was as if she had been washed clean of the +stigma of Oldring’s Masked Rider. The suggestion of the mask always made +Venters remember; now that it was gone he seldom thought of her past. +Occasionally he tried to piece together the several stages of strange +experience and to make a whole. He had shot a masked outlaw the very sight of +whom had been ill omen to riders; he had carried off a wounded woman whose +bloody lips quivered in prayer; he had nursed what seemed a frail, shrunken +boy; and now he watched a girl whose face had become strangely sweet, whose +dark-blue eyes were ever upon him without boldness, without shyness, but with a +steady, grave, and growing light. Many times Venters found the clear gaze +embarrassing to him, yet, like wine, it had an exhilarating effect. What did +she think when she looked at him so? Almost he believed she had no thought at +all. All about her and the present there in Surprise Valley, and the dim yet +subtly impending future, fascinated Venters and made him thoughtful as all his +lonely vigils in the sage had not. +</p> + +<p> +Chiefly it was the present that he wished to dwell upon; but it was the call of +the future which stirred him to action. No idea had he of what that future had +in store for Bess and him. He began to think of improving Surprise Valley as a +place to live in, for there was no telling how long they would be compelled to +stay there. Venters stubbornly resisted the entering into his mind of an +insistent thought that, clearly realized, might have made it plain to him that +he did not want to leave Surprise Valley at all. But it was imperative that he +consider practical matters; and whether or not he was destined to stay long +there, he felt the immediate need of a change of diet. It would be necessary +for him to go farther afield for a variety of meat, and also that he soon visit +Cottonwoods for a supply of food. +</p> + +<p> +It occurred again to Venters that he could go to the cañon where Oldring kept +his cattle, and at little risk he could pack out some beef. He wished to do +this, however, without letting Bess know of it till after he had made the trip. +Presently he hit upon the plan of going while she was asleep. +</p> + +<p> +That very night he stole out of camp, climbed up under the stone bridge, and +entered the outlet to the Pass. The gorge was full of luminous gloom. Balancing +Rock loomed dark and leaned over the pale descent. Transformed in the shadowy +light, it took shape and dimensions of a spectral god waiting—waiting for +the moment to hurl himself down upon the tottering walls and close forever the +outlet to Deception Pass. At night more than by day Venters felt something +fearful and fateful in that rock, and that it had leaned and waited through a +thousand years to have somehow to deal with his destiny. +</p> + +<p> +“Old man, if you must roll, wait till I get back to the girl, and then +roll!” he said, aloud, as if the stones were indeed a god. +</p> + +<p> +And those spoken words, in their grim note to his ear, as well as contents to +his mind, told Venters that he was all but drifting on a current which he had +not power nor wish to stem. +</p> + +<p> +Venters exercised his usual care in the matter of hiding tracks from the +outlet, yet it took him scarcely an hour to reach Oldring’s cattle. Here +sight of many calves changed his original intention, and instead of packing out +meat he decided to take a calf out alive. He roped one, securely tied its feet, +and swung it over his shoulder. Here was an exceedingly heavy burden, but +Venters was powerful—he could take up a sack of grain and with ease pitch +it over a pack-saddle—and he made long distance without resting. The +hardest work came in the climb up to the outlet and on through to the valley. +When he had accomplished it, he became fired with another idea that again +changed his intention. He would not kill the calf, but keep it alive. He would +go back to Oldring’s herd and pack out more calves. Thereupon he secured +the calf in the best available spot for the moment and turned to make a second +trip. +</p> + +<p> +When Venters got back to the valley with another calf, it was close upon +daybreak. He crawled into his cave and slept late. Bess had no inkling that he +had been absent from camp nearly all night, and only remarked solicitously that +he appeared to be more tired than usual, and more in the need of sleep. In the +afternoon Venters built a gate across a small ravine near camp, and here +corralled the calves; and he succeeded in completing his task without Bess +being any the wiser. +</p> + +<p> +That night he made two more trips to Oldring’s range, and again on the +following night, and yet another on the next. With eight calves in his corral, +he concluded that he had enough; but it dawned upon him then that he did not +want to kill one. “I’ve rustled Oldring’s cattle,” he +said, and laughed. He noted then that all the calves were red. +“Red!” he exclaimed. “From the red herd. I’ve stolen +Jane Withersteen’s cattle!... That’s about the strangest thing +yet.” +</p> + +<p> +One more trip he undertook to Oldring’s valley, and this time he roped a +yearling steer and killed it and cut out a small quarter of beef. The howling +of coyotes told him he need have no apprehension that the work of his knife +would be discovered. He packed the beef back to camp and hung it upon a +spruce-tree. Then he sought his bed. +</p> + +<p> +On the morrow he was up bright and early, glad that he had a surprise for Bess. +He could hardly wait for her to come out. Presently she appeared and walked +under the spruce. Then she approached the camp-fire. There was a tinge of +healthy red in the bronze of her cheeks, and her slender form had begun to +round out in graceful lines. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, didn’t you say you were tired of rabbit?” inquired +Venters. “And quail and beaver?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“What would you like?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m tired of meat, but if we have to live on it I’d like +some beef.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, how does that strike you?” Venters pointed to the quarter +hanging from the spruce-tree. “We’ll have fresh beef for a few +days, then we’ll cut the rest into strips and dry it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you get that?” asked Bess, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“I stole that from Oldring.” +</p> + +<p> +“You went back to the cañon—you risked—” While she +hesitated the tinge of bloom faded out of her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t any risk, but it was hard work.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry I said I was tired of rabbit. Why! How—When did +you get that beef?” +</p> + +<p> +“Last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“While I was asleep?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I woke last night sometime—but I didn’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes were widening, darkening with thought, and whenever they did so the +steady, watchful, seeing gaze gave place to the wistful light. In the former +she saw as the primitive woman without thought; in the latter she looked +inward, and her gaze was the reflection of a troubled mind. For long Venters +had not seen that dark change, that deepening of blue, which he thought was +beautiful and sad. But now he wanted to make her think. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve done more than pack in that beef,” he said. “For +five nights I’ve been working while you slept. I’ve got eight +calves corralled near a ravine. Eight calves, all alive and doing fine!” +</p> + +<p> +“You went five nights!” +</p> + +<p> +All that Venters could make of the dilation of her eyes, her slow pallor, and +her exclamation, was fear—fear for herself or for him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I didn’t tell you, because I knew you were afraid to be left +alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Alone?” She echoed his word, but the meaning of it was nothing to +her. She had not even thought of being left alone. It was not, then, fear for +herself, but for him. This girl, always slow of speech and action, now seemed +almost stupid. She put forth a hand that might have indicated the groping of +her mind. Suddenly she stepped swiftly to him, with a look and touch that drove +from him any doubt of her quick intelligence or feeling. +</p> + +<p> +“Oldring has men watch the herds—they would kill you. You must +never go again!” +</p> + +<p> +When she had spoken, the strength and the blaze of her died, and she swayed +toward Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Bess, I’ll not go again</i>,” he said, catching her. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus06"></a> +<img src="images/img06.jpg" width="464" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“Bess, I’ll not go again”</p> +</div> + +<p> +She leaned against him, and her body was limp and vibrated to a long, wavering +tremble. Her face was upturned to his. Woman’s face, woman’s eyes, +woman’s lips—all acutely and blindly and sweetly and terribly +truthful in their betrayal! But as her fear was instinctive, so was her +clinging to this one and only friend. +</p> + +<p> +Venters gently put her from him and steadied her upon her feet; and all the +while his blood raced wild, and a thrilling tingle unsteadied his nerve, and +something—that he had seen and felt in her—that he could not +understand—seemed very close to him, warm and rich as a fragrant breath, +sweet as nothing had ever before been sweet to him. +</p> + +<p> +With all his will Venters strove for calmness and thought and judgment unbiased +by pity, and reality unswayed by sentiment. Bess’s eyes were still fixed +upon him with all her soul bright in that wistful light. Swiftly, resolutely he +put out of mind all of her life except what had been spent with him. He scorned +himself for the intelligence that made him still doubt. He meant to judge her +as she had judged him. He was face to face with the inevitableness of life +itself. He saw destiny in the dark, straight path of her wonderful eyes. Here +was the simplicity, the sweetness of a girl contending with new and strange and +enthralling emotions here the living truth of innocence; here the blind terror +of a woman confronted with the thought of death to her savior and protector. +All this Venters saw, but, besides, there was in Bess’s eyes a +slow-dawning consciousness that seemed about to break out in glorious radiance. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, are you thinking?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—oh yes!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you realize we are here alone—man and woman?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you thought that we may make our way out to civilization, or we may +have to stay here—alone—hidden from the world all our lives?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought—till now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what’s your choice—to go—or to stay +here—alone with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stay!” New-born thought of self, ringing vibrantly in her voice, +gave her answer singular power. +</p> + +<p> +Venters trembled, and then swiftly turned his gaze from her face—from her +eyes. He knew what she had only half divined—that she loved him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"></a> +CHAPTER XI.<br /> +FAITH AND UNFAITH</h2> + +<p> +At Jane Withersteen’s home the promise made to Mrs. Larkin to care for +little Fay had begun to be fulfilled. Like a gleam of sunlight through the +cottonwoods was the coming of the child to the gloomy house of Withersteen. The +big, silent halls echoed with childish laughter. In the shady court, where Jane +spent many of the hot July days, Fay’s tiny feet pattered over the stone +flags and splashed in the amber stream. She prattled incessantly. What +difference, Jane thought, a child made in her home! It had never been a real +home, she discovered. Even the tidiness and neatness she had so observed, and +upon which she had insisted to her women, became, in the light of Fay’s +smile, habits that now lost their importance. Fay littered the court with +Jane’s books and papers, and other toys her fancy improvised, and many a +strange craft went floating down the little brook. +</p> + +<p> +And it was owing to Fay’s presence that Jane Withersteen came to see more +of Lassiter. The rider had for the most part kept to the sage. He rode for her, +but he did not seek her except on business; and Jane had to acknowledge in +pique that her overtures had been made in vain. Fay, however, captured Lassiter +the moment he first laid eyes on her. +</p> + +<p> +Jane was present at the meeting, and there was something about it which dimmed +her sight and softened her toward this foe of her people. The rider had clanked +into the court, a tired yet wary man, always looking for the attack upon him +that was inevitable and might come from any quarter; and he had walked right +upon little Fay. The child had been beautiful even in her rags and amid the +surroundings of the hovel in the sage, but now, in a pretty white dress, with +her shining curls brushed and her face clean and rosy, she was lovely. She left +her play and looked up at Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +If there was not an instinct for all three of them in that meeting, an +unreasoning tendency toward a closer intimacy, then Jane Withersteen believed +she had been subject to a queer fancy. She imagined any child would have feared +Lassiter. And Fay Larkin had been a lonely, a solitary elf of the sage, not at +all an ordinary child, and exquisitely shy with strangers. She watched Lassiter +with great, round, grave eyes, but showed no fear. The rider gave Jane a +favorable report of cattle and horses; and as he took the seat to which she +invited him, little Fay edged as much as half an inch nearer. Jane replied to +his look of inquiry and told Fay’s story. The rider’s gray, earnest +gaze troubled her. Then he turned to Fay and smiled in a way that made Jane +doubt her sense of the true relation of things. How could Lassiter smile so at +a child when he had made so many children fatherless? But he did smile, and to +the gentleness she had seen a few times he added something that was infinitely +sad and sweet. Jane’s intuition told her that Lassiter had never been a +father, but if life ever so blessed him he would be a good one. Fay, also, must +have found that smile singularly winning. For she edged closer and closer, and +then, by way of feminine capitulation, went to Jane, from whose side she bent a +beautiful glance upon the rider. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter only smiled at her. +</p> + +<p> +Jane watched them, and realized that now was the moment she should seize, if +she was ever to win this man from his hatred. But the step was not easy to +take. The more she saw of Lassiter the more she respected him, and the greater +her respect the harder it became to lend herself to mere coquetry. Yet as she +thought of her great motive, of Tull, and of that other whose name she had +schooled herself never to think of in connection with Milly Erne’s +avenger, she suddenly found she had no choice. And her creed gave her boldness +far beyond the limit to which vanity would have led her. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, I see so little of you now,” she said, and was conscious +of heat in her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been riding hard,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t live in the saddle. You come in sometimes. +Won’t you come here to see me—oftener?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that an order?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense! I simply ask you to come to see me when you find time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +The query once heard was not so embarrassing to Jane as she might have +imagined. Moreover, it established in her mind a fact that there existed +actually other than selfish reasons for her wanting to see him. And as she had +been bold, so she determined to be both honest and brave. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve reasons—only one of which I need mention,” she +answered. “If it’s possible I want to change you toward my people. +And on the moment I can conceive of little I wouldn’t do to gain that +end.” +</p> + +<p> +How much better and freer Jane felt after that confession! She meant to show +him that there was one Mormon who could play a game or wage a fight in the +open. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon,” said Lassiter, and he laughed. +</p> + +<p> +It was the best in her, if the most irritating, that Lassiter always aroused. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you come?” She looked into his eyes, and for the life of her +could not quite subdue an imperiousness that rose with her spirit. “I +never asked so much of any man—except Bern Venters.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Pears to me that you’d run no risk, or Venters, either. But +mebbe that doesn’t hold good for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean it wouldn’t be safe for you to be often here? You look +for ambush in the cottonwoods?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that so much.” +</p> + +<p> +At this juncture little Fay sidled over to Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +“Has oo a little dirl?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“No, lassie,” replied the rider. +</p> + +<p> +Whatever Fay seemed to be searching for in Lassiter’s sun-reddened face +and quiet eyes she evidently found. “Oo tan tom to see me,” she +added, and with that, shyness gave place to friendly curiosity. First his +sombrero with its leather band and silver ornaments commanded her attention; +next his quirt, and then the clinking, silver spurs. These held her for some +time, but presently, true to childish fickleness, she left off playing with +them to look for something else. She laughed in glee as she ran her little +hands down the slippery, shiny surface of Lassiter’s leather chaps. Soon +she discovered one of the hanging gun—sheaths, and she dragged it up and +began tugging at the huge black handle of the gun. Jane Withersteen repressed +an exclamation. What significance there was to her in the little girl’s +efforts to dislodge that heavy weapon! Jane Withersteen saw Fay’s play +and her beauty and her love as most powerful allies to her own woman’s +part in a game that suddenly had acquired a strange zest and a hint of danger. +And as for the rider, he appeared to have forgotten Jane in the wonder of this +lovely child playing about him. At first he was much the shyer of the two. +Gradually her confidence overcame his backwardness, and he had the temerity to +stroke her golden curls with a great hand. Fay rewarded his boldness with a +smile, and when he had gone to the extreme of closing that great hand over her +little brown one, she said, simply, “I like oo!” +</p> + +<p> +Sight of his face then made Jane oblivious for the time to his character as a +hater of Mormons. Out of the mother longing that swelled her breast she divined +the child hunger in Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +He returned the next day, and the next; and upon the following he came both at +morning and at night. Upon the evening of this fourth day Jane seemed to feel +the breaking of a brooding struggle in Lassiter. During all these visits he had +scarcely a word to say, though he watched her and played absent-mindedly with +Fay. Jane had contented herself with silence. Soon little Fay substituted for +the expression of regard, “I like oo,” a warmer and more generous +one, “I love oo.” +</p> + +<p> +Thereafter Lassiter came oftener to see Jane and her little protégée. Daily he +grew more gentle and kind, and gradually developed a quaintly merry mood. In +the morning he lifted Fay upon his horse and let her ride as he walked beside +her to the edge of the sage. In the evening he played with the child at an +infinite variety of games she invented, and then, oftener than not, he accepted +Jane’s invitation to supper. No other visitor came to Withersteen House +during those days. So that in spite of watchfulness he never forgot, Lassiter +began to show he felt at home there. After the meal they walked into the grove +of cottonwoods or up by the lakes, and little Fay held Lassiter’s hand as +much as she held Jane’s. Thus a strange relationship was established, and +Jane liked it. At twilight they always returned to the house, where Fay kissed +them and went in to her mother. Lassiter and Jane were left alone. +</p> + +<p> +Then, if there were anything that a good woman could do to win a man and still +preserve her self-respect, it was something which escaped the natural subtlety +of a woman determined to allure. Jane’s vanity, that after all was not +great, was soon satisfied with Lassiter’s silent admiration. And her +honest desire to lead him from his dark, blood-stained path would never have +blinded her to what she owed herself. But the driving passion of her religion, +and its call to save Mormons’ lives, one life in particular, bore Jane +Withersteen close to an infringement of her womanhood. In the beginning she had +reasoned that her appeal to Lassiter must be through the senses. With whatever +means she possessed in the way of adornment she enhanced her beauty. And she +stooped to artifices that she knew were unworthy of her, but which she +deliberately chose to employ. She made of herself a girl in every variable mood +wherein a girl might be desirable. In those moods she was not above the methods +of an inexperienced though natural flirt. She kept close to him whenever +opportunity afforded; and she was forever playfully, yet passionately +underneath the surface, fighting him for possession of the great black guns. +These he would never yield to her. And so in that manner their hands were often +and long in contact. The more of simplicity that she sensed in him the greater +the advantage she took. +</p> + +<p> +She had a trick of changing—and it was not altogether +voluntary—from this gay, thoughtless, girlish coquettishness to the +silence and the brooding, burning mystery of a woman’s mood. The strength +and passion and fire of her were in her eyes, and she so used them that +Lassiter had to see this depth in her, this haunting promise more fitted to her +years than to the flaunting guise of a wilful girl. +</p> + +<p> +The July days flew by. Jane reasoned that if it were possible for her to be +happy during such a time, then she was happy. Little Fay completely filled a +long aching void in her heart. In fettering the hands of this Lassiter she was +accomplishing the greatest good of her life, and to do good even in a small way +rendered happiness to Jane Withersteen. She had attended the regular Sunday +services of her church; otherwise she had not gone to the village for weeks. It +was unusual that none of her churchmen or friends had called upon her of late; +but it was neglect for which she was glad. Judkins and his boy riders had +experienced no difficulty in driving the white herd. So these warm July days +were free of worry, and soon Jane hoped she had passed the crisis; and for her +to hope was presently to trust, and then to believe. She thought often of +Venters, but in a dreamy, abstract way. She spent hours teaching and playing +with little Fay. And the activity of her mind centered around Lassiter. The +direction she had given her will seemed to blunt any branching off of thought +from that straight line. The mood came to obsess her. +</p> + +<p> +In the end, when her awakening came, she learned that she had builded better +than she knew. Lassiter, though kinder and gentler than ever, had parted with +his quaint humor and his coldness and his tranquillity to become a restless and +unhappy man. Whatever the power of his deadly intent toward Mormons, that +passion now had a rival, the one equally burning and consuming. Jane +Withersteen had one moment of exultation before the dawn of a strange +uneasiness. What if she had made of herself a lure, at tremendous cost to him +and to her, and all in vain! +</p> + +<p> +That night in the moonlit grove she summoned all her courage and, turning +suddenly in the path, she faced Lassiter and leaned close to him, so that she +touched him and her eyes looked up to his. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!... Will you do anything for me?” +</p> + +<p> +In the moonlight she saw his dark, worn face change, and by that change she +seemed to feel him immovable as a wall of stone. +</p> + +<p> +Jane slipped her hands down to the swinging gun-sheaths, and when she had +locked her fingers around the huge, cold handles of the guns, she trembled as +with a chilling ripple over all her body. +</p> + +<p> +“May I take your guns?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” he asked, and for the first time to her his voice carried a +harsh note. Jane felt his hard, strong hands close round her wrists. It was not +wholly with intent that she leaned toward him, for the look of his eyes and the +feel of his hands made her weak. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no trifle—no woman’s whim—it’s +deep—as my heart. Let me take them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to keep you from killing more men—Mormons. You must let me +save you from more wickedness—more wanton bloodshed—” Then +the truth forced itself falteringly from her lips. “You +must—let—help me to keep my vow to Milly Erne. I swore to +her—as she lay dying—that if ever any one came here to avenge +her—I swore I would stay his hand. Perhaps I—I alone can save +the—the man who—who—Oh, Lassiter!... I feel that I +can’t change you—then soon you’ll be out to kill—and +you’ll kill by instinct—and among the Mormons you kill will be the +one—who... Lassiter, if you care a little for me—let me—for +my sake—let me take your guns!” +</p> + +<p> +As if her hands had been those of a child, he unclasped their clinging grip +from the handles of his guns, and, pushing her away, he turned his gray face to +her in one look of terrible realization and then strode off into the shadows of +the cottonwoods. +</p> + +<p> +When the first shock of her futile appeal to Lassiter had passed, Jane took his +cold, silent condemnation and abrupt departure not so much as a refusal to her +entreaty as a hurt and stunned bitterness for her attempt at his betrayal. Upon +further thought and slow consideration of Lassiter’s past actions, she +believed he would return and forgive her. The man could not be hard to a woman, +and she doubted that he could stay away from her. But at the point where she +had hoped to find him vulnerable she now began to fear he was proof against all +persuasion. The iron and stone quality that she had early suspected in him had +actually cropped out as an impregnable barrier. Nevertheless, if Lassiter +remained in Cottonwoods she would never give up her hope and desire to change +him. She would change him if she had to sacrifice everything dear to her except +hope of heaven. Passionately devoted as she was to her religion, she had yet +refused to marry a Mormon. But a situation had developed wherein self paled in +the great white light of religious duty of the highest order. That was the +leading motive, the divinely spiritual one; but there were other motives, +which, like tentacles, aided in drawing her will to the acceptance of a +possible abnegation. And through the watches of that sleepless night Jane +Withersteen, in fear and sorrow and doubt, came finally to believe that if she +must throw herself into Lassiter’s arms to make him abide by “Thou +shalt not kill!” she would yet do well. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning she expected Lassiter at the usual hour, but she was not able to +go at once to the court, so she sent little Fay. Mrs. Larkin was ill and +required attention. It appeared that the mother, from the time of her arrival +at Withersteen House, had relaxed and was slowly losing her hold on life. Jane +had believed that absence of worry and responsibility coupled with good nursing +and comfort would mend Mrs. Larkin’s broken health. Such, however, was +not the case. +</p> + +<p> +When Jane did get out to the court, Fay was there alone, and at the moment +embarking on a dubious voyage down the stone-lined amber stream upon a craft of +two brooms and a pillow. Fay was as delightfully wet as she could possibly wish +to get. +</p> + +<p> +Clatter of hoofs distracted Fay and interrupted the scolding she was gleefully +receiving from Jane. The sound was not the light-spirited trot that Bells made +when Lassiter rode him into the outer court. This was slower and heavier, and +Jane did not recognize in it any of her other horses. The appearance of Bishop +Dyer startled Jane. He dismounted with his rapid, jerky motion flung the +bridle, and, as he turned toward the inner court and stalked up on the stone +flags, his boots rang. In his authoritative front, and in the red anger +unmistakably flaming in his face, he reminded Jane of her father. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the Larkin pauper?” he asked, bruskly, without any +greeting to Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Mrs. Larkin’s little girl,” replied Jane, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“I hear you intend to raise the child?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you mean to give her Mormon bringing-up?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +His questions had been swift. She was amazed at a feeling that some one else +was replying for her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve come to say a few things to you.” He stopped to measure +her with stern, speculative eye. +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen loved this man. From earliest childhood she had been taught to +revere and love bishops of her church. And for ten years Bishop Dyer had been +the closest friend and counselor of her father, and for the greater part of +that period her own friend and Scriptural teacher. Her interpretation of her +creed and her religious activity in fidelity to it, her acceptance of +mysterious and holy Mormon truths, were all invested in this Bishop. Bishop +Dyer as an entity was next to God. He was God’s mouthpiece to the little +Mormon community at Cottonwoods. God revealed himself in secret to this mortal. +</p> + +<p> +And Jane Withersteen suddenly suffered a paralyzing affront to her +consciousness of reverence by some strange, irresistible twist of thought +wherein she saw this Bishop as a man. And the train of thought hurdled the +rising, crying protests of that other self whose poise she had lost. It was not +her Bishop who eyed her in curious measurement. It was a man who tramped into +her presence without removing his hat, who had no greeting for her, who had no +semblance of courtesy. In looks, as in action, he made her think of a bull +stamping cross-grained into a corral. She had heard of Bishop Dyer forgetting +the minister in the fury of a common man, and now she was to feel it. The +glance by which she measured him in turn momentarily veiled the divine in the +ordinary. He looked a rancher; he was booted, spurred, and covered with dust; +he carried a gun at his hip, and she remembered that he had been known to use +it. But during the long moment while he watched her there was nothing +commonplace in the slow-gathering might of his wrath. +</p> + +<p> +“Brother Tull has talked to me,” he began. “It was your +father’s wish that you marry Tull, and my order. You refused him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would not give up your friendship with that tramp Venters?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ll do as <i>I</i> order!” he thundered. “Why, +Jane Withersteen, you are in danger of becoming a heretic! You can thank your +Gentile friends for that. You face the damning of your soul to +perdition.” +</p> + +<p> +In the flux and reflux of the whirling torture of Jane’s mind, that new, +daring spirit of hers vanished in the old habitual order of her life. She was a +Mormon, and the Bishop regained ascendance. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s well I got you in time, Jane Withersteen. What would your +father have said to these goings-on of yours? He would have put you in a stone +cage on bread and water. He would have taught you something about Mormonism. +Remember, you’re a <i>born</i> Mormon. There have been Mormons who turned +heretic—damn their souls!—but no born Mormon ever left us yet. Ah, +I see your shame. Your faith is not shaken. You are only a wild girl.” +The Bishop’s tone softened. “Well, it’s enough that I got to +you in time.... Now tell me about this Lassiter. I hear strange things.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you wish to know?” queried Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“About this man. You hired him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he’s riding for me. When my riders left me I had to have any +one I could get.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it true what I hear—that he’s a gun-man, a Mormon-hater, +steeped in blood?” +</p> + +<p> +“True—terribly true, I fear.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what’s he doing here in Cottonwoods? This place isn’t +notorious enough for such a man. Sterling and the villages north, where +there’s universal gun-packing and fights every day—where there are +more men like him, it seems to me they would attract him most. We’re only +a wild, lonely border settlement. It’s only recently that the rustlers +have made killings here. Nor have there been saloons till lately, nor the +drifting in of outcasts. Has not this gun-man some special mission here?” +</p> + +<p> +Jane maintained silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” ordered Bishop Dyer, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know what it is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bishop Dyer, I don’t want to tell.” +</p> + +<p> +He waved his hand in an imperative gesture of command. The red once more leaped +to his face, and in his steel-blue eyes glinted a pin-point of curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“That first day,” whispered Jane, “Lassiter said he came here +to find—Milly Erne’s grave!” +</p> + +<p> +With downcast eyes Jane watched the swift flow of the amber water. She saw it +and tried to think of it, of the stones, of the ferns; but, like her body, her +mind was in a leaden vise. Only the Bishop’s voice could release her. +Seemingly there was silence of longer duration than all her former life. +</p> + +<p> +“For what—else?” When Bishop Dyer’s voice did cleave +the silence it was high, curiously shrill, and on the point of breaking. It +released Jane’s tongue, but she could not lift her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“To kill the man who persuaded Milly Erne to abandon her home and her +husband—and her God!” +</p> + +<p> +With wonderful distinctness Jane Withersteen heard her own clear voice. She +heard the water murmur at her feet and flow on to the sea; she heard the +rushing of all the waters in the world. They filled her ears with low, unreal +murmurings—these sounds that deadened her brain and yet could not break +the long and terrible silence. Then, from somewhere—from an immeasurable +distance—came a slow, guarded, clinking, clanking step. Into her it shot +electrifying life. It released the weight upon her numbed eyelids. Lifting her +eyes she saw—ashen, shaken, stricken—not the Bishop but the man! +And beyond him, from round the corner came that soft, silvery step. A long +black boot with a gleaming spur swept into sight—and then Lassiter! +Bishop Dyer did not see, did not hear: he stared at Jane in the throes of +sudden revelation. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I understand!” he cried, in hoarse accents. +“That’s why you made love to this Lassiter—to bind his +hands!” +</p> + +<p> +It was Jane’s gaze riveted upon the rider that made Bishop Dyer turn. +Then clear sight failed her. Dizzily, in a blur, she saw the Bishop’s +hand jerk to his hip. She saw gleam of blue and spout of red. In her ears burst +a thundering report. The court floated in darkening circles around her, and she +fell into utter blackness. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus07"></a> +<img src="images/img07.jpg" width="458" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">It was Jane’s gaze riveted upon the rider that made Bishop Dyer turn.</p> +</div> + +<p> +The darkness lightened, turned to slow-drifting haze, and lifted. Through a +thin film of blue smoke she saw the rough-hewn timbers of the court roof. A +cool, damp touch moved across her brow. She smelled powder, and it was that +which galvanized her suspended thought. She moved, to see that she lay prone +upon the stone flags with her head on Lassiter’s knee, and he was bathing +her brow with water from the stream. The same swift glance, shifting low, +brought into range of her sight a smoking gun and splashes of blood. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Ah-h!</i>” she moaned, and was drifting, sinking again into +darkness, when Lassiter’s voice arrested her. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right, Jane. It’s all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did—you—kill—him?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Who? That fat party who was here? No. I didn’t kill him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!... Lassiter!” +</p> + +<p> +“Say! It was queer for you to faint. I thought you were such a strong +woman, not faintish like that. You’re all right now—only some pale. +I thought you’d never come to. But I’m awkward round women folks. I +couldn’t think of anythin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!... the gun there!... the blood!” +</p> + +<p> +“So that’s troublin’ you. I reckon it needn’t. You see +it was this way. I come round the house an’ seen that fat party an’ +heard him talkin’ loud. Then he seen me, an’ very impolite goes +straight for his gun. He oughtn’t have tried to throw a gun on +me—whatever his reason was. For that’s meetin’ me on my own +grounds. I’ve seen runnin’ molasses that was quicker’n him. +Now I didn’t know who he was, visitor or friend or relation of yours, +though I seen he was a Mormon all over, an’ I couldn’t get serious +about shootin’. So I winged him—put a bullet through his arm as he +was pullin’ at his gun. An’ he dropped the gun there, an’ a +little blood. I told him he’d introduced himself sufficient, an’ to +please move out of my vicinity. An’ he went.” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter spoke with slow, cool, soothing voice, in which there was a hint of +levity, and his touch, as he continued to bathe her brow, was gentle and +steady. His impassive face, and the kind gray eyes, further stilled her +agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“He drew on you first, and you deliberately shot to cripple him—you +wouldn’t kill him—you—<i>Lassiter?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s about the size of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane kissed his hand. +</p> + +<p> +All that was calm and cool about Lassiter instantly vanished. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t do that! I won’t stand it! An’ I don’t +care a damn who that fat party was.” +</p> + +<p> +He helped Jane to her feet and to a chair. Then with the wet scarf he had used +to bathe her face he wiped the blood from the stone flags and, picking up the +gun, he threw it upon a couch. With that he began to pace the court, and his +silver spurs jangled musically, and the great gun-sheaths softly brushed +against his leather chaps. +</p> + +<p> +“So—it’s true—what I heard him say?” Lassiter +asked, presently halting before her. “You made love to me—to bind +my hands?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” confessed Jane. It took all her woman’s courage to +meet the gray storm of his glance. +</p> + +<p> +“All these days that you’ve been so friendly an’ like a +pardner—all these evenin’s that have been so bewilderin’ to +me—your beauty—an’—an’ the way you looked +an’ came close to me—they were woman’s tricks to bind my +hands?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ your sweetness that seemed so natural, an’ your +throwin’ little Fay an’ me so much together—to make me love +the child—all that was for the same reason?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter flung his arms—a strange gesture for him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe it wasn’t much in your Mormon thinkin’, for you to +play that game. But to ring the child in—that was hellish!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane’s passionate, unheeding zeal began to loom darkly. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, whatever my intention in the beginning, Fay loves you +dearly—and I—I’ve grown to—to like you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s powerful kind of you, now,” he said. Sarcasm and +scorn made his voice that of a stranger. “An’ you sit there +an’ look me straight in the eyes! You’re a wonderful strange woman, +Jane Withersteen.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not ashamed, Lassiter. I told you I’d try to change +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you mind tellin’ me just what you tried?” +</p> + +<p> +“I tried to make you see beauty in me and be softened by it. I wanted you +to care for me so that I could influence you. It wasn’t easy. At first +you were stone-blind. Then I hoped you’d love little Fay, and through +that come to feel the horror of making children fatherless.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane Withersteen, either you’re a fool or noble beyond my +understandin’. Mebbe you’re both. I know you’re blind. What +you meant is one thing—what you <i>did</i> was to make me love +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I’m a human bein’, though I never loved any one but +my sister, Milly Erne. That was long—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, are you Milly’s brother?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I was, an’ I loved her. There never was any one but her in my +life till now. Didn’t I tell you that long ago I back-trailed myself from +women? I was a Texas ranger till—till Milly left home, an’ then I +became somethin’ else—Lassiter! For years I’ve been a lonely +man set on one thing. I came here an’ met you. An’ now I’m +not the man I was. The change was gradual, an’ I took no notice of it. I +understand now that never-satisfied longin’ to see you, listen to you, +watch you, feel you near me. It’s plain now why you were never out of my +thoughts. I’ve had no thoughts but of you. I’ve lived an’ +breathed for you. An’ now when I know what it means—what +you’ve done—I’m burnin’ up with hell’s +fire!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lassiter—no—no—you don’t love me that +way!” Jane cased. +</p> + +<p> +“If that’s what love is, then I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forgive me! I didn’t mean to make you love me like that. Oh, what +a tangle of our lives! You—Milly Erne’s brother! And +I—heedless, mad to melt your heart toward Mormons. Lassiter, I may be +wicked but not wicked enough to hate. If I couldn’t hate Tull, could I +hate you?” +</p> + +<p> +“After all, Jane, mebbe you’re only blind—Mormon blind. That +only can explain what’s close to selfishness—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not selfish. I despise the very word. If I were +free—” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re not free. Not free of Mormonism. An’ in +playin’ this game with me you’ve been unfaithful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Un-faithful!” faltered Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I said unfaithful. You’re faithful to your Bishop an’ +unfaithful to yourself. You’re false to your womanhood an’ true to +your religion. But for a savin’ innocence you’d have made yourself +low an’ vile—betrayin’ yourself, betrayin’ me—all +to bind my hands an’ keep me from snuffin’ out Mormon life. +It’s your damned Mormon blindness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it vile—is it blind—is it only Mormonism to save human +life? No, Lassiter, that’s God’s law, divine, universal for all +Christians.” +</p> + +<p> +“The blindness I mean is blindness that keeps you from seein’ the +truth. I’ve known many good Mormons. But some are blacker than hell. You +won’t see that even when you know it. Else, why all this blind passion to +save the life of that—that....” +</p> + +<p> +Jane shut out the light, and the hands she held over her eyes trembled and +quivered against her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Blind—yes, en’ let me make it clear en’ simple to +you,” Lassiter went on, his voice losing its tone of anger. “Take, +for instance, that idea of yours last night when you wanted my guns. It was +good an’ beautiful, an’ showed your heart—but—why, +Jane, it was crazy. Mind I’m assumin’ that life to me is as sweet +as to any other man. An’ to preserve that life is each man’s first +an’ closest thought. Where would any man be on this border without guns? +Where, especially, would Lassiter be? Well, I’d be under the sage with +thousands of other men now livin’ an’ sure better men than me. +Gun-packin’ in the West since the Civil War has growed into a kind of +moral law. An’ out here on this border it’s the difference between +a man an’ somethin’ not a man. Look what your takin’ +Venters’s guns from him all but made him! Why, your churchmen carry guns. +Tull has killed a man an’ drawed on others. Your Bishop has shot a half +dozen men, an’ it wasn’t through prayers of his that they +recovered. An’ to-day he’d have shot me if he’d been quick +enough on the draw. Could I walk or ride down into Cottonwoods without my guns? +This is a wild time, Jane Withersteen, this year of our Lord eighteen +seventy-one.” +</p> + +<p> +“No time—for a woman!” exclaimed Jane, brokenly. “Oh, +Lassiter, I feel helpless—lost—and don’t know where to turn. +If I <i>am</i> blind—then—I need some one—a friend—you, +Lassiter—more than ever!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I didn’t say nothin’ about goin’ back on you, +did I?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"></a> +CHAPTER XII.<br /> +THE INVISIBLE HAND</h2> + +<p> +Jane received a letter from Bishop Dyer, not in his own handwriting, which +stated that the abrupt termination of their interview had left him in some +doubt as to her future conduct. A slight injury had incapacitated him from +seeking another meeting at present, the letter went on to say, and ended with a +request which was virtually a command, that she call upon him at once. +</p> + +<p> +The reading of the letter acquainted Jane Withersteen with the fact that +something within her had all but changed. She sent no reply to Bishop Dyer nor +did she go to see him. On Sunday she remained absent from the service—for +the second time in years—and though she did not actually suffer there was +a dead-lock of feelings deep within her, and the waiting for a balance to fall +on either side was almost as bad as suffering. She had a gloomy expectancy of +untoward circumstances, and with it a keen-edged curiosity to watch +developments. She had a half-formed conviction that her future conduct—as +related to her churchmen—was beyond her control and would be governed by +their attitude toward her. Something was changing in her, forming, waiting for +decision to make it a real and fixed thing. She had told Lassiter that she felt +helpless and lost in the fateful tangle of their lives; and now she feared that +she was approaching the same chaotic condition of mind in regard to her +religion. It appalled her to find that she questioned phases of that religion. +Absolute faith had been her serenity. Though leaving her faith unshaken, her +serenity had been disturbed, and now it was broken by open war between her and +her ministers. That something within her—a whisper—which she had +tried in vain to hush had become a ringing voice, and it called to her to wait. +She had transgressed no laws of God. Her churchmen, however invested with the +power and the glory of a wonderful creed, however they sat in inexorable +judgment of her, must now practice toward her the simple, common, Christian +virtue they professed to preach, “Do unto others as you would have others +do unto you!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen, waiting in darkness of mind, remained faithful still. But it +was darkness that must soon be pierced by light. If her faith were justified, +if her churchmen were trying only to intimidate her, the fact would soon be +manifest, as would their failure, and then she would redouble her zeal toward +them and toward what had been the best work of her life—work for the +welfare and happiness of those among whom she lived, Mormon and Gentile alike. +If that secret, intangible power closed its coils round her again, if that +great invisible hand moved here and there and everywhere, slowly paralyzing her +with its mystery and its inconceivable sway over her affairs, then she would +know beyond doubt that it was not chance, nor jealousy, nor intimidation, nor +ministerial wrath at her revolt, but a cold and calculating policy thought out +long before she was born, a dark, immutable will of whose empire she and all +that was hers was but an atom. +</p> + +<p> +Then might come her ruin. Then might come her fall into black storm. Yet she +would rise again, and to the light. God would be merciful to a driven woman who +had lost her way. +</p> + +<p> +A week passed. Little Fay played and prattled and pulled at Lassiter’s +big black guns. The rider came to Withersteen House oftener than ever. Jane saw +a change in him, though it did not relate to his kindness and gentleness. He +was quieter and more thoughtful. While playing with Fay or conversing with Jane +he seemed to be possessed of another self that watched with cool, roving eyes, +that listened, listened always as if the murmuring amber stream brought +messages, and the moving leaves whispered something. Lassiter never rode Bells +into the court any more, nor did he come by the lane or the paths. When he +appeared it was suddenly and noiselessly out of the dark shadow of the grove. +</p> + +<p> +“I left Bells out in the sage,” he said, one day at the end of that +week. “I must carry water to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not let him drink at the trough or here?” asked Jane, quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon it’ll be safer for me to slip through the grove. +I’ve been watched when I rode in from the sage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Watched? By whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“By a man who thought he was well hid. But my eyes are pretty sharp. +An’, Jane,” he went on, almost in a whisper, “I reckon +it’d be a good idea for us to talk low. You’re spied on here by +your women.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!” she whispered in turn. “That’s hard to +believe. My women love me.” +</p> + +<p> +“What of that?” he asked. “Of course they love you. But +they’re Mormon women.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane’s old, rebellious loyalty clashed with her doubt. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t believe it,” she replied, stubbornly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, just act natural an’ talk natural, an’ pretty +soon—give them time to hear us—pretend to go over there to the +table, en’ then quick-like make a move for the door en’ open +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” said Jane, with heightened color. Lassiter was right; he +never made mistakes; he would not have told her unless he positively knew. Yet +Jane was so tenacious of faith that she had to see with her own eyes, and so +constituted that to employ even such small deceit toward her women made her +ashamed, and angry for her shame as well as theirs. Then a singular thought +confronted her that made her hold up this simple ruse—which hurt her, +though it was well justified—against the deceit she had wittingly and +eagerly used toward Lassiter. The difference was staggering in its suggestion +of that blindness of which he had accused her. Fairness and justice and mercy, +that she had imagined were anchor-cables to hold fast her soul to righteousness +had not been hers in the strange, biased duty that had so exalted and +confounded her. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Jane began to act her little part, to laugh and play with Fay, to +talk of horses and cattle to Lassiter. Then she made deliberate mention of a +book in which she kept records of all pertaining to her stock, and she walked +slowly toward the table, and when near the door she suddenly whirled and thrust +it open. Her sharp action nearly knocked down a woman who had undoubtedly been +listening. +</p> + +<p> +“Hester,” said Jane, sternly, “you may go home, and you need +not come back.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane shut the door and returned to Lassiter. Standing unsteadily, she put her +hand on his arm. She let him see that doubt had gone, and how this stab of +disloyalty pained her. +</p> + +<p> +“Spies! My own women!... Oh, miserable!” she cried, with flashing, +tearful eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I hate to tell you,” he replied. By that she knew he had long +spared her. “It’s begun again—that work in the dark.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Lassiter—it never stopped!” +</p> + +<p> +So bitter certainty claimed her at last, and trust fled Withersteen House and +fled forever. The women who owed much to Jane Withersteen changed not in love +for her, nor in devotion to their household work, but they poisoned both by a +thousand acts of stealth and cunning and duplicity. Jane broke out once and +caught them in strange, stone-faced, unhesitating falsehood. Thereafter she +broke out no more. She forgave them because they were driven. Poor, fettered, +and sealed Hagars, how she pitied them! What terrible thing bound them and +locked their lips, when they showed neither consciousness of guilt toward their +benefactress nor distress at the slow wearing apart of long-established and +dear ties? +</p> + +<p> +“The blindness again!” cried Jane Withersteen. “In my sisters +as in me!... O God!” +</p> + +<p> +There came a time when no words passed between Jane and her women. Silently +they went about their household duties, and secretly they went about the +underhand work to which they had been bidden. The gloom of the house and the +gloom of its mistress, which darkened even the bright spirit of little Fay, did +not pervade these women. Happiness was not among them, but they were aloof from +gloom. They spied and listened; they received and sent secret messengers; and +they stole Jane’s books and records, and finally the papers that were +deeds of her possessions. Through it all they were silent, rapt in a kind of +trance. Then one by one, without leave or explanation or farewell, they left +Withersteen House, and never returned. +</p> + +<p> +Coincident with this disappearance Jane’s gardeners and workers in the +alfalfa fields and stable men quit her, not even asking for their wages. Of all +her Mormon employees about the great ranch only Jerd remained. He went on with +his duty, but talked no more of the change than if it had never occurred. +</p> + +<p> +“Jerd,” said Jane, “what stock you can’t take care of +turn out in the sage. Let your first thought be for Black Star and Night. Keep +them in perfect condition. Run them every day and watch them always.” +</p> + +<p> +Though Jane Withersteen gave them such liberality, she loved her possessions. +She loved the rich, green stretches of alfalfa, and the farms, and the grove, +and the old stone house, and the beautiful, ever-faithful amber spring, and +every one of a myriad of horses and colts and burros and fowls down to the +smallest rabbit that nipped her vegetables; but she loved best her noble +Arabian steeds. In common with all riders of the upland sage Jane cherished two +material things—the cold, sweet, brown water that made life possible in +the wilderness and the horses which were a part of that life. When Lassiter +asked her what Lassiter would be without his guns he was assuming that his +horse was part of himself. So Jane loved Black Star and Night because it was +her nature to love all beautiful creatures—perhaps all living things; and +then she loved them because she herself was of the sage and in her had been +born and bred the rider’s instinct to rely on his four-footed brother. +And when Jane gave Jerd the order to keep her favorites trained down to the day +it was a half-conscious admission that presaged a time when she would need her +fleet horses. +</p> + +<p> +Jane had now, however, no leisure to brood over the coils that were closing +round her. Mrs. Larkin grew weaker as the August days began; she required +constant care; there was little Fay to look after; and such household work as +was imperative. Lassiter put Bells in the stable with the other racers, and +directed his efforts to a closer attendance upon Jane. She welcomed the change. +He was always at hand to help, and it was her fortune to learn that his boast +of being awkward around women had its root in humility and was not true. +</p> + +<p> +His great, brown hands were skilled in a multiplicity of ways which a woman +might have envied. He shared Jane’s work, and was of especial help to her +in nursing Mrs. Larkin. The woman suffered most at night, and this often broke +Jane’s rest. So it came about that Lassiter would stay by Mrs. Larkin +during the day, when she needed care, and Jane would make up the sleep she lost +in night-watches. Mrs. Larkin at once took kindly to the gentle Lassiter, and, +without ever asking who or what he was, praised him to Jane. “He’s +a good man and loves children,” she said. How sad to hear this truth +spoken of a man whom Jane thought lost beyond all redemption! Yet ever and ever +Lassiter towered above her, and behind or through his black, sinister figure +shone something luminous that strangely affected Jane. Good and evil began to +seem incomprehensibly blended in her judgment. It was her belief that evil +could not come forth from good; yet here was a murderer who dwarfed in +gentleness, patience, and love any man she had ever known. +</p> + +<p> +She had almost lost track of her more outside concerns when early one morning +Judkins presented himself before her in the courtyard. +</p> + +<p> +Thin, hard, burnt, bearded, with the dust and sage thick on him, with his +leather wrist-bands shining from use, and his boots worn through on the stirrup +side, he looked the rider of riders. He wore two guns and carried a Winchester. +</p> + +<p> +Jane greeted him with surprise and warmth, set meat and bread and drink before +him; and called Lassiter out to see him. The men exchanged glances, and the +meaning of Lassiter’s keen inquiry and Judkins’s bold reply, both +unspoken, was not lost upon Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s your hoss?” asked Lassiter, aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“Left him down the slope,” answered Judkins. “I footed it in +a ways, an’ slept last night in the sage. I went to the place you told me +you ’most always slept, but didn’t strike you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I moved up some, near the spring, an’ now I go there +nights.” +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins—the white herd?” queried Jane, hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen, I make proud to say I’ve not lost a steer. Fer a +good while after thet stampede Lassiter milled we hed no trouble. Why, even the +sage dogs left us. But it’s begun agin—thet flashin’ of +lights over ridge tips, an’ queer puffin’ of smoke, en’ then +at night strange whistles en’ noises. But the herd’s acted +magnificent. An’ my boys, say, Miss Withersteen, they’re only kids, +but I ask no better riders. I got the laugh in the village fer takin’ +them out. They’re a wild lot, an’ you know boys hev more nerve than +grown men, because they don’t know what danger is. I’m not +denyin’ there’s danger. But they glory in it, an’ mebbe I +like it myself—anyway, we’ll stick. We’re goin’ to +drive the herd on the far side of the first break of Deception Pass. +There’s a great round valley over there, an’ no ridges or piles of +rocks to aid these stampeders. The rains are due. We’ll hev plenty of +water fer a while. An’ we can hold thet herd from anybody except +Oldrin’. I come in fer supplies. I’ll pack a couple of burros +an’ drive out after dark to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, take what you want from the store-room. Lassiter will help you. +I—I can’t thank you enough... but—wait.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane went to the room that had once been her father’s, and from a secret +chamber in the thick stone wall she took a bag of gold, and, carrying it back +to the court, she gave it to the rider. +</p> + +<p> +“There, Judkins, and understand that I regard it as little for your +loyalty. Give what is fair to your boys, and keep the rest. Hide it. Perhaps +that would be wisest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh... Miss Withersteen!” ejaculated the rider. “I +couldn’t earn so much in—in ten years. It’s not right—I +oughtn’t take it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, you know I’m a rich woman. I tell you I’ve few +faithful friends. I’ve fallen upon evil days. God only knows what will +become of me and mine! So take the gold.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled in understanding of his speechless gratitude, and left him with +Lassiter. Presently she heard him speaking low at first, then in louder accents +emphasized by the thumping of his rifle on the stones. “As infernal a job +as even you, Lassiter, ever heerd of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, son,” was Lassiter’s reply, “this breakin’ +of Miss Withersteen may seem bad to you, but it ain’t bad—yet. Some +of these wall-eyed fellers who look jest as if they was walkin’ in the +shadow of Christ himself, right down the sunny road, now they can think of +things en’ do things that are really hell-bent.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane covered her ears and ran to her own room, and there like caged lioness she +paced to and fro till the coming of little Fay reversed her dark thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +The following day, a warm and muggy one threatening rain awhile Jane was +resting in the court, a horseman clattered through the grove and up to the +hitching-rack. He leaped off and approached Jane with the manner of a man +determined to execute difficult mission, yet fearful of its reception. In the +gaunt, wiry figure and the lean, brown face Jane recognized one of her Mormon +riders, Blake. It was he of whom Judkins had long since spoken. Of all the +riders ever in her employ Blake owed her the most, and as he stepped before +her, removing his hat and making manly efforts to subdue his emotion, he showed +that he remembered. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen, mother’s dead,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—Blake!” exclaimed Jane, and she could say no more. +</p> + +<p> +“She died free from pain in the end, and she’s buried—resting +at last, thank God!... I’ve come to ride for you again, if you’ll +have me. Don’t think I mentioned mother to get your sympathy. When she +was living and your riders quit, I had to also. I was afraid of what might be +done—said to her.... Miss Withersteen, we can’t talk of—of +what’s going on now—” +</p> + +<p> +“Blake, do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know a great deal. You understand, my lips are shut. But without +explanation or excuse I offer my services. I’m a Mormon—I hope a +good one. But—there are some things!... It’s no use, Miss +Withersteen, I can’t say any more—what I’d like to. But will +you take me back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Blake!... You know what it means?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care. I’m sick of—of—I’ll show you +a Mormon who’ll be true to you!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Blake—how terribly you might suffer for that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe. Aren’t you suffering now?” +</p> + +<p> +“God knows indeed I am!” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen, it’s a liberty on my part to speak so, but I +know you pretty well—know you’ll never give in. I wouldn’t if +I were you. And I—I must—Something makes me tell you the worst is +yet to come. That’s all. I absolutely can’t say more. Will you take +me back—let me ride for you—show everybody what I mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Blake, it makes me happy to hear you. How my riders hurt me when they +quit!” Jane felt the hot tears well to her eyes and splash down upon her +hands. “I thought so much of them—tried so hard to be good to them. +And not one was true. You’ve made it easy to forgive. Perhaps many of +them really feel as you do, but dare not return to me. Still, Blake, I hesitate +to take you back. Yet I want you so much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do it, then. If you’re going to make your life a lesson to Mormon +women, let me make mine a lesson to the men. Right is right. I believe in you, +and here’s my life to prove it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You hint it may mean your life!” said Jane, breathless and low. +</p> + +<p> +“We won’t speak of that. I want to come back. I want to do what +every rider aches in his secret heart to do for you.... Miss Withersteen, I +hoped it’d not be necessary to tell you that my mother on her deathbed +told me to have courage. She knew how the thing galled me—she told me to +come back.... Will you take me?” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless you, Blake! Yes, I’ll take you back. And will +you—will you accept gold from me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen!” +</p> + +<p> +“I just gave Judkins a bag of gold. I’ll give you one. If you will +not take it you must not come back. You might ride for me a few +months—weeks—days till the storm breaks. Then you’d have +nothing, and be in disgrace with your people. We’ll forearm you against +poverty, and me against endless regret. I’ll give you gold which you can +hide—till some future time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if it pleases you,” replied Blake. “But you know I +never thought of pay. Now, Miss Withersteen, one thing more. I want to see this +man Lassiter. Is he here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but, Blake—what—Need you see him? Why?” asked +Jane, instantly worried. “I can speak to him—tell him about +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That won’t do. I want to—I’ve got to tell him myself. +Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter is with Mrs. Larkin. She is ill. I’ll call him,” +answered Jane, and going to the door she softly called for the rider. A faint, +musical jingle preceded his step—then his tall form crossed the +threshold. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, here’s Blake, an old rider of mine. He has come back to +me and he wishes to speak to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Blake’s brown face turned exceedingly pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I had to speak to you,” he said, swiftly. “My +name’s Blake. I’m a Mormon and a rider. Lately I quit Miss +Withersteen. I’ve come to beg her to take me back. Now I don’t know +you; but I know—what you are. So I’ve this to say to your face. It +would never occur to this woman to imagine—let alone suspect me to be a +spy. She couldn’t think it might just be a low plot to come here and +shoot you in the back. Jane Withersteen hasn’t that kind of a mind.... +Well, I’ve not come for that. I want to help her—to pull a bridle +along with Judkins and—and you. The thing is—do you believe +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I do,” replied Lassiter. How this slow, cool speech +contrasted with Blake’s hot, impulsive words! “You might have saved +some of your breath. See here, Blake, cinch this in your mind. Lassiter has met +some square Mormons! An’ mebbe—” +</p> + +<p> +“Blake,” interrupted Jane, nervously anxious to terminate a +colloquy that she perceived was an ordeal for him. “Go at once and fetch +me a report of my horses.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen!... You mean the big drove—down in the +sage-cleared fields?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” replied Jane. “My horses are all there, except +the blooded stock I keep here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you heard—then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heard? No! What’s happened to them?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re gone, Miss Withersteen, gone these ten days past. Dorn +told me, and I rode down to see for myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter—did you know?” asked Jane, whirling to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon so.... But what was the use to tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +It was Lassiter turning away his face and Blake studying the stone flags at his +feet that brought Jane to the understanding of what she betrayed. She strove +desperately, but she could not rise immediately from such a blow. +</p> + +<p> +“My horses! My horses! What’s become of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dorn said the riders report another drive by Oldring.... And I trailed +the horses miles down the slope toward Deception Pass.” +</p> + +<p> +“My red herd’s gone! My horses gone! The white herd will go next. I +can stand that. But if I lost Black Star and Night, it would be like parting +with my own flesh and blood. Lassiter—Blake—am I in danger of +losing my racers?” +</p> + +<p> +“A rustler—or—or anybody stealin’ hosses of yours would +most of all want the blacks,” said Lassiter. His evasive reply was +affirmative enough. The other rider nodded gloomy acquiescence. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Oh!” Jane Withersteen choked, with violent utterance. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me take charge of the blacks?” asked Blake. “One more +rider won’t be any great help to Judkins. But I might hold Black Star and +Night, if you put such store on their value.” +</p> + +<p> +“Value! Blake, I love my racers. Besides, there’s another reason +why I mustn’t lose them. You go to the stables. Go with Jerd every day +when he runs the horses, and don’t let them out of your sight. If you +would please me—win my gratitude, guard my black racers.” +</p> + +<p> +When Blake had mounted and ridden out of the court Lassiter regarded Jane with +the smile that was becoming rarer as the days sped by. +</p> + +<p> +“’Pears to me, as Blake says, you do put some store on them hosses. +Now I ain’t gainsayin’ that the Arabians are the handsomest hosses +I ever seen. But Bells can beat Night, an’ run neck en’ neck with +Black Star.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, don’t tease me now. I’m miserable—sick. +Bells is fast, but he can’t stay with the blacks, and you know it. Only +Wrangle can do that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bet that big raw-boned brute can more’n show his heels +to your black racers. Jane, out there in the sage, on a long chase, Wrangle +could kill your favorites.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” replied Jane, impatiently. “Lassiter, why do you +say that so often? I know you’ve teased me at times, and I believe +it’s only kindness. You’re always trying to keep my mind off worry. +But you mean more by this repeated mention of my racers?” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon so.” Lassiter paused, and for the thousandth time in her +presence moved his black sombrero round and round, as if counting the silver +pieces on the band. “Well, Jane, I’ve sort of read a little +that’s passin’ in your mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think I might fly from my home—from Cottonwoods—from the +Utah border?” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon. An’ if you ever do an’ get away with the blacks I +wouldn’t like to see Wrangle left here on the sage. Wrangle could catch +you. I know Venters had him. But you can never tell. Mebbe he hasn’t got +him now.... Besides—things are happenin’, an’ somethin’ +of the same queer nature might have happened to Venters.” +</p> + +<p> +“God knows you’re right!... Poor Bern, how long he’s gone! In +my trouble I’ve been forgetting him. But, Lassiter, I’ve little +fear for him. I’ve heard my riders say he’s as keen as a wolf.... +As to your reading my thoughts—well, your suggestion makes an actual +thought of what was only one of my dreams. I believe I dreamed of flying from +this wild borderland, Lassiter. I’ve strange dreams. I’m not always +practical and thinking of my many duties, as you said once. For +instance—if I dared—if I dared I’d ask you to saddle the +blacks and ride away with me—and hide me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane!” +</p> + +<p> +The rider’s sunburnt face turned white. A few times Jane had seen +Lassiter’s cool calm broken—when he had met little Fay, when he had +learned how and why he had come to love both child and mistress, when he had +stood beside Milly Erne’s grave. But one and all they could not be +considered in the light of his present agitation. Not only did Lassiter turn +white—not only did he grow tense, not only did he lose his coolness, but +also he suddenly, violently, hungrily took her into his arms and crushed her to +his breast. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!” cried Jane, trembling. It was an action for which she +took sole blame. Instantly, as if dazed, weakened, he released her. +“Forgive me!” went on Jane. “I’m always forgetting +your—your feelings. I thought of you as my faithful friend. I’m +always making you out more than human... only, let me say—I meant +that—about riding away. I’m wretched, sick of +this—this—Oh, something bitter and black grows on my heart!” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, the hell—of it,” he replied, with deep intake of +breath, “is you <i>can’t</i> ride away. Mebbe realizin’ it +accounts for my grabbin’ you—that way, as much as the crazy +boy’s rapture your words gave me. I don’t understand myself.... But +the hell of this game is—you <i>can’t</i> ride away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!... What on earth do you mean? I’m an absolutely free +woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“You ain’t absolutely anythin’ of the kind.... I reckon +I’ve got to tell you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me all. It’s uncertainty that makes me a coward. It’s +faith and hope—blind love, if you will, that makes me miserable. Every +day I awake believing—still believing. The day grows, and with it doubts, +fears, and that black bat hate that bites hotter and hotter into my heart. Then +comes night—I pray—I pray for all, and for myself—I +sleep—and I awake free once more, trustful, faithful, to believe—to +hope! Then, O my God! I grow and live a thousand years till night again!... But +if you want to see me a woman, tell me why I can’t ride away—tell +me what more I’m to lose—tell me the worst.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, you’re watched. There’s no single move of yours, +except when you’re hid in your house, that ain’t seen by sharp +eyes. The cottonwood grove’s full of creepin’, crawlin’ men. +Like Indians in the grass. When you rode, which wasn’t often lately, the +sage was full of sneakin’ men. At night they crawl under your windows +into the court, an’ I reckon into the house. Jane Withersteen, you know, +never locked a door! This here grove’s a hummin’ bee-hive of +mysterious happenin’s. Jane, it ain’t so much that these spies keep +out of my way as me keepin’ out of theirs. They’re goin’ to +try to kill me. That’s plain. But mebbe I’m as hard to shoot in the +back as in the face. So far I’ve seen fit to watch only. This all means, +Jane, that you’re a marked woman. You can’t get away—not now. +Mebbe later, when you’re broken, you might. But that’s sure +doubtful. Jane, you’re to lose the cattle that’s left—your +home an’ ranch—an’ Amber Spring. You can’t even hide a +sack of gold! For it couldn’t be slipped out of the house, day or night, +an’ hid or buried, let alone be rid off with. You may lose all. I’m +tellin’ you, Jane, hopin’ to prepare you, if the worst does come. I +told you once before about that strange power I’ve got to feel +things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, what can I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothin’, I reckon, except know what’s comin’ an’ +wait an’ be game. If you’d let me make a call on Tull, an’ a +long-deferred call on—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush!... Hush!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, even that wouldn’t help you any in the end.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does it mean? Oh, what does it mean? I am my father’s +daughter—a Mormon, yet I can’t see! I’ve not failed in +religion—in duty. For years I’ve given with a free and full heart. +When my father died I was rich. If I’m still rich it’s because I +couldn’t find enough ways to become poor. What am I, what are my +possessions to set in motion such intensity of secret oppression?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, the mind behind it all is an empire builder.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Lassiter, I would give freely—all I own to avert +this—this wretched thing. If I gave—that would leave me with faith +still. Surely my—my churchmen think of my soul? If I lose my trust in +them—” +</p> + +<p> +“Child, be still!” said Lassiter, with a dark dignity that had in +it something of pity. “You are a woman, fine en’ big an’ +strong, an’ your heart matches your size. But in mind you’re a +child. I’ll say a little more—then I’m done. I’ll never +mention this again. Among many thousands of women you’re one who has +bucked against your churchmen. They tried you out, an’ failed of +persuasion, an’ finally of threats. You meet now the cold steel of a will +as far from Christlike as the universe is wide. You’re to be broken. Your +body’s to be held, given to some man, made, if possible, to bring +children into the world. But your soul?... What do they care for your +soul?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"></a> +CHAPTER XIII.<br /> +SOLITUDE AND STORM</h2> + +<p> +In his hidden valley Venters awakened from sleep, and his ears rang with +innumerable melodies from full-throated mockingbirds, and his eyes opened wide +upon the glorious golden shaft of sunlight shining through the great stone +bridge. The circle of cliffs surrounding Surprise Valley lay shrouded in +morning mist, a dim blue low down along the terraces, a creamy, moving cloud +along the ramparts. The oak forest in the center was a plumed and tufted oval +of gold. +</p> + +<p> +He saw Bess under the spruces. Upon her complete recovery of strength she +always rose with the dawn. At the moment she was feeding the quail she had +tamed. And she had begun to tame the mocking-birds. They fluttered among the +branches overhead and some left off their songs to flit down and shyly hop near +the twittering quail. Little gray and white rabbits crouched in the grass, now +nibbling, now laying long ears flat and watching the dogs. +</p> + +<p> +Venters’s swift glance took in the brightening valley, and Bess and her +pets, and Ring and Whitie. It swept over all to return again and rest upon the +girl. She had changed. To the dark trousers and blouse she had added moccasins +of her own make, but she no longer resembled a boy. No eye could have failed to +mark the rounded contours of a woman. The change had been to grace and beauty. +A glint of warm gold gleamed from her hair, and a tint of red shone in the +clear dark brown of cheeks. The haunting sweetness of her lips and eyes, that +earlier had been illusive, a promise, had become a living fact. She fitted +harmoniously into that wonderful setting; she was like Surprise +Valley—wild and beautiful. +</p> + +<p> +Venters leaped out of his cave to begin the day. +</p> + +<p> +He had postponed his journey to Cottonwoods until after the passing of the +summer rains. The rains were due soon. But until their arrival and the +necessity for his trip to the village he sequestered in a far corner of mind +all thought of peril, of his past life, and almost that of the present. It was +enough to live. He did not want to know what lay hidden in the dim and distant +future. Surprise Valley had enchanted him. In this home of the cliff-dwellers +there were peace and quiet and solitude, and another thing, wondrous as the +golden morning shaft of sunlight, that he dared not ponder over long enough to +understand. +</p> + +<p> +The solitude he had hated when alone he had now come to love. He was +assimilating something from this valley of gleams and shadows. From this +strange girl he was assimilating more. +</p> + +<p> +The day at hand resembled many days gone before. As Venters had no tools with +which to build, or to till the terraces, he remained idle. Beyond the cooking +of the simple fare there were no tasks. And as there were no tasks, there was +no system. He and Bess began one thing, to leave it; to begin another, to leave +that; and then do nothing but lie under the spruces and watch the great +cloud-sails majestically move along the ramparts, and dream and dream. The +valley was a golden, sunlit world. It was silent. The sighing wind and the +twittering quail and the singing birds, even the rare and seldom-occurring +hollow crack of a sliding weathered stone, only thickened and deepened that +insulated silence. +</p> + +<p> +Venters and Bess had vagrant minds. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, did I tell you about my horse Wrangle?” inquired Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“A hundred times,” she replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, have I? I’d forgotten. I want you to see him. He’ll +carry us both.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to ride him. Can he run?” +</p> + +<p> +“Run? He’s a demon. Swiftest horse on the sage! I hope he’ll +stay in that cañon.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll stay.” +</p> + +<p> +They left camp to wander along the terraces, into the aspen ravines, under the +gleaming walls. Ring and Whitie wandered in the fore, often turning, often +trotting back, open-mouthed and solemn-eyed and happy. Venters lifted his gaze +to the grand archway over the entrance to the valley, and Bess lifted hers to +follow his, and both were silent. Sometimes the bridge held their attention for +a long time. To-day a soaring eagle attracted them. +</p> + +<p> +“How he sails!” exclaimed Bess. “I wonder where his mate +is?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s at the nest. It’s on the bridge in a crack near the +top. I see her often. She’s almost white.” +</p> + +<p> +They wandered on down the terrace, into the shady, sun-flecked forest. A brown +bird fluttered crying from a bush. Bess peeped into the leaves. “Look! A +nest and four little birds. They’re not afraid of us. See how they open +their mouths. They’re hungry.” +</p> + +<p> +Rabbits rustled the dead brush and pattered away. The forest was full of a +drowsy hum of insects. Little darts of purple, that were running quail, crossed +the glades. And a plaintive, sweet peeping came from the coverts. Bess’s +soft step disturbed a sleeping lizard that scampered away over the leaves. She +gave chase and caught it, a slim creature of nameless color but of exquisite +beauty. +</p> + +<p> +“Jewel eyes,” she said. “It’s like a +rabbit—afraid. We won’t eat you. There—go.” +</p> + +<p> +Murmuring water drew their steps down into a shallow shaded ravine where a +brown brook brawled softly over mossy stones. Multitudes of strange, gray frogs +with white spots and black eyes lined the rocky bank and leaped only at close +approach. Then Venters’s eye descried a very thin, very long green snake +coiled round a sapling. They drew closer and closer till they could have +touched it. The snake had no fear and watched them with scintillating eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s pretty,” said Bess. “How tame! I thought snakes +always ran.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Even the rabbits didn’t run here till the dogs chased +them.” +</p> + +<p> +On and on they wandered to the wild jumble of massed and broken fragments of +cliff at the west end of the valley. The roar of the disappearing stream dinned +in their ears. Into this maze of rocks they threaded a tortuous way, climbing, +descending, halting to gather wild plums and great lavender lilies, and going +on at the will of fancy. Idle and keen perceptions guided them equally. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, let us climb there!” cried Bess, pointing upward to a small +space of terrace left green and shady between huge abutments of broken cliff. +And they climbed to the nook and rested and looked out across the valley to the +curling column of blue smoke from their campfire. But the cool shade and the +rich grass and the fine view were not what they had climbed for. They could not +have told, although whatever had drawn them was well-satisfying. Light, +sure-footed as a mountain goat, Bess pattered down at Venters’s heels; +and they went on, calling the dogs, eyes dreamy and wide, listening to the wind +and the bees and the crickets and the birds. +</p> + +<p> +Part of the time Ring and Whitie led the way, then Venters, then Bess; and the +direction was not an object. They left the sun-streaked shade of the oaks, +brushed the long grass of the meadows, entered the green and fragrant swaying +willows, to stop, at length, under the huge old cottonwoods where the beavers +were busy. +</p> + +<p> +Here they rested and watched. A dam of brush and logs and mud and stones backed +the stream into a little lake. The round, rough beaver houses projected from +the water. Like the rabbits, the beavers had become shy. Gradually, however, as +Venters and Bess knelt low, holding the dogs, the beavers emerged to swim with +logs and gnaw at cottonwoods and pat mud walls with their paddle-like tails, +and, glossy and shiny in the sun, to go on with their strange, persistent +industry. They were the builders. The lake was a mud-hole, and the immediate +environment a scarred and dead region, but it was a wonderful home of wonderful +animals. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at that one—he puddles in the mud,” said Bess. +“And there! See him dive! Hear them gnawing! I’d think they’d +break their teeth. How’s it they can stay out of the water and under the +water?” +</p> + +<p> +And she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +Then Venters and Bess wandered farther, and, perhaps not all unconsciously this +time, wended their slow steps to the cave of the cliff-dwellers, where she +liked best to go. +</p> + +<p> +The tangled thicket and the long slant of dust and little chips of weathered +rock and the steep bench of stone and the worn steps all were arduous work for +Bess in the climbing. But she gained the shelf, gasping, hot of cheek, glad of +eye, with her hand in Venters’s. Here they rested. The beautiful valley +glittered below with its millions of wind-turned leaves bright-faced in the +sun, and the mighty bridge towered heavenward, crowned with blue sky. Bess, +however, never rested for long. Soon she was exploring, and Venters followed; +she dragged forth from corners and shelves a multitude of crudely fashioned and +painted pieces of pottery, and he carried them. They peeped down into the dark +holes of the kivas, and Bess gleefully dropped a stone and waited for the +long-coming hollow sound to rise. They peeped into the little globular houses, +like mud-wasp nests, and wondered if these had been store-places for grain, or +baby cribs, or what; and they crawled into the larger houses and laughed when +they bumped their heads on the low roofs, and they dug in the dust of the +floors. And they brought from dust and darkness armloads of treasure which they +carried to the light. Flints and stones and strange curved sticks and pottery +they found; and twisted grass rope that crumbled in their hands, and bits of +whitish stone which crushed to powder at a touch and seemed to vanish in the +air. +</p> + +<p> +“That white stuff was bone,” said Venters, slowly. “Bones of +a cliff-dweller.” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” exclaimed Bess. +</p> + +<p> +“Here’s another piece. Look!... Whew! dry, powdery smoke! +That’s bone.” +</p> + +<p> +Then it was that Venters’s primitive, childlike mood, like a +savage’s, seeing, yet unthinking, gave way to the encroachment of +civilized thought. The world had not been made for a single day’s play or +fancy or idle watching. The world was old. Nowhere could be gotten a better +idea of its age than in this gigantic silent tomb. The gray ashes in +Venters’s hand had once been bone of a human being like himself. The pale +gloom of the cave had shadowed people long ago. He saw that Bess had received +the same shock—could not in moments such as this escape her feeling +living, thinking destiny. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, people have <i>lived</i> here,” she said, with wide, +thoughtful eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“How long ago?” +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand years and more.” +</p> + +<p> +“What were they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cliff-dwellers. Men who had enemies and made their homes high out of +reach.” +</p> + +<p> +“They had to fight?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“They fought for—what?” +</p> + +<p> +“For life. For their homes, food, children, parents—for their +women!” +</p> + +<p> +“Has the world changed any in a thousand years?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know—perhaps a little.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have men?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so—I think so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Things crowd into my mind,” she went on, and the wistful light in +her eyes told Venters the truth of her thoughts. “I’ve ridden the +border of Utah. I’ve seen people—know how they live—but they +must be few of all who are living. I had my books and I studied them. But all +that doesn’t help me any more. I want to go out into the big world and +see it. Yet I want to stay here more. What’s to become of us? Are we +cliff-dwellers? We’re alone here. I’m happy when I don’t +think. These—these bones that fly into dust—they make me sick and a +little afraid. Did the people who lived here once have the same feelings as we +have? What was the good of their living at all? They’re gone! +What’s the meaning of it all—of us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, you ask more than I can tell. It’s beyond me. Only there was +laughter here once—and now there’s silence. There was +life—and now there’s death. Men cut these little steps, made these +arrow-heads and mealing-stones, plaited the ropes we found, and left their +bones to crumble in our fingers. As far as time is concerned it might all have +been yesterday. We’re here to-day. Maybe we’re higher in the scale +of human beings—in intelligence. But who knows? We can’t be any +higher in the things for which life is lived at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why—I suppose relationship, friendship—love.” +</p> + +<p> +“Love!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Love of man for woman—love of woman for man. That’s the +nature, the meaning, the best of life itself.” +</p> + +<p> +She said no more. Wistfulness of glance deepened into sadness. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, let us go,” said Venters. +</p> + +<p> +Action brightened her. Beside him, holding his hand she slipped down the shelf, +ran down the long, steep slant of sliding stones, out of the cloud of dust, and +likewise out of the pale gloom. +</p> + +<p> +“We beat the slide,” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +The miniature avalanche cracked and roared, and rattled itself into an inert +mass at the base of the incline. Yellow dust like the gloom of the cave, but +not so changeless, drifted away on the wind; the roar clapped in echo from the +cliff, returned, went back, and came again to die in the hollowness. Down on +the sunny terrace there was a different atmosphere. Ring and Whitie leaped +around Bess. Once more she was smiling, gay, and thoughtless, with the +dream-mood in the shadow of her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, I haven’t seen that since last summer. Look!” said +Venters, pointing to the scalloped edge of rolling purple clouds that peeped +over the western wall. “We’re in for a storm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I hope not. I’m afraid of storms.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you? Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever been down in one of these walled-up pockets in a bad +storm?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, now I think of it, I haven’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s terrible. Every summer I get scared to death and hide +somewhere in the dark. Storms up on the sage are bad, but nothing to what they +are down here in the cañons. And in this little valley—why, echoes can +rap back and forth so quick they’ll split our ears.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re perfectly safe here, Bess.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. But that hasn’t anything to do with it. The truth is +I’m afraid of lightning and thunder, and thunder-claps hurt my head. If +we have a bad storm, will you stay close to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +When they got back to camp the afternoon was closing, and it was exceedingly +sultry. Not a breath of air stirred the aspen leaves, and when these did not +quiver the air was indeed still. The dark-purple clouds moved almost +imperceptibly out of the west. +</p> + +<p> +“What have we for supper?” asked Bess. +</p> + +<p> +“Rabbit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, can’t you think of another new way to cook rabbit?” +went on Bess, with earnestness. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think I am—a magician?” retorted Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t dare tell you. But, Bern, do you want me to turn into a +rabbit?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a dark-blue, merry flashing of eyes and a parting of lips; then she +laughed. In that moment she was naive and wholesome. +</p> + +<p> +“Rabbit seems to agree with you,” replied Venters. “You are +well and strong—and growing very pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +Anything in the nature of compliment he had never before said to her, and just +now he responded to a sudden curiosity to see its effect. Bess stared as if she +had not heard aright, slowly blushed, and completely lost her poise in happy +confusion. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d better go right away,” he continued, “and fetch +supplies from Cottonwoods.” +</p> + +<p> +A startlingly swift change in the nature of her agitation made him reproach +himself for his abruptness. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, don’t go!” she said. “I didn’t +mean—that about the rabbit. I—I was only trying to be—funny. +Don’t leave me all alone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, I must go sometime.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait then. Wait till after the storms.” +</p> + +<p> +The purple cloud-bank darkened the lower edge of the setting sun, crept up and +up, obscuring its fiery red heart, and finally passed over the last ruddy +crescent of its upper rim. +</p> + +<p> +The intense dead silence awakened to a long, low, rumbling roll of thunder. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Bess, nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve had big black clouds before this without rain,” said +Venters. “But there’s no doubt about that thunder. The storms are +coming. I’m glad. Every rider on the sage will hear that thunder with +glad ears.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters and Bess finished their simple meal and the few tasks around the camp, +then faced the open terrace, the valley, and the west, to watch and await the +approaching storm. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus08"></a> +<img src="images/img08.jpg" width="458" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Venters and Bess finished their simple meal—then faced +the open terrace, to watch and await the approaching storm.</p> +</div> + +<p> +It required keen vision to see any movement whatever in the purple clouds. By +infinitesimal degrees the dark cloud-line merged upward into the golden-red +haze of the afterglow of sunset. A shadow lengthened from under the western +wall across the valley. As straight and rigid as steel rose the delicate +spear-pointed silver spruces; the aspen leaves, by nature pendant and +quivering, hung limp and heavy; no slender blade of grass moved. A gentle +splashing of water came from the ravine. Then again from out of the west +sounded the low, dull, and rumbling roll of thunder. +</p> + +<p> +A wave, a ripple of light, a trembling and turning of the aspen leaves, like +the approach of a breeze on the water, crossed the valley from the west; and +the lull and the deadly stillness and the sultry air passed away on a cool +wind. +</p> + +<p> +The night bird of the cañon, with clear and melancholy notes announced the +twilight. And from all along the cliffs rose the faint murmur and moan and +mourn of the wind singing in the caves. The bank of clouds now swept hugely out +of the western sky. Its front was purple and black, with gray between, a +bulging, mushrooming, vast thing instinct with storm. It had a dark, angry, +threatening aspect. As if all the power of the winds were pushing and piling +behind, it rolled ponderously across the sky. A red flare burned out +instantaneously, flashed from the west to east, and died. Then from the deepest +black of the purple cloud burst a boom. It was like the bowling of a huge +boulder along the crags and ramparts, and seemed to roll on and fall into the +valley to bound and bang and boom from cliff to cliff. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Bess, with her hands over her ears. “What did I +tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Bess, be reasonable!” said Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a coward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not quite that, I hope. It’s strange you’re afraid. I love a +storm.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you a storm down in these cañons is an awful thing. I know +Oldring hated storms. His men were afraid of them. There was one who went deaf +in a bad storm, and never could hear again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I’ve lots to learn, Bess. I’ll lose my guess if this +storm isn’t bad enough. We’re going to have heavy wind first, then +lightning and thunder, then the rain. Let’s stay out as long as we +can.” +</p> + +<p> +The tips of the cottonwoods and the oaks waved to the east, and the rings of +aspens along the terraces twinkled their myriad of bright faces in fleet and +glancing gleam. A low roar rose from the leaves of the forest, and the spruces +swished in the rising wind. It came in gusts, with light breezes between. As it +increased in strength the lulls shortened in length till there was a strong and +steady blow all the time, and violent puffs at intervals, and sudden whirling +currents. The clouds spread over the valley, rolling swiftly and low, and +twilight faded into a sweeping darkness. Then the singing of the wind in the +caves drowned the swift roar of rustling leaves; then the song swelled to a +mourning, moaning wail; then with the gathering power of the wind the wail +changed to a shriek. Steadily the wind strengthened and constantly the strange +sound changed. +</p> + +<p> +The last bit of blue sky yielded to the on-sweep of clouds. Like angry surf the +pale gleams of gray, amid the purple of that scudding front, swept beyond the +eastern rampart of the valley. The purple deepened to black. Broad sheets of +lightning flared over the western wall. There were not yet any ropes or zigzag +streaks darting down through the gathering darkness. The storm center was still +beyond Surprise Valley. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen!... Listen!” cried Bess, with her lips close to +Venters’s ear. “You’ll hear Oldring’s knell!” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oldring’s knell. When the wind blows a gale in the caves it makes +what the rustlers call Oldring’s knell. They believe it bodes his death. +I think he believes so, too. It’s not like any sound on earth.... +It’s beginning. Listen!” +</p> + +<p> +The gale swooped down with a hollow unearthly howl. It yelled and pealed and +shrilled and shrieked. It was made up of a thousand piercing cries. It was a +rising and a moving sound. Beginning at the western break of the valley, it +rushed along each gigantic cliff, whistling into the caves and cracks, to mount +in power, to bellow a blast through the great stone bridge. Gone, as into an +engulfing roar of surging waters, it seemed to shoot back and begin all over +again. +</p> + +<p> +It was only wind, thought Venters. Here sped and shrieked the sculptor that +carved out the wonderful caves in the cliffs. It was only a gale, but as +Venters listened, as his ears became accustomed to the fury and strife, out of +it all or through it or above it pealed low and perfectly clear and +persistently uniform a strange sound that had no counterpart in all the sounds +of the elements. It was not of earth or of life. It was the grief and agony of +the gale. A knell of all upon which it blew! +</p> + +<p> +Black night enfolded the valley. Venters could not see his companion, and knew +of her presence only through the tightening hold of her hand on his arm. He +felt the dogs huddle closer to him. Suddenly the dense, black vault overhead +split asunder to a blue-white, dazzling streak of lightning. The whole valley +lay vividly clear and luminously bright in his sight. Upreared, vast and +magnificent, the stone bridge glimmered like some grand god of storm in the +lightning’s fire. Then all flashed black again—blacker than +pitch—a thick, impenetrable coal-blackness. And there came a ripping, +crashing report. Instantly an echo resounded with clapping crash. The initial +report was nothing to the echo. It was a terrible, living, reverberating, +detonating crash. The wall threw the sound across, and could have made no +greater roar if it had slipped in avalanche. From cliff to cliff the echo went +in crashing retort and banged in lessening power, and boomed in thinner volume, +and clapped weaker and weaker till a final clap could not reach across the +waiting cliff. +</p> + +<p> +In the pitchy darkness Venters led Bess, and, groping his way, by feel of hand +found the entrance to her cave and lifted her up. On the instant a blinding +flash of lightning illumined the cave and all about him. He saw Bess’s +face white now with dark, frightened eyes. He saw the dogs leap up, and he +followed suit. The golden glare vanished; all was black; then came the +splitting crack and the infernal din of echoes. +</p> + +<p> +Bess shrank closer to him and closer, found his hands, and pressed them tightly +over her ears, and dropped her face upon his shoulder, and hid her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Then the storm burst with a succession of ropes and streaks and shafts of +lightning, playing continuously, filling the valley with a broken radiance; and +the cracking shots followed each other swiftly till the echoes blended in one +fearful, deafening crash. +</p> + +<p> +Venters looked out upon the beautiful valley—beautiful now as never +before—mystic in its transparent, luminous gloom, weird in the quivering, +golden haze of lightning. The dark spruces were tipped with glimmering lights; +the aspens bent low in the winds, as waves in a tempest at sea; the forest of +oaks tossed wildly and shone with gleams of fire. Across the valley the huge +cavern of the cliff-dwellers yawned in the glare, every little black window as +clear as at noonday; but the night and the storm added to their tragedy. Flung +arching to the black clouds, the great stone bridge seemed to bear the brunt of +the storm. It caught the full fury of the rushing wind. It lifted its noble +crown to meet the lightnings. Venters thought of the eagles and their lofty +nest in a niche under the arch. A driving pall of rain, black as the clouds, +came sweeping on to obscure the bridge and the gleaming walls and the shining +valley. The lightning played incessantly, streaking down through opaque +darkness of rain. The roar of the wind, with its strange knell and the +re-crashing echoes, mingled with the roar of the flooding rain, and all +seemingly were deadened and drowned in a world of sound. +</p> + +<p> +In the dimming pale light Venters looked down upon the girl. She had sunk into +his arms, upon his breast, burying her face. She clung to him. He felt the +softness of her, and the warmth, and the quick heave of her breast. He saw the +dark, slender, graceful outline of her form. A woman lay in his arms! And he +held her closer. He who had been alone in the sad, silent watches of the night +was not now and never must be again alone. He who had yearned for the touch of +a hand felt the long tremble and the heart-beat of a woman. By what strange +chance had she come to love him! By what change—by what marvel had she +grown into a treasure! +</p> + +<p> +No more did he listen to the rush and roar of the thunder-storm. For with the +touch of clinging hands and the throbbing bosom he grew conscious of an inward +storm—the tingling of new chords of thought, strange music of unheard, +joyous bells, sad dreams dawning to wakeful delight, dissolving doubt, +resurging hope, force, fire, and freedom, unutterable sweetness of desire. A +storm in his breast—a storm of real love. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"></a> +CHAPTER XIV.<br /> +WEST WIND</h2> + +<p> +When the storm abated Venters sought his own cave, and late in the night, as +his blood cooled and the stir and throb and thrill subsided, he fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +With the breaking of dawn his eyes unclosed. The valley lay drenched and +bathed, a burnished oval of glittering green. The rain-washed walls glistened +in the morning light. Waterfalls of many forms poured over the rims. One, a +broad, lacy sheet, thin as smoke, slid over the western notch and struck a +ledge in its downward fall, to bound into broader leap, to burst far below into +white and gold and rosy mist. +</p> + +<p> +Venters prepared for the day, knowing himself a different man. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a glorious morning,” said Bess, in greeting. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. After the storm the west wind,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Last night was I—very much of a baby?” she asked, watching +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I couldn’t help it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you were afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked, in slow surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you some day,” he answered, soberly. Then around +the camp-fire and through the morning meal he was silent; afterward he strolled +thoughtfully off alone along the terrace. He climbed a great yellow rock +raising its crest among the spruces, and there he sat down to face the valley +and the west. +</p> + +<p> +“I love her!” +</p> + +<p> +Aloud he spoke—unburdened his heart—confessed his secret. For an +instant the golden valley swam before his eyes, and the walls waved, and all +about him whirled with tumult within. +</p> + +<p> +“I love her!... I understand now.” +</p> + +<p> +Reviving memory of Jane Withersteen and thought of the complications of the +present amazed him with proof of how far he had drifted from his old life. He +discovered that he hated to take up the broken threads, to delve into dark +problems and difficulties. In this beautiful valley he had been living a +beautiful dream. Tranquillity had come to him, and the joy of solitude, and +interest in all the wild creatures and crannies of this incomparable +valley—and love. Under the shadow of the great stone bridge God had +revealed Himself to Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“The world seems very far away,” he muttered, “but it’s +there—and I’m not yet done with it. Perhaps I never shall be.... +Only—how glorious it would be to live here always and never think +again!” +</p> + +<p> +Whereupon the resurging reality of the present, as if in irony of his wish, +steeped him instantly in contending thought. Out of it all he presently evolved +these things: he must go to Cottonwoods; he must bring supplies back to +Surprise Valley; he must cultivate the soil and raise corn and stock, and, most +imperative of all, he must decide the future of the girl who loved him and whom +he loved. The first of these things required tremendous effort, the last one, +concerning Bess, seemed simply and naturally easy of accomplishment. He would +marry her. Suddenly, as from roots of poisonous fire, flamed up the forgotten +truth concerning her. It seemed to wither and shrivel up all his joy on its +hot, tearing way to his heart. She had been Oldring’s Masked Rider. To +Venters’s question, “What were you to Oldring?” she had +answered with scarlet shame and drooping head. +</p> + +<p> +“What do I care who she is or what she was!” he cried, +passionately. And he knew it was not his old self speaking. It was this softer, +gentler man who had awakened to new thoughts in the quiet valley. Tenderness, +masterful in him now, matched the absence of joy and blunted the knife-edge of +entering jealousy. Strong and passionate effort of will, surprising to him, +held back the poison from piercing his soul. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait!... Wait!” he cried, as if calling. His hand pressed his +breast, and he might have called to the pang there. “Wait! It’s all +so strange—so wonderful. Anything can happen. Who am I to judge her? +I’ll glory in my love for her. But I can’t tell +it—can’t give up to it.” +</p> + +<p> +Certainly he could not then decide her future. Marrying her was impossible in +Surprise Valley and in any village south of Sterling. Even without the mask she +had once worn she would easily have been recognized as Oldring’s Rider. +No man who had ever seen her would forget her, regardless of his ignorance as +to her sex. Then more poignant than all other argument was the fact that he did +not want to take her away from Surprise Valley. He resisted all thought of +that. He had brought her to the most beautiful and wildest place of the +uplands; he had saved her, nursed her back to strength, watched her bloom as +one of the valley lilies; he knew her life there to be pure and sweet—she +belonged to him, and he loved her. Still these were not all the reasons why he +did not want to take her away. Where could they go? He feared the +rustlers—he feared the riders—he feared the Mormons. And if he +should ever succeed in getting Bess safely away from these immediate perils, he +feared the sharp eyes of women and their tongues, the big outside world with +its problems of existence. He must wait to decide her future, which, after all, +was deciding his own. But between her future and his something hung impending. +Like Balancing Rock, which waited darkly over the steep gorge, ready to close +forever the outlet to Deception Pass, that nameless thing, as certain yet +intangible as fate, must fall and close forever all doubts and fears of the +future. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve dreamed,” muttered Venters, as he rose. “Well, +why not?... To dream is happiness! But let me just once see this clearly +wholly; then I can go on dreaming till the thing falls. I’ve got to tell +Jane Withersteen. I’ve dangerous trips to take. I’ve work here to +make comfort for this girl. She’s mine. I’ll fight to keep her safe +from that old life. I’ve already seen her forget it. I love her. And if a +beast ever rises in me I’ll burn my hand off before I lay it on her with +shameful intent. And, by God! sooner or later I’ll kill the man who hid +her and kept her in Deception Pass!” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke the west wind softly blew in his face. It seemed to soothe his +passion. That west wind was fresh, cool, fragrant, and it carried a sweet, +strange burden of far-off things—tidings of life in other climes, of +sunshine asleep on other walls—of other places where reigned peace. It +carried, too, sad truth of human hearts and mystery—of promise and hope +unquenchable. Surprise Valley was only a little niche in the wide world whence +blew that burdened wind. Bess was only one of millions at the mercy of unknown +motive in nature and life. Content had come to Venters in the valley; happiness +had breathed in the slow, warm air; love as bright as light had hovered over +the walls and descended to him; and now on the west wind came a whisper of the +eternal triumph of faith over doubt. +</p> + +<p> +“How much better I am for what has come to me!” he exclaimed. +“I’ll let the future take care of itself. Whatever falls, +I’ll be ready.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters retraced his steps along the terrace back to camp, and found Bess in +the old familiar seat, waiting and watching for his return. +</p> + +<p> +“I went off by myself to think a little,” he explained. +</p> + +<p> +“You never looked that way before. What—what is it? Won’t you +tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Bess, the fact is I’ve been dreaming a lot. This valley +makes a fellow dream. So I forced myself to think. We can’t live this way +much longer. Soon I’ll simply have to go to Cottonwoods. We need a whole +pack train of supplies. I can get—” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you go safely?” she interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I’m sure of it. I’ll ride through the Pass at night. I +haven’t any fear that Wrangle isn’t where I left him. And once on +him—Bess, just wait till you see that horse!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I want to see him—to ride him. But—but, Bern, this is +what troubles me,” she said. “Will—will you come back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Give me four days. If I’m not back in four days you’ll know +I’m dead. For that only shall keep me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, I’ll come back. There’s danger—I wouldn’t +lie to you—but I can take care of myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, I’m sure—oh, I’m sure of it! All my life +I’ve watched hunted men. I can tell what’s in them. And I believe +you can ride and shoot and see with any rider of the sage. It’s +not—not that I—fear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what is it, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why—why—why should you come back at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t leave you here alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might change your mind when you get to the village—among old +friends—” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t change my mind. As for old friends—” He +uttered a short, expressive laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Then—there—there must be a—a woman!” Dark red +mantled the clear tan of temple and cheek and neck. Her eyes were eyes of +shame, upheld a long moment by intense, straining search for the verification +of her fear. Suddenly they drooped, her head fell to her knees, her hands flew +to her hot cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess—look here,” said Venters, with a sharpness due to the +violence with which he checked his quick, surging emotion. +</p> + +<p> +As if compelled against her will—answering to an irresistible +voice—Bess raised her head, looked at him with sad, dark eyes, and tried +to whisper with tremulous lips. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no woman,” went on Venters, deliberately holding her +glance with his. “Nothing on earth, barring the chances of life, can keep +me away.” +</p> + +<p> +Her face flashed and flushed with the glow of a leaping joy; but like the +vanishing of a gleam it disappeared to leave her as he had never beheld her. +</p> + +<p> +“I am nothing—I am lost—I am nameless!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you <i>want</i> me to come back?” he asked, with sudden stern +coldness. “Maybe <i>you</i> want to go back to Oldring!” +</p> + +<p> +That brought her erect, trembling and ashy pale, with dark, proud eyes and mute +lips refuting his insinuation. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have said that. But you +angered me. I intend to work—to make a home for you here—to be +a—a brother to you as long as ever you need me. And you must forget what +you are—were—I mean, and be happy. When you remember that old life +you are bitter, and it hurts me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was happy—I shall be very happy. Oh, you’re so good +that—that it kills me! If I think, I can’t believe it. I grow sick +with wondering <i>why</i>. I’m only a—<i>let me say +it</i>—only a lost, nameless—girl of the rustlers. +<i>Oldring’s Girl</i>, they called me. That you should save me—be +so good and kind—want to make me happy—why, it’s beyond +belief. No wonder I’m wretched at the thought of your leaving me. But +I’ll be wretched and bitter no more. I promise you. If only I could repay +you even a little—” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve repaid me a hundredfold. Will you believe me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Believe you! I couldn’t do else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then listen!... Saving you, I saved myself. Living here in this valley +with you, I’ve found myself. I’ve learned to think while I was +dreaming. I never troubled myself about God. But God, or some wonderful spirit, +has whispered to me here. I absolutely deny the truth of what you say about +yourself. I can’t explain it. There are things too deep to tell. Whatever +the terrible wrongs you’ve suffered, God holds you blameless. I see +that—feel that in you every moment you are near me. I’ve a mother +and a sister ’way back in Illinois. If I could I’d take you to +them—to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>If it were true!</i> Oh, I might—I might lift my head!” +she cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Lift it then—you child. For I swear it’s true.” +</p> + +<p> +She did lift her head with the singular wild grace always a part of her +actions, with that old unconscious intimation of innocence which always +tortured Venters, but now with something more—a spirit rising from the +depths that linked itself to his brave words. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been thinking—too,” she cried, with quivering +smile and swelling breast. “I’ve discovered myself—too. +I’m young—I’m alive—I’m so full—oh! +I’m a woman!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, I believe I can claim credit of that last discovery—before +you,” Venters said, and laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, there’s more—there’s something I must tell +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell it, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“When will you go to Cottonwoods?” +</p> + +<p> +“As soon as the storms are past, or the worst of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you before you go. I can’t now. I don’t know +how I shall then. But it must be told. I’d never let you leave me without +knowing. For in spite of what you say there’s a chance you mightn’t +come back.” +</p> + +<p> +Day after day the west wind blew across the valley. Day after day the clouds +clustered gray and purple and black. The cliffs sang and the caves rang with +Oldring’s knell, and the lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, the +echoes crashed and crashed, and the rains flooded the valley. Wild flowers +sprang up everywhere, swaying with the lengthening grass on the terraces, +smiling wanly from shady nooks, peeping wondrously from year-dry crevices of +the walls. The valley bloomed into a paradise. Every single moment, from the +breaking of the gold bar through the bridge at dawn on to the reddening of rays +over the western wall, was one of colorful change. The valley swam in thick, +transparent haze, golden at dawn, warm and white at noon, purple in the +twilight. At the end of every storm a rainbow curved down into the leaf-bright +forest to shine and fade and leave lingeringly some faint essence of its rosy +iris in the air. +</p> + +<p> +Venters walked with Bess, once more in a dream, and watched the lights change +on the walls, and faced the wind from out of the west. +</p> + +<p> +Always it brought softly to him strange, sweet tidings of far-off things. It +blew from a place that was old and whispered of youth. It blew down the grooves +of time. It brought a story of the passing hours. It breathed low of fighting +men and praying women. It sang clearly the song of love. That ever was the +burden of its tidings—youth in the shady woods, waders through the wet +meadows, boy and girl at the hedgerow stile, bathers in the booming surf, +sweet, idle hours on grassy, windy hills, long strolls down moonlit +lanes—everywhere in far-off lands, fingers locked and bursting hearts and +longing lips—from all the world tidings of unquenchable love. +</p> + +<p> +Often, in these hours of dreams he watched the girl, and asked himself of what +was she dreaming? For the changing light of the valley reflected its gleam and +its color and its meaning in the changing light of her eyes. He saw in them +infinitely more than he saw in his dreams. He saw thought and soul and +nature—strong vision of life. All tidings the west wind blew from +distance and age he found deep in those dark-blue depths, and found them +mysteries solved. Under their wistful shadow he softened, and in the softening +felt himself grow a sadder, a wiser, and a better man. +</p> + +<p> +While the west wind blew its tidings, filling his heart full, teaching him a +man’s part, the days passed, the purple clouds changed to white, and the +storms were over for that summer. +</p> + +<p> +“I must go now,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“When?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“At once—to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad the time has come. It dragged at me. Go—for +you’ll come back the sooner.” +</p> + +<p> +Late in the afternoon, as the ruddy sun split its last flame in the ragged +notch of the western wall, Bess walked with Venters along the eastern terrace, +up the long, weathered slope, under the great stone bridge. They entered the +narrow gorge to climb around the fence long before built there by Venters. +Farther than this she had never been. Twilight had already fallen in the gorge. +It brightened to waning shadow in the wider ascent. He showed her Balancing +Rock, of which he had often told her, and explained its sinister leaning over +the outlet. Shuddering, she looked down the long, pale incline with its +closed-in, toppling walls. +</p> + +<p> +“What an awful trail! Did you carry me up here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did, surely,” replied he. +</p> + +<p> +“It frightens me, somehow. Yet I never was afraid of trails. I’d +ride anywhere a horse could go, and climb where he couldn’t. But +there’s something fearful here. I feel as—as if the place was +watching me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look at this rock. It’s balanced here—balanced perfectly. +You know I told you the cliff-dwellers cut the rock, and why. But they’re +gone and the rock waits. Can’t you see—feel how it waits here? I +moved it once, and I’ll never dare again. A strong heave would start it. +Then it would fall and bang, and smash that crag, and jar the walls, and close +forever the outlet to Deception Pass!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! When you come back I’ll steal up here and push and push with +all my might to roll the rock and close forever the outlet to the Pass!” +She said it lightly, but in the undercurrent of her voice was a heavier note, a +ring deeper than any ever given mere play of words. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess!... You can’t dare me! Wait till I come back with +supplies—then roll the stone.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—was—in—fun.” Her voice now throbbed low. +“Always you must be free to go when you will. Go now... this place +presses on me—stifles me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going—but you had something to tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.... Will you—come back?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll come if I live.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—but you mightn’t come?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s possible, of course. It’ll take a good deal to kill +me. A man couldn’t have a faster horse or keener dog. And, Bess, +I’ve guns, and I’ll use them if I’m pushed. But don’t +worry.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve faith in you. I’ll not worry until after four days. +Only—because you mightn’t come—I <i>must</i> tell +you—” +</p> + +<p> +She lost her voice. Her pale face, her great, glowing, earnest eyes, seemed to +stand alone out of the gloom of the gorge. The dog whined, breaking the +silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>must</i> tell you—because you mightn’t come +back,” she whispered. “You <i>must</i> know what—what I think +of your goodness—of you. Always I’ve been tongue-tied. I seemed not +to be grateful. It was deep in my heart. Even now—if I were other than I +am—I couldn’t tell you. But I’m nothing—only a +rustler’s girl—nameless—infamous. You’ve saved +me—and I’m—I’m yours to do with as you like.... With +all my heart and soul—I love you!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"></a> +CHAPTER XV.<br /> +SHADOWS ON THE SAGE-SLOPE</h2> + +<p> +In the cloudy, threatening, waning summer days shadows lengthened down the +sage-slope, and Jane Withersteen likened them to the shadows gathering and +closing in around her life. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Larkin died, and little Fay was left an orphan with no known relative. +Jane’s love redoubled. It was the saving brightness of a darkening hour. +Fay turned now to Jane in childish worship. And Jane at last found full +expression for the mother-longing in her heart. Upon Lassiter, too, Mrs. +Larkin’s death had some subtle reaction. Before, he had often, without +explanation, advised Jane to send Fay back to any Gentile family that would +take her in. Passionately and reproachfully and wonderingly Jane had refused +even to entertain such an idea. And now Lassiter never advised it again, grew +sadder and quieter in his contemplation of the child, and infinitely more +gentle and loving. Sometimes Jane had a cold, inexplicable sensation of dread +when she saw Lassiter watching Fay. What did the rider see in the future? Why +did he, day by day, grow more silent, calmer, cooler, yet sadder in prophetic +assurance of something to be? +</p> + +<p> +No doubt, Jane thought, the rider, in his almost superhuman power of foresight, +saw behind the horizon the dark, lengthening shadows that were soon to crowd +and gloom over him and her and little Fay. Jane Withersteen awaited the +long-deferred breaking of the storm with a courage and embittered calm that had +come to her in her extremity. Hope had not died. Doubt and fear, subservient to +her will, no longer gave her sleepless nights and tortured days. Love remained. +All that she had loved she now loved the more. She seemed to feel that she was +defiantly flinging the wealth of her love in the face of misfortune and of +hate. No day passed but she prayed for all—and most fervently for her +enemies. It troubled her that she had lost, or had never gained, the whole +control of her mind. In some measure reason and wisdom and decision were locked +in a chamber of her brain, awaiting a key. Power to think of some things was +taken from her. Meanwhile, abiding a day of judgment, she fought ceaselessly to +deny the bitter drops in her cup, to tear back the slow, the intangibly slow +growth of a hot, corrosive lichen eating into her heart. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning of August 10th, Jane, while waiting in the court for Lassiter, +heard a clear, ringing report of a rifle. It came from the grove, somewhere +toward the corrals. Jane glanced out in alarm. The day was dull, windless, +soundless. The leaves of the cottonwoods drooped, as if they had foretold the +doom of Withersteen House and were now ready to die and drop and decay. Never +had Jane seen such shade. She pondered on the meaning of the report. Revolver +shots had of late cracked from different parts of the grove—spies taking +snap-shots at Lassiter from a cowardly distance! But a rifle report meant more. +Riders seldom used rifles. Judkins and Venters were the exceptions she called +to mind. Had the men who hounded her hidden in her grove, taken to the rifle to +rid her of Lassiter, her last friend? It was probable—it was likely. And +she did not share his cool assumption that his death would never come at the +hands of a Mormon. Long had she expected it. His constancy to her, his singular +reluctance to use the fatal skill for which he was famed—both now plain +to all Mormons—laid him open to inevitable assassination. Yet what charm +against ambush and aim and enemy he seemed to bear about him! No, Jane +reflected, it was not charm; only a wonderful training of eye and ear, and +sense of impending peril. Nevertheless that could not forever avail against +secret attack. +</p> + +<p> +That moment a rustling of leaves attracted her attention; then the familiar +clinking accompaniment of a slow, soft, measured step, and Lassiter walked into +the court. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, there’s a fellow out there with a long gun,” he said, +and, removing his sombrero, showed his head bound in a bloody scarf. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard the shot; I knew it was meant for you. Let me see—you +can’t be badly injured?” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon not. But mebbe it wasn’t a close call!... I’ll sit +here in this corner where nobody can see me from the grove.” He untied +the scarf and removed it to show a long, bleeding furrow above his left temple. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only a cut,” said Jane. “But how it bleeds! Hold +your scarf over it just a moment till I come back.” +</p> + +<p> +She ran into the house and returned with bandages; and while she bathed and +dressed the wound Lassiter talked. +</p> + +<p> +“That fellow had a good chance to get me. But he must have flinched when +he pulled the trigger. As I dodged down I saw him run through the trees. He had +a rifle. I’ve been expectin’ that kind of gun play. I reckon now +I’ll have to keep a little closer hid myself. These fellers all seem to +get chilly or shaky when they draw a bead on me, but one of them might jest +happen to hit me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you go away—leave Cottonwoods as I’ve begged you +to—before some one does happen to hit you?” she appealed to him. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I’ll stay.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, oh, Lassiter—your blood will be on my hands!” +</p> + +<p> +“See here, lady, look at your hands now, right now. Aren’t they +fine, firm, white hands? Aren’t they bloody now? Lassiter’s blood! +That’s a queer thing to stain your beautiful hands. But if you could only +see deeper you’d find a redder color of blood. Heart color, Jane!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!... My friend!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Jane, I’m not one to quit when the game grows hot, no more +than you. This game, though, is new to me, an’ I don’t know the +moves yet, else I wouldn’t have stepped in front of that bullet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you no desire to hunt the man who fired at you—to find +him—and—and kill him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I reckon I haven’t any great hankerin’ for +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the wonder of it!... I knew—I prayed—I trusted. +Lassiter, I almost gave—all myself to soften you to Mormons. Thank God, +and thank you, my friend.... But, selfish woman that I am, this is no great +test. What’s the life of one of those sneaking cowards to such a man as +you? I think of your great hate toward him who—I think of your +life’s implacable purpose. Can it be—” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait!... Listen!” he whispered. “I hear a hoss.” +</p> + +<p> +He rose noiselessly, with his ear to the breeze. Suddenly he pulled his +sombrero down over his bandaged head and, swinging his gun-sheaths round in +front, he stepped into the alcove. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a hoss—comin’ fast,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +Jane’s listening ear soon caught a faint, rapid, rhythmic beat of hoofs. +It came from the sage. It gave her a thrill that she was at a loss to +understand. The sound rose stronger, louder. Then came a clear, sharp +difference when the horse passed from the sage trail to the hard-packed ground +of the grove. It became a ringing run—swift in its bell-like clatterings, +yet singular in longer pause than usual between the hoofbeats of a horse. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Wrangle!... It’s Wrangle!” cried Jane +Withersteen. “I’d know him from a million horses!” +</p> + +<p> +Excitement and thrilling expectancy flooded out all Jane Withersteen’s +calm. A tight band closed round her breast as she saw the giant sorrel flit in +reddish-brown flashes across the openings in the green. Then he was pounding +down the lane—thundering into the court—crashing his great +iron-shod hoofs on the stone flags. Wrangle it was surely, but shaggy and +wild-eyed, and sage-streaked, with dust-caked lather staining his flanks. He +reared and crashed down and plunged. The rider leaped off, threw the bridle, +and held hard on a lasso looped round Wrangle’s head and neck. +Janet’s heart sank as she tried to recognize Venters in the rider. +Something familiar struck her in the lofty stature in the sweep of powerful +shoulders. But this bearded, longhaired, unkempt man, who wore ragged clothes +patched with pieces of skin, and boots that showed bare legs and +feet—this dusty, dark, and wild rider could not possibly be Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“Whoa, Wrangle, old boy! Come down. Easy now. So—so—so. +You’re home, old boy, and presently you can have a drink of water +you’ll remember.” +</p> + +<p> +In the voice Jane knew the rider to be Venters. He tied Wrangle to the +hitching-rack and turned to the court. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Bern!... You wild man!” she exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane—Jane, it’s good to see you! Hello, Lassiter! Yes, +it’s Venters.” +</p> + +<p> +Like rough iron his hard hand crushed Jane’s. In it she felt the +difference she saw in him. Wild, rugged, unshorn—yet how splendid! He had +gone away a boy—he had returned a man. He appeared taller, wider of +shoulder, deeper-chested, more powerfully built. But was that only her +fancy—he had always been a young giant—was the change one of +spirit? He might have been absent for years, proven by fire and steel, grown +like Lassiter, strong and cool and sure. His eyes—were they keener, more +flashing than before?—met hers with clear, frank, warm regard, in which +perplexity was not, nor discontent, nor pain. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at me long as you like,” he said, with a laugh. +“I’m not much to look at. And, Jane, neither you nor Lassiter, can +brag. You’re paler than I ever saw you. Lassiter, here, he wears a bloody +bandage under his hat. That reminds me. Some one took a flying shot at me down +in the sage. It made Wrangle run some.... Well, perhaps you’ve more to +tell me than I’ve got to tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +Briefly, in few words, Jane outlined the circumstances of her undoing in the +weeks of his absence. +</p> + +<p> +Under his beard and bronze she saw his face whiten in terrible wrath. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter—what held you back?” +</p> + +<p> +No time in the long period of fiery moments and sudden shocks had Jane +Withersteen ever beheld Lassiter as calm and serene and cool as then. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane had gloom enough without my addin’ to it by shootin’ up +the village,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +As strange as Lassiter’s coolness was Venters’s curious, intent +scrutiny of them both, and under it Jane felt a flaming tide wave from bosom to +temples. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—you’re right,” he said, with slow pause. +“It surprises me a little, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane sensed then a slight alteration in Venters, and what it was, in her own +confusion, she could not tell. It had always been her intention to acquaint him +with the deceit she had fallen to in her zeal to move Lassiter. She did not +mean to spare herself. Yet now, at the moment, before these riders, it was an +impossibility to explain. +</p> + +<p> +Venters was speaking somewhat haltingly, without his former frankness. “I +found Oldring’s hiding-place and your red herd. I learned—I +know—I’m sure there was a deal between Tull and Oldring.” He +paused and shifted his position and his gaze. He looked as if he wanted to say +something that he found beyond him. Sorrow and pity and shame seemed to contend +for mastery over him. Then he raised himself and spoke with effort. “Jane +I’ve cost you too much. You’ve almost ruined yourself for me. It +was wrong, for I’m not worth it. I never deserved such friendship. Well, +maybe it’s not too late. You must give me up. Mind, I haven’t +changed. I am just the same as ever. I’ll see Tull while I’m here, +and tell him to his face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, it’s too late,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll <i>make</i> him believe!” cried Venters, violently. +</p> + +<p> +“You ask me to break our friendship?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. If you don’t, I shall.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forever?” +</p> + +<p> +“Forever!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane sighed. Another shadow had lengthened down the sage slope to cast further +darkness upon her. A melancholy sweetness pervaded her resignation. The boy who +had left her had returned a man, nobler, stronger, one in whom she divined +something unbending as steel. There might come a moment later when she would +wonder why she had not fought against his will, but just now she yielded to it. +She liked him as well—nay, more, she thought, only her emotions were +deadened by the long, menacing wait for the bursting storm. +</p> + +<p> +Once before she had held out her hand to him—when she gave it; now she +stretched it tremblingly forth in acceptance of the decree circumstance had +laid upon them. Venters bowed over it kissed it, pressed it hard, and half +stifled a sound very like a sob. Certain it was that when he raised his head +tears glistened in his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Some—women—have a hard lot,” he said, huskily. Then he +shook his powerful form, and his rags lashed about him. “I’ll say a +few things to Tull—when I meet him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern—you’ll not draw on Tull? Oh, that must not be! Promise +me—” +</p> + +<p> +“I promise you this,” he interrupted, in stern passion that +thrilled while it terrorized her. “If you say one more word for that +plotter I’ll kill him as I would a mad coyote!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane clasped her hands. Was this fire-eyed man the one whom she had once made +as wax to her touch? Had Venters become Lassiter and Lassiter Venters? +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll—say no more,” she faltered. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, Lassiter once called you blind,” said Venters. “It +must be true. But I won’t upbraid you. Only don’t rouse the devil +in me by praying for Tull! I’ll try to keep cool when I meet him. +That’s all. Now there’s one more thing I want to ask of +you—the last. I’ve found a valley down in the Pass. It’s a +wonderful place. I intend to stay there. It’s so hidden I believe no one +can find it. There’s good water, and browse, and game. I want to raise +corn and stock. I need to take in supplies. Will you give them to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Assuredly. The more you take the better you’ll please me—and +perhaps the less my—my enemies will get.” +</p> + +<p> +“Venters, I reckon you’ll have trouble packin’ anythin’ +away,” put in Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go at night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe that wouldn’t be best. You’d sure be stopped. +You’d better go early in the mornin’—say, just after dawn. +That’s the safest time to move round here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, I’ll be hard to stop,” returned Venters, darkly. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern,” said Jane, “go first to the riders’ quarters +and get yourself a complete outfit. You’re a—a sight. Then help +yourself to whatever else you need—burros, packs, grain, dried fruits, +and meat. You must take coffee and sugar and flour—all kinds of supplies. +Don’t forget corn and seeds. I remember how you used to starve. +Please—please take all you can pack away from here. I’ll make a +bundle for you, which you mustn’t open till you’re in your valley. +How I’d like to see it! To judge by you and Wrangle, how wild it must +be!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane walked down into the outer court and approached the sorrel. Upstarting, he +laid back his ears and eyed her. +</p> + +<p> +“Wrangle—dear old Wrangle,” she said, and put a caressing +hand on his matted mane. “Oh, he’s wild, but he knows me! Bern, can +he run as fast as ever?” +</p> + +<p> +“Run? Jane, he’s done sixty miles since last night at dark, and I +could make him kill Black Star right now in a ten-mile race.” +</p> + +<p> +“He never could,” protested Jane. “He couldn’t even if +he was fresh.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon mebbe the best hoss’ll prove himself yet,” said +Lassiter, “an’, Jane, if it ever comes to that race I’d like +you to be on Wrangle.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like that, too,” rejoined Venters. “But, Jane, +maybe Lassiter’s hint is extreme. Bad as your prospects are, you’ll +surely never come to the running point.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who knows!” she replied, with mournful smile. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, Jane, it can’t be so bad as all that. Soon as I see Tull +there’ll be a change in your fortunes. I’ll hurry down to the +village.... Now don’t worry.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane retired to the seclusion of her room. Lassiter’s subtle forecasting +of disaster, Venters’s forced optimism, neither remained in mind. +Material loss weighed nothing in the balance with other losses she was +sustaining. She wondered dully at her sitting there, hands folded listlessly, +with a kind of numb deadness to the passing of time and the passing of her +riches. She thought of Venters’s friendship. She had not lost that, but +she had lost him. Lassiter’s friendship—that was more than +love—it would endure, but soon he, too, would be gone. Little Fay slept +dreamlessly upon the bed, her golden curls streaming over the pillow. Jane had +the child’s worship. Would she lose that, too? And if she did, what then +would be left? Conscience thundered at her that there was left her religion. +Conscience thundered that she should be grateful on her knees for this baptism +of fire; that through misfortune, sacrifice, and suffering her soul might be +fused pure gold. But the old, spontaneous, rapturous spirit no more exalted +her. She wanted to be a woman—not a martyr. Like the saint of old who +mortified his flesh, Jane Withersteen had in her the temper for heroic +martyrdom, if by sacrificing herself she could save the souls of others. But +here the damnable verdict blistered her that the more she sacrificed herself +the blacker grew the souls of her churchmen. There was something terribly wrong +with her soul, something terribly wrong with her churchmen and her religion. In +the whirling gulf of her thought there was yet one shining light to guide her, +to sustain her in her hope; and it was that, despite her errors and her +frailties and her blindness, she had one absolute and unfaltering hold on +ultimate and supreme justice. That was love. “Love your enemies as +yourself!” was a divine word, entirely free from any church or creed. +</p> + +<p> +Jane’s meditations were disturbed by Lassiter’s soft, tinkling step +in the court. Always he wore the clinking spurs. Always he was in readiness to +ride. She passed out and called him into the huge, dim hall. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you’ll be safer here. The court is too open,” she +said. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon,” replied Lassiter. “An’ it’s cooler +here. The day’s sure muggy. Well, I went down to the village with +Venters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Already! Where is he?” queried Jane, in quick amaze. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s at the corrals. Blake’s helpin’ him get the +burros an’ packs ready. That Blake is a good fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did—did Bern meet Tull?” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess he did,” answered Lassiter, and he laughed dryly. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me! Oh, you exasperate me! You’re so cool, so calm! For +Heaven’s sake, tell me what happened!” +</p> + +<p> +“First time I’ve been in the village for weeks,” went on +Lassiter, mildly. “I reckon there ain’t been more of a show for a +long time. Me an’ Venters walkin’ down the road! It was funny. I +ain’t sayin’ anybody was particular glad to see us. I’m not +much thought of hereabouts, an’ Venters he sure looks like what you +called him, a wild man. Well, there was some runnin’ of folks before we +got to the stores. Then everybody vamoosed except some surprised rustlers in +front of a saloon. Venters went right in the stores an’ saloons, +an’ of course I went along. I don’t know which tickled me the +most—the actions of many fellers we met, or Venters’s nerve. Jane, +I was downright glad to be along. You see <i>that</i> sort of thing is my +element, an’ I’ve been away from it for a spell. But we +didn’t find Tull in one of them places. Some Gentile feller at last told +Venters he’d find Tull in that long buildin’ next to +Parsons’s store. It’s a kind of meetin’-room; and sure +enough, when we peeped in, it was half full of men. +</p> + +<p> +“Venters yelled: ‘Don’t anybody pull guns! We ain’t +come for that!’ Then he tramped in, an’ I was some put to keep +alongside him. There was a hard, scrapin’ sound of feet, a loud cry, +an’ then some whisperin’, an’ after that stillness you could +cut with a knife. Tull was there, an’ that fat party who once tried to +throw a gun on me, an’ other important-lookin’ men, en’ that +little frog-legged feller who was with Tull the day I rode in here. I wish you +could have seen their faces, ’specially Tull’s an’ the fat +party’s. But there ain’t no use of me tryin’ to tell you how +they looked. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Venters an’ I stood there in the middle of the room with +that batch of men all in front of us, en’ not a blamed one of them winked +an eyelash or moved a finger. It was natural, of course, for me to notice many +of them packed guns. That’s a way of mine, first noticin’ them +things. Venters spoke up, an’ his voice sort of chilled an’ cut, +en’ he told Tull he had a few things to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Here Lassiter paused while he turned his sombrero round and round, in his +familiar habit, and his eyes had the look of a man seeing over again some +thrilling spectacle, and under his red bronze there was strange animation. +</p> + +<p> +“Like a shot, then, Venters told Tull that the friendship between you +an’ him was all over, an’ he was leaving your place. He said +you’d both of you broken off in the hope of propitiatin’ your +people, but you hadn’t changed your mind otherwise, an’ never +would. +</p> + +<p> +“Next he spoke up for you. I ain’t goin’ to tell you what he +said. Only—no other woman who ever lived ever had such tribute! You had a +champion, Jane, an’ never fear that those thick-skulled men don’t +know you now. It couldn’t be otherwise. He spoke the ringin’, +lightnin’ truth.... Then he accused Tull of the underhand, miserable +robbery of a helpless woman. He told Tull where the red herd was, of a deal +made with Oldrin’, that Jerry Card had made the deal. I thought Tull was +goin’ to drop, an’ that little frog-legged cuss, he looked some +limp an’ white. But Venters’s voice would have kept anybody’s +legs from bucklin’. I was stiff myself. He went on an’ called +Tull—called him every bad name ever known to a rider, an’ then +some. He cursed Tull. I never hear a man get such a cursin’. He laughed +in scorn at the idea of Tull bein’ a minister. He said Tull an’ a +few more dogs of hell builded their empire out of the hearts of such innocent +an’ God-fearin’ women as Jane Withersteen. He called Tull a binder +of women, a callous beast who hid behind a mock mantle of +righteousness—an’ the last an’ lowest coward on the face of +the earth. To prey on weak women through their religion—that was the last +unspeakable crime! +</p> + +<p> +“Then he finished, an’ by this time he’d almost lost his +voice. But his whisper was enough. ‘Tull,’ he said, +‘<i>she</i> begged me not to draw on you to-day. <i>She</i> would pray +for you if you burned her at the stake.... But listen!... I swear if you and I +ever come face to face again, I’ll kill you!’ +</p> + +<p> +“We backed out of the door then, an’ up the road. But nobody +follered us.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane found herself weeping passionately. She had not been conscious of it till +Lassiter ended his story, and she experienced exquisite pain and relief in +shedding tears. Long had her eyes been dry, her grief deep; long had her +emotions been dumb. Lassiter’s story put her on the rack; the appalling +nature of Venters’s act and speech had no parallel as an outrage; it was +worse than bloodshed. Men like Tull had been shot, but had one ever been so +terribly denounced in public? Over-mounting her horror, an uncontrollable, +quivering passion shook her very soul. It was sheer human glory in the deed of +a fearless man. It was hot, primitive instinct to live—to fight. It was a +kind of mad joy in Venters’s chivalry. It was close to the wrath that had +first shaken her in the beginning of this war waged upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, Jane, don’t take it that way,” said Lassiter, in +evident distress. “I had to tell you. There’s some things a feller +jest can’t keep. It’s strange you give up on hearin’ that, +when all this long time you’ve been the gamest woman I ever seen. But I +don’t know women. Mebbe there’s reason for you to cry. I know +this—nothin’ ever rang in my soul an’ so filled it as what +Venters did. I’d like to have done it, but—I’m only good for +throwin’ a gun, en’ it seems you hate that.... Well, I’ll be +goin’ now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Venters took Wrangle to the stable. The sorrel’s shy a shoe, +an’ I’ve got to help hold the big devil an’ put on +another.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell Bern to come for the pack I want to give him—and—and to +say good-by,” called Jane, as Lassiter went out. +</p> + +<p> +Jane passed the rest of that day in a vain endeavor to decide what and what not +to put in the pack for Venters. This task was the last she would ever perform +for him, and the gifts were the last she would ever make him. So she picked and +chose and rejected, and chose again, and often paused in sad revery, and began +again, till at length she filled the pack. +</p> + +<p> +It was about sunset, and she and Fay had finished supper and were sitting in +the court, when Venters’s quick steps rang on the stones. She scarcely +knew him, for he had changed the tattered garments, and she missed the dark +beard and long hair. Still he was not the Venters of old. As he came up the +steps she felt herself pointing to the pack, and heard herself speaking words +that were meaningless to her. He said good-by; he kissed her, released her, and +turned away. His tall figure blurred in her sight, grew dim through dark, +streaked vision, and then he vanished. +</p> + +<p> +Twilight fell around Withersteen House, and dusk and night. Little Fay slept; +but Jane lay with strained, aching eyes. She heard the wind moaning in the +cottonwoods and mice squeaking in the walls. The night was interminably long, +yet she prayed to hold back the dawn. What would another day bring forth? The +blackness of her room seemed blacker for the sad, entering gray of morning +light. She heard the chirp of awakening birds, and fancied she caught a faint +clatter of hoofs. Then low, dull distant, throbbed a heavy gunshot. She had +expected it, was waiting for it; nevertheless, an electric shock checked her +heart, froze the very living fiber of her bones. That vise-like hold on her +faculties apparently did not relax for a long time, and it was a voice under +her window that released her. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane!... Jane!” softly called Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +She answered somehow. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right. Venters got away. I thought mebbe you’d +heard that shot, en’ I was worried some.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was it—who fired?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—some fool feller tried to stop Venters out there in the +sage—an’ he only stopped lead!... I think it’ll be all right. +I haven’t seen or heard of any other fellers round. Venters’ll go +through safe. An’, Jane, I’ve got Bells saddled, an’ +I’m going to trail Venters. Mind, I won’t show myself unless he +falls foul of somebody an’ needs me. I want to see if this place where +he’s goin’ is safe for him. He says nobody can track him there. I +never seen the place yet I couldn’t track a man to. Now, Jane, you stay +indoors while I’m gone, an’ keep close watch on Fay. Will +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! Oh yes!” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ another thing, Jane,” he continued, then paused for +long—“another thing—if you ain’t here when I come +back—if you’re <i>gone</i>—don’t fear, I’ll trail +you—I’ll find you out.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Lassiter, where could I be gone—as you put it?” +asked Jane, in curious surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon you might be somewhere. Mebbe tied in an old barn—or +corralled in some gulch—or chained in a cave! <i>Milly Erne +was</i>—till she give in! Mebbe that’s news to you.... Well, if +you’re gone I’ll hunt for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Lassiter,” she replied, sadly and low. “If I’m +gone just forget the unhappy woman whose blinded selfish deceit you repaid with +kindness and love.” +</p> + +<p> +She heard a deep, muttering curse, under his breath, and then the silvery +tinkling of his spurs as he moved away. +</p> + +<p> +Jane entered upon the duties of that day with a settled, gloomy calm. Disaster +hung in the dark clouds, in the shade, in the humid west wind. Blake, when he +reported, appeared without his usual cheer; and Jerd wore a harassed look of a +worn and worried man. And when Judkins put in appearance, riding a lame horse, +and dismounted with the cramp of a rider, his dust-covered figure and his +darkly grim, almost dazed expression told Jane of dire calamity. She had no +need of words. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen, I have to report—loss of the—white +herd,” said Judkins, hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, sit down, you look played out,” replied Jane, solicitously. +She brought him brandy and food, and while he partook of refreshments, of which +he appeared badly in need, she asked no questions. +</p> + +<p> +“No one rider—could hev done more—Miss Withersteen,” he +went on, presently. +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, don’t be distressed. You’ve done more than any +other rider. I’ve long expected to lose the white herd. It’s no +surprise. It’s in line with other things that are happening. I’m +grateful for your service.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Withersteen, I knew how you’d take it. But if anythin’, +that makes it harder to tell. You see, a feller wants to do so much fer you, +an’ I’d got fond of my job. We led the herd a ways off to the north +of the break in the valley. There was a big level an’ pools of water +an’ tip-top browse. But the cattle was in a high nervous condition. +Wild—as wild as antelope! You see, they’d been so scared they never +slept. I ain’t a-goin’ to tell you of the many tricks that were +pulled off out there in the sage. But there wasn’t a day for weeks thet +the herd didn’t get started to run. We allus managed to ride ’em +close an’ drive ’em back an’ keep ’em bunched. Honest, +Miss Withersteen, them steers was <i>thin</i>. They was <i>thin</i> when water +and grass was everywhere. <i>Thin</i> at this season—thet’ll tell +you how your steers was pestered. Fer instance, one night a strange +runnin’ streak of fire run right through the herd. That streak was a +coyote—<i>with an oiled an’ blazin’ tail!</i> Fer I shot it +an’ found out. We had hell with the herd that night, an’ if the +sage an’ grass hadn’t been wet—we, hosses, steers, an’ +all would hev burned up. But I said I wasn’t goin’ to tell you any +of the tricks.... Strange now, Miss Withersteen, when the stampede did come it +was from natural cause—jest a whirlin’ devil of dust. You’ve +seen the like often. An’ this wasn’t no big whirl, fer the dust was +mostly settled. It had dried out in a little swale, an’ ordinarily no +steer would ever hev run fer it. But the herd was nervous en’ wild. +An’ jest as Lassiter said, when that bunch of white steers got to +movin’ they was as bad as buffalo. I’ve seen some buffalo stampedes +back in Nebraska, an’ this bolt of the steers was the same kind. +</p> + +<p> +“I tried to mill the herd jest as Lassiter did. But I wasn’t equal +to it, Miss Withersteen. I don’t believe the rider lives who could hev +turned thet herd. We kept along of the herd fer miles, an’ more’n +one of my boys tried to get the steers a-millin’. It wasn’t no use. +We got off level ground, goin’ down, an’ then the steers ran +somethin’ fierce. We left the little gullies an’ washes level-full +of dead steers. Finally I saw the herd was makin’ to pass a kind of low +pocket between ridges. There was a hog-back—as we used to call +’em—a pile of rocks stickin’ up, and I saw the herd was +goin’ to split round it, or swing out to the left. An’ I wanted +’em to go to the right so mebbe we’d be able to drive ’em +into the pocket. So, with all my boys except three, I rode hard to turn the +herd a little to the right. We couldn’t budge ’em. They went on +en’ split round the rocks, en’ the most of ’em was turned +sharp to the left by a deep wash we hedn’t seen—hed no chance to +see. +</p> + +<p> +“The other three boys—Jimmy Vail, Joe Willis, an’ thet little +Cairns boy—a nervy kid! they, with Cairns leadin’, tried to buck +thet herd round to the pocket. It was a wild, fool idee. I couldn’t do +nothin’. The boys got hemmed in between the steers an’ the +wash—thet they hedn’t no chance to see, either. Vail an’ +Willis was run down right before our eyes. An’ Cairns, who rode a fine +hoss, he did some ridin’. I never seen equaled, en’ would hev beat +the steers if there’d been any room to run in. I was high up an’ +could see how the steers kept spillin’ by twos an’ threes over into +the wash. Cairns put his hoss to a place thet was too wide fer any hoss, +an’ broke his neck an’ the hoss’s too. We found that out +after, an’ as fer Vail an’ Willis—two thousand steers ran +over the poor boys. There wasn’t much left to pack home fer burying!... +An’, Miss Withersteen, thet all happened yesterday, en’ I believe, +if the white herd didn’t run over the wall of the Pass, it’s +runnin’ yet.” +</p> + +<p> +On the morning of the second day after Judkins’s recital, during which +time Jane remained indoors a prey to regret and sorrow for the boy riders, and +a new and now strangely insistent fear for her own person, she again heard what +she had missed more than she dared honestly confess—the soft, jingling +step of Lassiter. Almost overwhelming relief surged through her, a feeling as +akin to joy as any she could have been capable of in those gloomy hours of +shadow, and one that suddenly stunned her with the significance of what +Lassiter had come to mean to her. She had begged him, for his own sake, to +leave Cottonwoods. She might yet beg that, if her weakening courage permitted +her to dare absolute loneliness and helplessness, but she realized now that if +she were left alone her life would become one long, hideous nightmare. +</p> + +<p> +When his soft steps clinked into the hall, in answer to her greeting, and his +tall, black-garbed form filled the door, she felt an inexpressible sense of +immediate safety. In his presence she lost her fear of the dim passageways of +Withersteen House and of every sound. Always it had been that, when he entered +the court or the hall, she had experienced a distinctly sickening but gradually +lessening shock at sight of the huge black guns swinging at his sides. This +time the sickening shock again visited her, it was, however, because a +revealing flash of thought told her that it was not alone Lassiter who was +thrillingly welcome, but also his fatal weapons. They meant so much. How she +had fallen—how broken and spiritless must she be—to have still the +same old horror of Lassiter’s guns and his name, yet feel somehow a cold, +shrinking protection in their law and might and use. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you trail Venters—find his wonderful valley?” she asked, +eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, an’ I reckon it’s sure a wonderful place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he safe there?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s been botherin’ me some. I tracked him an’ part +of the trail was the hardest I ever tackled. Mebbe there’s a rustler or +somebody in this country who’s as good at trackin’ as I am. If +that’s so Venters ain’t safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—tell me all about Bern and his valley.” +</p> + +<p> +To Jane’s surprise Lassiter showed disinclination for further talk about +his trip. He appeared to be extremely fatigued. Jane reflected that one hundred +and twenty miles, with probably a great deal of climbing on foot, all in three +days, was enough to tire any rider. Moreover, it presently developed that +Lassiter had returned in a mood of singular sadness and preoccupation. She put +it down to a moodiness over the loss of her white herd and the now precarious +condition of her fortune. +</p> + +<p> +Several days passed, and as nothing happened, Jane’s spirits began to +brighten. Once in her musings she thought that this tendency of hers to rebound +was as sad as it was futile. Meanwhile, she had resumed her walks through the +grove with little Fay. +</p> + +<p> +One morning she went as far as the sage. She had not seen the slope since the +beginning of the rains, and now it bloomed a rich deep purple. There was a high +wind blowing, and the sage tossed and waved and colored beautifully from light +to dark. Clouds scudded across the sky and their shadows sailed darkly down the +sunny slope. +</p> + +<p> +Upon her return toward the house she went by the lane to the stables, and she +had scarcely entered the great open space with its corrals and sheds when she +saw Lassiter hurriedly approaching. Fay broke from her and, running to a corral +fence, began to pat and pull the long, hanging ears of a drowsy burro. +</p> + +<p> +One look at Lassiter armed her for a blow. +</p> + +<p> +Without a word he led her across the wide yard to the rise of the ground upon +which the stable stood. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane—look!” he said, and pointed to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +Jane glanced down, and again, and upon steadier vision made out splotches of +blood on the stones, and broad, smooth marks in the dust, leading out toward +the sage. +</p> + +<p> +“What made these?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon somebody has dragged dead or wounded men out to where there was +hosses in the sage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dead—or—wounded—men!” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon—Jane, are you strong? Can you bear up?” +</p> + +<p> +His hands were gently holding hers, and his eyes—suddenly she could no +longer look into them. “Strong?” she echoed, trembling. +“I—I will be.” +</p> + +<p> +Up on the stone-flag drive, nicked with the marks made by the iron-shod hoofs +of her racers, Lassiter led her, his grasp ever growing firmer. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s Blake—and—and Jerb?” she asked, +haltingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know where Jerb is. Bolted, most likely,” replied +Lassiter, as he took her through the stone door. “But Blake—poor +Blake! He’s gone forever!... Be prepared, Jane.” +</p> + +<p> +With a cold prickling of her skin, with a queer thrumming in her ears, with +fixed and staring eyes, Jane saw a gun lying at her feet with chamber swung and +empty, and discharged shells scattered near. +</p> + +<p> +Outstretched upon the stable floor lay Blake, ghastly +white—dead—one hand clutching a gun and the other twisted in his +bloody blouse. +</p> + +<p> +“Whoever the thieves were, whether your people or rustlers—Blake +killed some of them!” said Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +“Thieves?” whispered Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon. Hoss-thieves!... Look!” Lassiter waved his hand toward +the stalls. +</p> + +<p> +The first stall—Bells’s stall—was empty. All the stalls were +empty. No racer whinnied and stamped greeting to her. Night was gone! Black +Star was gone! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"></a> +CHAPTER XVI.<br /> +GOLD</h2> + +<p> +As Lassiter had reported to Jane, Venters “went through” safely, +and after a toilsome journey reached the peaceful shelter of Surprise Valley. +When finally he lay wearily down under the silver spruces, resting from the +strain of dragging packs and burros up the slope and through the entrance to +Surprise Valley, he had leisure to think, and a great deal of the time went in +regretting that he had not been frank with his loyal friend, Jane Withersteen. +</p> + +<p> +But, he kept continually recalling, when he had stood once more face to face +with her and had been shocked at the change in her and had heard the details of +her adversity, he had not had the heart to tell her of the closer interest +which had entered his life. He had not lied; yet he had kept silence. +</p> + +<p> +Bess was in transports over the stores of supplies and the outfit he had packed +from Cottonwoods. He had certainly brought a hundred times more than he had +gone for; enough, surely, for years, perhaps to make permanent home in the +valley. He saw no reason why he need ever leave there again. +</p> + +<p> +After a day of rest he recovered his strength and shared Bess’s pleasure +in rummaging over the endless packs, and began to plan for the future. And in +this planning, his trip to Cottonwoods, with its revived hate of Tull and +consequent unleashing of fierce passions, soon faded out of mind. By slower +degrees his friendship for Jane Withersteen and his contrition drifted from the +active preoccupation of his present thought to a place in memory, with more and +more infrequent recalls. +</p> + +<p> +And as far as the state of his mind was concerned, upon the second day after +his return, the valley, with its golden hues and purple shades, the speaking +west wind and the cool, silent night, and Bess’s watching eyes with their +wonderful light, so wrought upon Venters that he might never have left them at +all. +</p> + +<p> +That very afternoon he set to work. Only one thing hindered him upon beginning, +though it in no wise checked his delight, and that in the multiplicity of tasks +planned to make a paradise out of the valley he could not choose the one with +which to begin. He had to grow into the habit of passing from one dreamy +pleasure to another, like a bee going from flower to flower in the valley, and +he found this wandering habit likely to extend to his labors. Nevertheless, he +made a start. +</p> + +<p> +At the outset he discovered Bess to be both a considerable help in some ways +and a very great hindrance in others. Her excitement and joy were spurs, +inspirations; but she was utterly impracticable in her ideas, and she flitted +from one plan to another with bewildering vacillation. Moreover, he fancied +that she grew more eager, youthful, and sweet; and he marked that it was far +easier to watch her and listen to her than it was to work. Therefore he gave +her tasks that necessitated her going often to the cave where he had stored his +packs. +</p> + +<p> +Upon the last of these trips, when he was some distance down the terrace and +out of sight of camp, he heard a scream, and then the sharp barking of the +dogs. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant he straightened up, amazed. Danger for her had been absolutely +out of his mind. She had seen a rattlesnake—or a wildcat. Still she would +not have been likely to scream at sight of either; and the barking of the dogs +was ominous. Dropping his work, he dashed back along the terrace. Upon breaking +through a clump of aspens he saw the dark form of a man in the camp. Cold, then +hot, Venters burst into frenzied speed to reach his guns. He was cursing +himself for a thoughtless fool when the man’s tall form became familiar +and he recognized Lassiter. Then the reversal of emotions changed his run to a +walk; he tried to call out, but his voice refused to carry; when he reached +camp there was Lassiter staring at the white-faced girl. By that time Ring and +Whitie had recognized him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Venters! I’m makin’ you a visit,” said +Lassiter, slowly. “An’ I’m some surprised to see you’ve +a—a young feller for company.” +</p> + +<p> +One glance had sufficed for the keen rider to read Bess’s real sex, and +for once his cool calm had deserted him. He stared till the white of +Bess’s cheeks flared into crimson. That, if it were needed, was the +concluding evidence of her femininity, for it went fittingly with her +sun-tinted hair and darkened, dilated eyes, the sweetness of her mouth, and the +striking symmetry of her slender shape. +</p> + +<p> +“Heavens! Lassiter!” panted Venters, when he caught his breath. +“What relief—it’s only you! How—in the name of all +that’s wonderful—did you ever get here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I trailed you. We—I wanted to know where you was, if you had a +safe place. So I trailed you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Trailed me,” cried Venters, bluntly. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon. It was some of a job after I got to them smooth rocks. I was +all day trackin’ you up to them little cut steps in the rock. The rest +was easy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s your hoss? I hope you hid him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tied him in them queer cedars down on the slope. He can’t be +seen from the valley.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good. Well, well! I’m completely dumfounded. It was +my idea that no man could track me in here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon. But if there’s a tracker in these uplands as good as me +he can find you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s bad. That’ll worry me. But, Lassiter, now +you’re here I’m glad to see you. And—and my companion here is +not a young fellow!... Bess, this is a friend of mine. He saved my life +once.” +</p> + +<p> +The embarrassment of the moment did not extend to Lassiter. Almost at once his +manner, as he shook hands with Bess, relieved Venters and put the girl at ease. +After Venters’s words and one quick look at Lassiter, her agitation +stilled, and, though she was shy, if she were conscious of anything out of the +ordinary in the situation, certainly she did not show it. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I’ll only stay a little while,” Lassiter was +saying. “An’ if you don’t mind troublin’, I’m +hungry. I fetched some biscuits along, but they’re gone. Venters, this +place is sure the wonderfullest ever seen. Them cut steps on the slope! That +outlet into the gorge! An’ it’s like climbin’ up through hell +into heaven to climb through that gorge into this valley! There’s a +queer-lookin’ rock at the top of the passage. I didn’t have time to +stop. I’m wonderin’ how you ever found this place. It’s sure +interestin’.” +</p> + +<p> +During the preparation and eating of dinner Lassiter listened mostly, as was +his wont, and occasionally he spoke in his quaint and dry way. Venters noted, +however, that the rider showed an increasing interest in Bess. He asked her no +questions, and only directed his attention to her while she was occupied and +had no opportunity to observe his scrutiny. It seemed to Venters that Lassiter +grew more and more absorbed in his study of Bess, and that he lost his coolness +in some strange, softening sympathy. Then, quite abruptly, he arose and +announced the necessity for his early departure. He said good-by to Bess in a +voice gentle and somewhat broken, and turned hurriedly away. Venters +accompanied him, and they had traversed the terrace, climbed the weathered +slope, and passed under the stone bridge before either spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +Then Lassiter put a great hand on Venters’s shoulder and wheeled him to +meet a smoldering fire of gray eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, I couldn’t tell Jane! I couldn’t,” burst out +Venters, reading his friend’s mind. “I tried. But I couldn’t. +She wouldn’t understand, and she has troubles enough. And I love the +girl!” +</p> + +<p> +“Venters, I reckon this beats me. I’ve seen some queer things in my +time, too. This girl—who is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know! What is she, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know that, either. Oh, it’s the strangest story you +ever heard. I must tell you. But you’ll never believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Venters, women were always puzzles to me. But for all that, if this girl +ain’t a child, an’ as innocent, I’m no fit person to think of +virtue an’ goodness in anybody. Are you goin’ to be square with +her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am—so help me God!” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckoned so. Mebbe my temper oughtn’t led me to make sure. But, +man, she’s a woman in all but years. She’s sweeter’n the +sage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, I know, I know. And the <i>hell</i> of it is that in spite of +her innocence and charm she’s—she’s not what she +seems!” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t want to—of course, I couldn’t call you a +liar, Venters,” said the older man. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s more, she was Oldring’s Masked Rider!” +</p> + +<p> +Venters expected to floor his friend with that statement, but he was not in any +way prepared for the shock his words gave. For an instant he was astounded to +see Lassiter stunned; then his own passionate eagerness to unbosom himself, to +tell the wonderful story, precluded any other thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Son, tell me all about this,” presently said Lassiter as he seated +himself on a stone and wiped his moist brow. +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon Venters began his narrative at the point where he had shot the +rustler and Oldring’s Masked Rider, and he rushed through it, telling +all, not holding back even Bess’s unreserved avowal of her love or his +deepest emotions. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the story,” he said, concluding. “I love her, +though I’ve never told her. If I did tell her I’d be ready to marry +her, and that seems impossible in this country. I’d be afraid to risk +taking her anywhere. So I intend to do the best I can for her here.” +</p> + +<p> +“The longer I live the stranger life is,” mused Lassiter, with +downcast eyes. “I’m reminded of somethin’ you once said to +Jane about hands in her game of life. There’s that unseen hand of power, +an’ Tull’s black hand, an’ my red one, an’ your +indifferent one, an’ the girl’s little brown, helpless one. +An’, Venters there’s another one that’s all-wise an’ +all-wonderful. <i>That’s</i> the hand guidin’ Jane +Withersteen’s game of life!... Your story’s one to daze a far +clearer head than mine. I can’t offer no advice, even if you asked for +it. Mebbe I can help you. Anyway, I’ll hold Oldrin’ up when he +comes to the village an’ find out about this girl. I knew the rustler +years ago. He’ll remember me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, if I ever meet Oldring I’ll kill him!” cried +Venters, with sudden intensity. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon that’d be perfectly natural,” replied the rider. +</p> + +<p> +“Make him think Bess is dead—as she is to him and that old +life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure, sure, son. Cool down now. If you’re goin’ to begin +pullin’ guns on Tull an’ Oldrin’ you want to be cool. I +reckon, though, you’d better keep hid here. Well, I must be +leavin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“One thing, Lassiter. You’ll not tell Jane about Bess? Please +don’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon not. But I wouldn’t be afraid to bet that after +she’d got over anger at your secrecy—Venters, she’d be +furious once in her life!—she’d think more of you. I don’t +mind sayin’ for myself that I think you’re a good deal of a +man.” +</p> + +<p> +In the further ascent Venters halted several times with the intention of saying +good-by, yet he changed his mind and kept on climbing till they reached +Balancing Rock. Lassiter examined the huge rock, listened to Venters’s +idea of its position and suggestion, and curiously placed a strong hand upon +it. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on!” cried Venters. “I heaved at it once and have never +gotten over my scare.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you do seem uncommon nervous,” replied Lassiter, much +amused. “Now, as for me, why I always had the funniest notion to roll +stones! When I was a kid I did it, an’ the bigger I got the bigger stones +I’d roll. Ain’t that funny? Honest—even now I often get off +my hoss just to tumble a big stone over a precipice, en’ watch it drop, +en’ listen to it bang an’ boom. I’ve started some slides in +my time, an’ don’t you forget it. I never seen a rock I wanted to +roll as bad as this one! Wouldn’t there jest be roarin’, +crashin’ hell down that trail?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d close the outlet forever!” exclaimed Venters. +“Well, good-by, Lassiter. Keep my secret and don’t forget me. And +be mighty careful how you get out of the valley below. The rustlers’ +cañon isn’t more than three miles up the Pass. Now you’ve tracked +me here, I’ll never feel safe again.” +</p> + +<p> +In his descent to the valley, Venters’s emotion, roused to stirring pitch +by the recital of his love story, quieted gradually, and in its place came a +sober, thoughtful mood. All at once he saw that he was serious, because he +would never more regain his sense of security while in the valley. What +Lassiter could do another skilful tracker might duplicate. Among the many +riders with whom Venters had ridden he recalled no one who could have taken his +trail at Cottonwoods and have followed it to the edge of the bare slope in the +pass, let alone up that glistening smooth stone. Lassiter, however, was not an +ordinary rider. Instead of hunting cattle tracks he had likely spent a goodly +portion of his life tracking men. It was not improbable that among +Oldring’s rustlers there was one who shared Lassiter’s gift for +trailing. And the more Venters dwelt on this possibility the more perturbed he +grew. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter’s visit, moreover, had a disquieting effect upon Bess, and +Venters fancied that she entertained the same thought as to future seclusion. +The breaking of their solitude, though by a well-meaning friend, had not only +dispelled all its dream and much of its charm, but had instilled a canker of +fear. Both had seen the footprint in the sand. +</p> + +<p> +Venters did no more work that day. Sunset and twilight gave way to night, and +the cañon bird whistled its melancholy notes, and the wind sang softly in the +cliffs, and the camp-fire blazed and burned down to red embers. To Venters a +subtle difference was apparent in all of these, or else the shadowy change had +been in him. He hoped that on the morrow this slight depression would have +passed away. +</p> + +<p> +In that measure, however, he was doomed to disappointment. Furthermore, Bess +reverted to a wistful sadness that he had not observed in her since her +recovery. His attempt to cheer her out of it resulted in dismal failure, and +consequently in a darkening of his own mood. Hard work relieved him; still, +when the day had passed, his unrest returned. Then he set to deliberate +thinking, and there came to him the startling conviction that he must leave +Surprise Valley and take Bess with him. As a rider he had taken many chances, +and as an adventurer in Deception Pass he had unhesitatingly risked his life, +but now he would run no preventable hazard of Bess’s safety and +happiness, and he was too keen not to see that hazard. It gave him a pang to +think of leaving the beautiful valley just when he had the means to establish a +permanent and delightful home there. One flashing thought tore in hot +temptation through his mind—why not climb up into the gorge, roll +Balancing Rock down the trail, and close forever the outlet to Deception Pass? +“That was the beast in me—showing his teeth!” muttered +Venters, scornfully. “I’ll just kill him good and quick! I’ll +be fair to this girl, if it’s the last thing I do on earth!” +</p> + +<p> +Another day went by, in which he worked less and pondered more and all the time +covertly watched Bess. Her wistfulness had deepened into downright unhappiness, +and that made his task to tell her all the harder. He kept the secret another +day, hoping by some chance she might grow less moody, and to his exceeding +anxiety she fell into far deeper gloom. Out of his own secret and the torment +of it he divined that she, too, had a secret and the keeping of it was +torturing her. As yet he had no plan thought out in regard to how or when to +leave the valley, but he decided to tell her the necessity of it and to +persuade her to go. Furthermore, he hoped his speaking out would induce her to +unburden her own mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, what’s wrong with you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” she answered, with averted face. +</p> + +<p> +Venters took hold of her gently, though masterfully, forced her to meet his +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t look at me and lie,” he said. +“Now—what’s wrong with you? You’re keeping something +from me. Well, I’ve got a secret, too, and I intend to tell it +presently.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—I <i>have</i> a secret. I was crazy to tell you when you came +back. That’s why I was so silly about everything. I kept holding my +secret back—gloating over it. But when Lassiter came I got an +idea—that changed my mind. Then I hated to tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—yes. I was coming to it. I tried yesterday, but you were so +cold. I was afraid. I couldn’t keep it much longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, most mysterious lady, tell your wonderful secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t laugh,” she retorted, with a first glimpse of +reviving spirit. “I can take the laugh out of you in one second.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a go.” +</p> + +<p> +She ran through the spruces to the cave, and returned carrying something which +was manifestly heavy. Upon nearer view he saw that whatever she held with such +evident importance had been bound up in a black scarf he well remembered. That +alone was sufficient to make him tingle with curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any idea what I did in your absence?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I imagine you lounged about, waiting and watching for me,” he +replied, smiling. “I’ve my share of conceit, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re wrong. I worked. Look at my hands.” She dropped on +her knees close to where he sat, and, carefully depositing the black bundle, +she held out her hands. The palms and inside of her fingers were white, +puckered, and worn. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Bess, you’ve been fooling in the water,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Fooling? Look here!” With deft fingers she spread open the black +scarf, and the bright sun shone upon a dull, glittering heap of gold. +</p> + +<p> +“Gold!” he ejaculated. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, gold! See, pounds of gold! I found it—washed it out of the +stream—picked it out grain by grain, nugget by nugget!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gold!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Now—now laugh at my secret!” +</p> + +<p> +For a long minute Venters gazed. Then he stretched forth a hand to feel if the +gold was real. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Gold!</i>” he almost shouted. “Bess, there are +hundreds—thousands of dollars’ worth here!” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned over to her, and put his hand, strong and clenching now, on hers. +</p> + +<p> +“Is there more where this came from?” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Plenty of it, all the way up the stream to the cliff. You know +I’ve often washed for gold. Then I’ve heard the men talk. I think +there’s no great quantity of gold here, but enough for—for a +fortune for <i>you</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“That—was—your—secret!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I hate gold. For it makes men mad. I’ve seen them drunk with +joy and dance and fling themselves around. I’ve seen them curse and rave. +I’ve seen them fight like dogs and roll in the dust. I’ve seen them +kill each other for gold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that why you hated to tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not—not altogether.” Bess lowered her head. “It was +because I knew you’d never stay here long after you found gold.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were afraid I’d leave you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen!... You great, simple child! Listen... You sweet, wonderful, +wild, blue-eyed girl! I was tortured by my secret. It was that I knew +we—<i>we</i> must leave the valley. We can’t stay here much longer. +I couldn’t think how we’d get away—out of the +country—or how we’d live, if we ever got out. I’m a beggar. +That’s why I kept my secret. I’m poor. It takes money to make way +beyond Sterling. We couldn’t ride horses or burros or walk forever. So +while I knew we must go, I was distracted over how to go and what to do. +<i>Now!</i> We’ve gold! Once beyond Sterling, we’ll be safe from +rustlers. We’ve no others to fear. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Listen! Bess!” Venters now heard his voice ringing high and +sweet, and he felt Bess’s cold hands in his crushing grasp as she leaned +toward him pale, breathless. “This is how much I’d leave you! You +made me live again! I’ll take you away—far away from this wild +country. You’ll begin a new life. You’ll be happy. You shall see +cities, ships, people. You shall have anything your heart craves. All the shame +and sorrow of your life shall be forgotten—as if they had never been. +This is how much I’d leave you here alone—you sad-eyed girl. I love +you! Didn’t you know it? How could you fail to know it? I love you! +I’m free! I’m a man—a man you’ve made—no more a +beggar!... Kiss me! This is how much I’d leave you here alone—you +beautiful, strange, unhappy girl. But I’ll make you happy. +What—what do I care for—your past! I love you! I’ll take you +home to Illinois—to my mother. Then I’ll take you to far places. +I’ll make up all you’ve lost. Oh, I know you love me—knew it +before you told me. And it changed my life. And you’ll go with me, not as +my companion as you are here, nor my sister, but, Bess, darling!... <i>As my +wife!</i>” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"></a> +CHAPTER XVII.<br /> +WRANGLE’S RACE RUN</h2> + +<p> +The plan eventually decided upon by the lovers was for Venters to go to the +village, secure a horse and some kind of a disguise for Bess, or at least less +striking apparel than her present garb, and to return post-haste to the valley. +Meanwhile, she would add to their store of gold. Then they would strike the +long and perilous trail to ride out of Utah. In the event of his inability to +fetch back a horse for her, they intended to make the giant sorrel carry +double. The gold, a little food, saddle blankets, and Venters’s guns were +to compose the light outfit with which they would make the start. +</p> + +<p> +“I love this beautiful place,” said Bess. “It’s hard to +think of leaving it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hard! Well, I should think so,” replied Venters. +“Maybe—in years—” But he did not complete in words his +thought that might be possible to return after many years of absence and +change. +</p> + +<p> +Once again Bess bade Venters farewell under the shadow of Balancing Rock, and +this time it was with whispered hope and tenderness and passionate trust. Long +after he had left her, all down through the outlet to the Pass, the clinging +clasp of her arms, the sweetness of her lips, and the sense of a new and +exquisite birth of character in her remained hauntingly and thrillingly in his +mind. The girl who had sadly called herself nameless and nothing had been +marvelously transformed in the moment of his avowal of love. It was something +to think over, something to warm his heart, but for the present it had +absolutely to be forgotten so that all his mind could be addressed to the trip +so fraught with danger. +</p> + +<p> +He carried only his rifle, revolver, and a small quantity of bread and meat, +and thus lightly burdened, he made swift progress down the slope and out into +the valley. Darkness was coming on, and he welcomed it. Stars were blinking +when he reached his old hiding-place in the split of cañon wall, and by their +aid he slipped through the dense thickets to the grassy enclosure. Wrangle +stood in the center of it with his head up, and he appeared black and of +gigantic proportions in the dim light. Venters whistled softly, began a slow +approach, and then called. The horse snorted and, plunging away with dull, +heavy sound of hoofs, he disappeared in the gloom. “Wilder than +ever!” muttered Venters. He followed the sorrel into the narrowing split +between the walls, and presently had to desist because he could not see a foot +in advance. As he went back toward the open Wrangle jumped out of an ebony +shadow of cliff and like a thunderbolt shot huge and black past him down into +the starlit glade. Deciding that all attempts to catch Wrangle at night would +be useless, Venters repaired to the shelving rock where he had hidden saddle +and blanket, and there went to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +The first peep of day found him stirring, and as soon as it was light enough to +distinguish objects, he took his lasso off his saddle and went out to rope the +sorrel. He espied Wrangle at the lower end of the cove and approached him in a +perfectly natural manner. When he got near enough, Wrangle evidently recognized +him, but was too wild to stand. He ran up the glade and on into the narrow lane +between the walls. This favored Venters’s speedy capture of the horse, +so, coiling his noose ready to throw, he hurried on. Wrangle let Venters get to +within a hundred feet and then he broke. But as he plunged by, rapidly getting +into his stride, Venters made a perfect throw with the rope. He had time to +brace himself for the shock; nevertheless, Wrangle threw him and dragged him +several yards before halting. +</p> + +<p> +“You wild devil,” said Venters, as he slowly pulled Wrangle up. +“Don’t you know me? Come now—old +fellow—so—so—” +</p> + +<p> +Wrangle yielded to the lasso and then to Venters’s strong hand. He was as +straggly and wild-looking as a horse left to roam free in the sage. He dropped +his long ears and stood readily to be saddled and bridled. But he was +exceedingly sensitive, and quivered at every touch and sound. Venters led him +to the thicket, and, bending the close saplings to let him squeeze through, at +length reached the open. Sharp survey in each direction assured him of the +usual lonely nature of the cañon, then he was in the saddle, riding south. +</p> + +<p> +Wrangle’s long, swinging canter was a wonderful ground-gainer. His stride +was almost twice that of an ordinary horse; and his endurance was equally +remarkable. Venters pulled him in occasionally, and walked him up the stretches +of rising ground and along the soft washes. Wrangle had never yet shown any +indication of distress while Venters rode him. Nevertheless, there was now +reason to save the horse, therefore Venters did not resort to the hurry that +had characterized his former trip. He camped at the last water in the Pass. +What distance that was to Cottonwoods he did not know; he calculated, however, +that it was in the neighborhood of fifty miles. +</p> + +<p> +Early in the morning he proceeded on his way, and about the middle of the +forenoon reached the constricted gap that marked the southerly end of the Pass, +and through which led the trail up to the sage-level. He spied out +Lassiter’s tracks in the dust, but no others, and dismounting, he +straightened out Wrangle’s bridle and began to lead him up the trail. The +short climb, more severe on beast than on man, necessitated a rest on the level +above, and during this he scanned the wide purple reaches of slope. +</p> + +<p> +Wrangle whistled his pleasure at the smell of the sage. Remounting, Venters +headed up the white trail with the fragrant wind in his face. He had proceeded +for perhaps a couple of miles when Wrangle stopped with a suddenness that threw +Venters heavily against the pommel. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s wrong, old boy?” called Venters, looking down for a +loose shoe or a snake or a foot lamed by a picked-up stone. Unrewarded, he +raised himself from his scrutiny. Wrangle stood stiff head high, with his long +ears erect. Thus guided, Venters swiftly gazed ahead to make out a +dust-clouded, dark group of horsemen riding down the slope. If they had seen +him, it apparently made no difference in their speed or direction. +</p> + +<p> +“Wonder who they are!” exclaimed Venters. He was not disposed to +run. His cool mood tightened under grip of excitement as he reflected that, +whoever the approaching riders were, they could not be friends. He slipped out +of the saddle and led Wrangle behind the tallest sage-brush. It might serve to +conceal them until the riders were close enough for him to see who they were; +after that he would be indifferent to how soon they discovered him. +</p> + +<p> +After looking to his rifle and ascertaining that it was in working order, he +watched, and as he watched, slowly the force of a bitter fierceness, long +dormant, gathered ready to flame into life. If those riders were not rustlers +he had forgotten how rustlers looked and rode. On they came, a small group, so +compact and dark that he could not tell their number. How unusual that their +horses did not see Wrangle! But such failure, Venters decided, was owing to the +speed with which they were traveling. They moved at a swift canter affected +more by rustlers than by riders. Venters grew concerned over the possibility +that these horsemen would actually ride down on him before he had a chance to +tell what to expect. When they were within three hundred yards he deliberately +led Wrangle out into the trail. +</p> + +<p> +Then he heard shouts, and the hard scrape of sliding hoofs, and saw horses rear +and plunge back with up-flung heads and flying manes. Several little white +puffs of smoke appeared sharply against the black background of riders and +horses, and shots rang out. Bullets struck far in front of Venters, and whipped +up the dust and then hummed low into the sage. The range was great for +revolvers, but whether the shots were meant to kill or merely to check advance, +they were enough to fire that waiting ferocity in Venters. Slipping his arm +through the bridle, so that Wrangle could not get away, Venters lifted his +rifle and pulled the trigger twice. +</p> + +<p> +He saw the first horseman lean sideways and fall. He saw another lurch in his +saddle and heard a cry of pain. Then Wrangle, plunging in fright, lifted +Venters and nearly threw him. He jerked the horse down with a powerful hand and +leaped into the saddle. Wrangle plunged again, dragging his bridle, that +Venters had not had time to throw in place. Bending over with a swift movement, +he secured it and dropped the loop over the pommel. Then, with grinding teeth, +he looked to see what the issue would be. +</p> + +<p> +The band had scattered so as not to afford such a broad mark for bullets. The +riders faced Venters, some with red-belching guns. He heard a sharper report, +and just as Wrangle plunged again he caught the whizz of a leaden missile that +would have hit him but for Wrangle’s sudden jump. A swift, hot wave, +turning cold, passed over Venters. Deliberately he picked out the one rider +with a carbine, and killed him. Wrangle snorted shrilly and bolted into the +sage. Venters let him run a few rods, then with iron arm checked him. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus09"></a> +<img src="images/img09.jpg" width="458" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">just as Wrangle plunged again he caught the whizz of a leaden missile</p> +</div> + +<p> +Five riders, surely rustlers, were left. One leaped out of the saddle to secure +his fallen comrade’s carbine. A shot from Venters, which missed the man +but sent the dust flying over him made him run back to his horse. Then they +separated. The crippled rider went one way; the one frustrated in his attempt +to get the carbine rode another, Venters thought he made out a third rider, +carrying a strange-appearing bundle and disappearing in the sage. But in the +rapidity of action and vision he could not discern what it was. Two riders with +three horses swung out to the right. Afraid of the long rifle—a +burdensome weapon seldom carried by rustlers or riders—they had been put +to rout. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Venters discovered that one of the two men last noted was riding Jane +Withersteen’s horse Bells—the beautiful bay racer she had given to +Lassiter. Venters uttered a savage outcry. Then the small, wiry, frog-like +shape of the second rider, and the ease and grace of his seat in the +saddle—things so strikingly incongruous—grew more and more familiar +in Venters’s sight. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Jerry Card!</i>” cried Venters. +</p> + +<p> +It was indeed Tull’s right-hand man. Such a white hot wrath inflamed +Venters that he fought himself to see with clearer gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Jerry Card!” he exclaimed, instantly. “<i>And +he’s riding Black Star and leading Night!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +The long-kindling, stormy fire in Venters’s heart burst into flame. He +spurred Wrangle, and as the horse lengthened his stride Venters slipped +cartridges into the magazine of his rifle till it was once again full. Card and +his companion were now half a mile or more in advance, riding easily down the +slope. Venters marked the smooth gait, and understood it when Wrangle galloped +out of the sage into the broad cattle trail, down which Venters had once +tracked Jane Withersteen’s red herd. This hard-packed trail, from years +of use, was as clean and smooth as a road. Venters saw Jerry Card look back +over his shoulder, the other rider did likewise. Then the three racers +lengthened their stride to the point where the swinging canter was ready to +break into a gallop. +</p> + +<p> +“Wrangle, the race’s on,” said Venters, grimly. +“We’ll canter with them and gallop with them and run with them. +We’ll let them set the pace.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters knew he bestrode the strongest, swiftest, most tireless horse ever +ridden by any rider across the Utah uplands. Recalling Jane Withersteen’s +devoted assurance that Night could run neck and neck with Wrangle, and Black +Star could show his heels to him, Venters wished that Jane were there to see +the race to recover her blacks and in the unqualified superiority of the giant +sorrel. Then Venters found himself thankful that she was absent, for he meant +that race to end in Jerry Card’s death. The first flush, the raging of +Venters’s wrath, passed, to leave him in sullen, almost cold possession +of his will. It was a deadly mood, utterly foreign to his nature, engendered, +fostered, and released by the wild passions of wild men in a wild country. The +strength in him then—the thing rife in him that was not hate, but +something as remorseless—might have been the fiery fruition of a whole +lifetime of vengeful quest. Nothing could have stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +Venters thought out the race shrewdly. The rider on Bells would probably drop +behind and take to the sage. What he did was of little moment to Venters. To +stop Jerry Card, his evil hidden career as well as his present flight, and then +to catch the blacks—that was all that concerned Venters. The cattle trail +wound for miles and miles down the slope. Venters saw with a rider’s keen +vision ten, fifteen, twenty miles of clear purple sage. There were no on-coming +riders or rustlers to aid Card. His only chance to escape lay in abandoning the +stolen horses and creeping away in the sage to hide. In ten miles Wrangle could +run Black Star and Night off their feet, and in fifteen he could kill them +outright. So Venters held the sorrel in, letting Card make the running. It was +a long race that would save the blacks. +</p> + +<p> +In a few miles of that swinging canter Wrangle had crept appreciably closer to +the three horses. Jerry Card turned again, and when he saw how the sorrel had +gained, he put Black Star to a gallop. Night and Bells, on either side of him, +swept into his stride. +</p> + +<p> +Venters loosened the rein on Wrangle and let him break into a gallop. The +sorrel saw the horses ahead and wanted to run. But Venters restrained him. And +in the gallop he gained more than in the canter. Bells was fast in that gait, +but Black Star and Night had been trained to run. Slowly Wrangle closed the gap +down to a quarter of a mile, and crept closer and closer. +</p> + +<p> +Jerry Card wheeled once more. Venters distinctly saw the red flash of his red +face. This time he looked long. Venters laughed. He knew what passed in +Card’s mind. The rider was trying to make out what horse it happened to +be that thus gained on Jane Withersteen’s peerless racers. Wrangle had so +long been away from the village that not improbably Jerry had forgotten. +Besides, whatever Jerry’s qualifications for his fame as the greatest +rider of the sage, certain it was that his best point was not far-sightedness. +He had not recognized Wrangle. After what must have been a searching gaze he +got his comrade to face about. This action gave Venters amusement. It spoke so +surely of the facts that neither Card nor the rustler actually knew their +danger. Yet if they kept to the trail—and the last thing such men would +do would be to leave it—they were both doomed. +</p> + +<p> +This comrade of Card’s whirled far around in his saddle, and he even +shaded his eyes from the sun. He, too, looked long. Then, all at once, he faced +ahead again and, bending lower in the saddle, began to fling his right arm up +and down. That flinging Venters knew to be the lashing of Bells. Jerry also +became active. And the three racers lengthened out into a run. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Wrangle!” cried Venters. “Run, you big devil! +Run!” +</p> + +<p> +Venters laid the reins on Wrangle’s neck and dropped the loop over the +pommel. The sorrel needed no guiding on that smooth trail. He was surer-footed +in a run than at any other fast gait, and his running gave the impression of +something devilish. He might now have been actuated by Venters’s spirit; +undoubtedly his savage running fitted the mood of his rider. Venters bent +forward swinging with the horse, and gripped his rifle. His eye measured the +distance between him and Jerry Card. +</p> + +<p> +In less than two miles of running Bells began to drop behind the blacks, and +Wrangle began to overhaul him. Venters anticipated that the rustler would soon +take to the sage. Yet he did not. Not improbably he reasoned that the powerful +sorrel could more easily overtake Bells in the heavier going outside of the +trail. Soon only a few hundred yards lay between Bells and Wrangle. Turning in +his saddle, the rustler began to shoot, and the bullets beat up little whiffs +of dust. Venters raised his rifle, ready to take snap shots, and waited for +favorable opportunity when Bells was out of line with the forward horses. +Venters had it in him to kill these men as if they were skunk-bitten coyotes, +but also he had restraint enough to keep from shooting one of Jane’s +beloved Arabians. +</p> + +<p> +No great distance was covered, however, before Bells swerved to the left, out +of line with Black Star and Night. Then Venters, aiming high and waiting for +the pause between Wrangle’s great strides, began to take snap shots at +the rustler. The fleeing rider presented a broad target for a rifle, but he was +moving swiftly forward and bobbing up and down. Moreover, shooting from +Wrangle’s back was shooting from a thunderbolt. And added to that was the +danger of a low-placed bullet taking effect on Bells. Yet, despite these +considerations, making the shot exceedingly difficult, Venters’s +confidence, like his implacability, saw a speedy and fatal termination of that +rustler’s race. On the sixth shot the rustler threw up his arms and took +a flying tumble off his horse. He rolled over and over, hunched himself to a +half-erect position, fell, and then dragged himself into the sage. As Venters +went thundering by he peered keenly into the sage, but caught no sign of the +man. Bells ran a few hundred yards, slowed up, and had stopped when Wrangle +passed him. +</p> + +<p> +Again Venters began slipping fresh cartridges into the magazine of his rifle, +and his hand was so sure and steady that he did not drop a single cartridge. +With the eye of a rider and the judgment of a marksman he once more measured +the distance between him and Jerry Card. Wrangle had gained, bringing him into +rifle range. Venters was hard put to it now not to shoot, but thought it better +to withhold his fire. Jerry, who, in anticipation of a running fusillade, had +huddled himself into a little twisted ball on Black Star’s neck, now +surmising that this pursuer would make sure of not wounding one of the blacks, +rose to his natural seat in the saddle. +</p> + +<p> +In his mind perhaps, as certainly as in Venters’s, this moment was the +beginning of the real race. +</p> + +<p> +Venters leaned forward to put his hand on Wrangle’s neck, then backward +to put it on his flank. Under the shaggy, dusty hair trembled and vibrated and +rippled a wonderful muscular activity. But Wrangle’s flesh was still +cold. What a cold-blooded brute thought Venters, and felt in him a love for the +horse he had never given to any other. It would not have been humanly possible +for any rider, even though clutched by hate or revenge or a passion to save a +loved one or fear of his own life, to be astride the sorrel to swing with his +swing, to see his magnificent stride and hear the rapid thunder of his hoofs, +to ride him in that race and not glory in the ride. +</p> + +<p> +So, with his passion to kill still keen and unabated, Venters lived out that +ride, and drank a rider’s sage-sweet cup of wildness to the dregs. +</p> + +<p> +When Wrangle’s long mane, lashing in the wind, stung Venters in the +cheek, the sting added a beat to his flying pulse. He bent a downward glance to +try to see Wrangle’s actual stride, and saw only twinkling, darting +streaks and the white rush of the trail. He watched the sorrel’s savage +head, pointed level, his mouth still closed and dry, but his nostrils distended +as if he were snorting unseen fire. Wrangle was the horse for a race with +death. Upon each side Venters saw the sage merged into a sailing, colorless +wall. In front sloped the lay of ground with its purple breadth split by the +white trail. The wind, blowing with heavy, steady blast into his face, sickened +him with enduring, sweet odor, and filled his ears with a hollow, rushing roar. +</p> + +<p> +Then for the hundredth time he measured the width of space separating him from +Jerry Card. Wrangle had ceased to gain. The blacks were proving their +fleetness. Venters watched Jerry Card, admiring the little rider’s +horsemanship. He had the incomparable seat of the upland rider, born in the +saddle. It struck Venters that Card had changed his position, or the position +of the horses. Presently Venters remembered positively that Jerry had been +leading Night on the right-hand side of the trail. The racer was now on the +side to the left. No—it was Black Star. But, Venters argued in amaze, +Jerry had been mounted on Black Star. Another clearer, keener gaze assured +Venters that Black Star was really riderless. Night now carried Jerry Card. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s changed from one to the other!” ejaculated Venters, +realizing the astounding feat with unstinted admiration. “Changed at full +speed! Jerry Card, that’s what you’ve done unless I’m drunk +on the smell of sage. But I’ve got to see the trick before I believe +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Thenceforth, while Wrangle sped on, Venters glued his eyes to the little rider. +Jerry Card rode as only he could ride. Of all the daring horsemen of the +uplands, Jerry was the one rider fitted to bring out the greatness of the +blacks in that long race. He had them on a dead run, but not yet at the last +strained and killing pace. From time to time he glanced backward, as a wise +general in retreat calculating his chances and the power and speed of pursuers, +and the moment for the last desperate burst. No doubt, Card, with his life at +stake, gloried in that race, perhaps more wildly than Venters. For he had been +born to the sage and the saddle and the wild. He was more than half horse. Not +until the last call—the sudden up-flashing instinct of +self-preservation—would he lose his skill and judgment and nerve and the +spirit of that race. Venters seemed to read Jerry’s mind. That little +crime-stained rider was actually thinking of his horses, husbanding their +speed, handling them with knowledge of years, glorying in their beautiful, +swift, racing stride, and wanting them to win the race when his own life hung +suspended in quivering balance. Again Jerry whirled in his saddle and the sun +flashed red on his face. Turning, he drew Black Star closer and closer toward +Night, till they ran side by side, as one horse. Then Card raised himself in +the saddle, slipped out of the stirrups, and, somehow twisting himself, leaped +upon Black Star. He did not even lose the swing of the horse. Like a leech he +was there in the other saddle, and as the horses separated, his right foot, +that had been apparently doubled under him, shot down to catch the stirrup. The +grace and dexterity and daring of that rider’s act won something more +than admiration from Venters. +</p> + +<p> +For the distance of a mile Jerry rode Black Star and then changed back to +Night. But all Jerry’s skill and the running of the blacks could avail +little more against the sorrel. +</p> + +<p> +Venters peered far ahead, studying the lay of the land. Straightaway for five +miles the trail stretched, and then it disappeared in hummocky ground. To the +right, some few rods, Venters saw a break in the sage, and this was the rim of +Deception Pass. Across the dark cleft gleamed the red of the opposite wall. +Venters imagined that the trail went down into the Pass somewhere north of +those ridges. And he realized that he must and would overtake Jerry Card in +this straight course of five miles. +</p> + +<p> +Cruelly he struck his spurs into Wrangle’s flanks. A light touch of spur +was sufficient to make Wrangle plunge. And now, with a ringing, wild snort, he +seemed to double up in muscular convulsions and to shoot forward with an +impetus that almost unseated Venters. The sage blurred by, the trail flashed +by, and the wind robbed him of breath and hearing. Jerry Card turned once more. +And the way he shifted to Black Star showed he had to make his last desperate +running. Venters aimed to the side of the trail and sent a bullet puffing the +dust beyond Jerry. Venters hoped to frighten the rider and get him to take to +the sage. But Jerry returned the shot, and his ball struck dangerously close in +the dust at Wrangle’s flying feet. Venters held his fire then, while the +rider emptied his revolver. For a mile, with Black Star leaving Night behind +and doing his utmost, Wrangle did not gain; for another mile he gained little, +if at all. In the third he caught up with the now galloping Night and began to +gain rapidly on the other black. +</p> + +<p> +Only a hundred yards now stretched between Black Star and Wrangle. The giant +sorrel thundered on—and on—and on. In every yard he gained a foot. +He was whistling through his nostrils, wringing wet, flying lather, and as hot +as fire. Savage as ever, strong as ever, fast as ever, but each tremendous +stride jarred Venters out of the saddle! Wrangle’s power and spirit and +momentum had begun to run him off his legs. Wrangle’s great race was +nearly won—and run. Venters seemed to see the expanse before him as a +vast, sheeted, purple plain sliding under him. Black Star moved in it as a +blur. The rider, Jerry Card, appeared a mere dot bobbing dimly. Wrangle +thundered on—on—on! Venters felt the increase in quivering, +straining shock after every leap. Flecks of foam flew into Venters’s +eyes, burning him, making him see all the sage as red. But in that red haze he +saw, or seemed to see, Black Star suddenly riderless and with broken gait. +Wrangle thundered on to change his pace with a violent break. Then Venters +pulled him hard. From run to gallop, gallop to canter, canter to trot, trot to +walk, and walk to stop, the great sorrel ended his race. +</p> + +<p> +Venters looked back. Black Star stood riderless in the trail. Jerry Card had +taken to the sage. Far up the white trail Night came trotting faithfully down. +Venters leaped off, still half blind, reeling dizzily. In a moment he had +recovered sufficiently to have a care for Wrangle. Rapidly he took off the +saddle and bridle. The sorrel was reeking, heaving, whistling, shaking. But he +had still the strength to stand, and for him Venters had no fears. +</p> + +<p> +As Venters ran back to Black Star he saw the horse stagger on shaking legs into +the sage and go down in a heap. Upon reaching him Venters removed the saddle +and bridle. Black Star had been killed on his legs, Venters thought. He had no +hope for the stricken horse. Black Star lay flat, covered with bloody froth, +mouth wide, tongue hanging, eyes glaring, and all his beautiful body in +convulsions. +</p> + +<p> +Unable to stay there to see Jane’s favorite racer die, Venters hurried up +the trail to meet the other black. On the way he kept a sharp lookout for Jerry +Card. Venters imagined the rider would keep well out of range of the rifle, +but, as he would be lost on the sage without a horse, not improbably he would +linger in the vicinity on the chance of getting back one of the blacks. Night +soon came trotting up, hot and wet and run out. Venters led him down near the +others, and unsaddling him, let him loose to rest. Night wearily lay down in +the dust and rolled, proving himself not yet spent. +</p> + +<p> +Then Venters sat down to rest and think. Whatever the risk, he was compelled to +stay where he was, or comparatively near, for the night. The horses must rest +and drink. He must find water. He was now seventy miles from Cottonwoods, and, +he believed, close to the cañon where the cattle trail must surely turn off +and go down into the Pass. After a while he rose to survey the valley. +</p> + +<p> +He was very near to the ragged edge of a deep cañon into which the trail +turned. The ground lay in uneven ridges divided by washes, and these sloped +into the cañon. Following the cañon line, he saw where its rim was broken by +other intersecting cañons, and farther down red walls and yellow cliffs +leading toward a deep blue cleft that he made sure was Deception Pass. Walking +out a few rods to a promontory, he found where the trail went down. The descent +was gradual, along a stone-walled trail, and Venters felt sure that this was +the place where Oldring drove cattle into the Pass. There was, however, no +indication at all that he ever had driven cattle out at this point. Oldring had +many holes to his burrow. +</p> + +<p> +In searching round in the little hollows Venters, much to his relief, found +water. He composed himself to rest and eat some bread and meat, while he waited +for a sufficient time to elapse so that he could safely give the horses a +drink. He judged the hour to be somewhere around noon. Wrangle lay down to rest +and Night followed suit. So long as they were down Venters intended to make no +move. The longer they rested the better, and the safer it would be to give them +water. By and by he forced himself to go over to where Black Star lay, +expecting to find him dead. Instead he found the racer partially if not wholly +recovered. There was recognition, even fire, in his big black eyes. Venters was +overjoyed. He sat by the black for a long time. Black Star presently labored to +his feet with a heave and a groan, shook himself, and snorted for water. +Venters repaired to the little pool he had found, filled his sombrero, and gave +the racer a drink. Black Star gulped it at one draught, as if it were but a +drop, and pushed his nose into the hat and snorted for more. Venters now led +Night down to drink, and after a further time Black Star also. Then the blacks +began to graze. +</p> + +<p> +The sorrel had wandered off down the sage between the trail and the cañon. +Once or twice he disappeared in little swales. Finally Venters concluded +Wrangle had grazed far enough, and, taking his lasso, he went to fetch him +back. In crossing from one ridge to another he saw where the horse had made +muddy a pool of water. It occurred to Venters then that Wrangle had drunk his +fill, and did not seem the worse for it, and might be anything but easy to +catch. And, true enough, he could not come within roping reach of the sorrel. +He tried for an hour, and gave up in disgust. Wrangle did not seem so wild as +simply perverse. In a quandary Venters returned to the other horses, hoping +much, yet doubting more, that when Wrangle had grazed to suit himself he might +be caught. +</p> + +<p> +As the afternoon wore away Venters’s concern diminished, yet he kept +close watch on the blacks and the trail and the sage. There was no telling of +what Jerry Card might be capable. Venters sullenly acquiesced to the idea that +the rider had been too quick and too shrewd for him. Strangely and doggedly, +however, Venters clung to his foreboding of Card’s downfall. +</p> + +<p> +The wind died away; the red sun topped the far distant western rise of slope; +and the long, creeping purple shadows lengthened. The rims of the cañons +gleamed crimson and the deep clefts appeared to belch forth blue smoke. Silence +enfolded the scene. +</p> + +<p> +It was broken by a horrid, long-drawn scream of a horse and the thudding of +heavy hoofs. Venters sprang erect and wheeled south. Along the cañon rim, near +the edge, came Wrangle, once more in thundering flight. +</p> + +<p> +Venters gasped in amazement. Had the wild sorrel gone mad? His head was high +and twisted, in a most singular position for a running horse. Suddenly Venters +descried a frog-like shape clinging to Wrangle’s neck. Jerry Card! +Somehow he had straddled Wrangle and now stuck like a huge burr. But it was his +strange position and the sorrel’s wild scream that shook Venters’s +nerves. Wrangle was pounding toward the turn where the trail went down. He +plunged onward like a blind horse. More than one of his leaps took him to the +very edge of the precipice. +</p> + +<p> +Jerry Card was bent forward with his teeth fast in the front of Wrangle’s +nose! Venters saw it, and there flashed over him a memory of this trick of a +few desperate riders. He even thought of one rider who had worn off his teeth +in this terrible hold to break or control desperate horses. Wrangle had indeed +gone mad. The marvel was what guided him. Was it the half-brute, the more than +half-horse instinct of Jerry Card? Whatever the mystery, it was true. And in a +few more rods Jerry would have the sorrel turning into the trail leading down +into the cañon. +</p> + +<p> +“No—Jerry!” whispered Venters, stepping forward and throwing +up the rifle. He tried to catch the little humped, frog-like shape over the +sights. It was moving too fast; it was too small. Yet Venters shot once... +twice... the third time... four times... five! All wasted shots and precious +seconds! +</p> + +<p> +With a deep-muttered curse Venters caught Wrangle through the sights and pulled +the trigger. Plainly he heard the bullet thud. Wrangle uttered a horrible +strangling sound. In swift death action he whirled, and with one last splendid +leap he cleared the cañon rim. And he whirled downward with the little +frog-like shape clinging to his neck! +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause which seemed never ending, a shock, and an instant’s +silence. +</p> + +<p> +Then up rolled a heavy crash, a long roar of sliding rocks dying away in +distant echo, then silence unbroken. +</p> + +<p> +Wrangle’s race was run. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"></a> +CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> +OLDRING’S KNELL</h2> + +<p> +Some forty hours or more later Venters created a commotion in Cottonwoods by +riding down the main street on Black Star and leading Bells and Night. He had +come upon Bells grazing near the body of a dead rustler, the only incident of +his quick ride into the village. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing was farther from Venters’s mind than bravado. No thought came to +him of the defiance and boldness of riding Jane Withersteen’s racers +straight into the arch-plotter’s stronghold. He wanted men to see the +famous Arabians; he wanted men to see them dirty and dusty, bearing all the +signs of having been driven to their limit; he wanted men to see and to know +that the thieves who had ridden them out into the sage had not ridden them +back. Venters had come for that and for more—he wanted to meet Tull face +to face; if not Tull, then Dyer; if not Dyer, then anyone in the secret of +these master conspirators. Such was Venters’s passion. The meeting with +the rustlers, the unprovoked attack upon him, the spilling of blood, the +recognition of Jerry Card and the horses, the race, and that last plunge of mad +Wrangle—all these things, fuel on fuel to the smoldering fire, had +kindled and swelled and leaped into living flame. He could have shot Dyer in +the midst of his religious services at the altar; he could have killed Tull in +front of wives and babes. +</p> + +<p> +He walked the three racers down the broad, green-bordered village road. He +heard the murmur of running water from Amber Spring. Bitter waters for Jane +Withersteen! Men and women stopped to gaze at him and the horses. All knew him; +all knew the blacks and the bay. As well as if it had been spoken, Venters read +in the faces of men the intelligence that Jane Withersteen’s Arabians had +been known to have been stolen. Venters reined in and halted before +Dyer’s residence. It was a low, long, stone structure resembling +Withersteen House. The spacious front yard was green and luxuriant with grass +and flowers; gravel walks led to the huge porch; a well-trimmed hedge of purple +sage separated the yard from the church grounds; birds sang in the trees; water +flowed musically along the walks; and there were glad, careless shouts of +children. For Venters the beauty of this home, and the serenity and its +apparent happiness, all turned red and black. For Venters a shade overspread +the lawn, the flowers, the old vine-clad stone house. In the music of the +singing birds, in the murmur of the running water, he heard an ominous sound. +Quiet beauty—sweet music—innocent laughter! By what monstrous +abortion of fate did these abide in the shadow of Dyer? +</p> + +<p> +Venters rode on and stopped before Tull’s cottage. Women stared at him +with white faces and then flew from the porch. Tull himself appeared at the +door, bent low, craning his neck. His dark face flashed out of sight; the door +banged; a heavy bar dropped with a hollow sound. +</p> + +<p> +Then Venters shook Black Star’s bridle, and, sharply trotting, led the +other horses to the center of the village. Here at the intersecting streets and +in front of the stores he halted once more. The usual lounging atmosphere of +that prominent corner was not now in evidence. Riders and ranchers and +villagers broke up what must have been absorbing conversation. There was a rush +of many feet, and then the walk was lined with faces. +</p> + +<p> +Venters’s glance swept down the line of silent stone-faced men. He +recognized many riders and villagers, but none of those he had hoped to meet. +There was no expression in the faces turned toward him. All of them knew him, +most were inimical, but there were few who were not burning with curiosity and +wonder in regard to the return of Jane Withersteen’s racers. Yet all were +silent. Here were the familiar characteristics—masked +feeling—strange secretiveness—expressionless expression of mystery +and hidden power. +</p> + +<p> +“Has anybody here seen Jerry Card?” queried Venters, in a loud +voice. +</p> + +<p> +In reply there came not a word, not a nod or shake of head, not so much as +dropping eye or twitching lip—nothing but a quiet, stony stare. +</p> + +<p> +“Been under the knife? You’ve a fine knife-wielder here—one +Tull, I believe!... Maybe you’ve all had your tongues cut out?” +</p> + +<p> +This passionate sarcasm of Venters brought no response, and the stony calm was +as oil on the fire within him. +</p> + +<p> +“I see some of you pack guns, too!” he added, in biting scorn. In +the long, tense pause, strung keenly as a tight wire, he sat motionless on +Black Star. “All right,” he went on. “Then let some of you +take this message to Tull. Tell him I’ve seen Jerry Card! ... Tell him +Jerry Card <i>will never return!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Thereupon, in the same dead calm, Venters backed Black Star away from the curb, +into the street, and out of range. He was ready now to ride up to Withersteen +House and turn the racers over to Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Venters!” a familiar voice cried, hoarsely, and he saw a +man running toward him. It was the rider Judkins who came up and gripped +Venters’s hand. “Venters, I could hev dropped when I seen them +hosses. But thet sight ain’t a marker to the looks of you. What’s +wrong? Hev you gone crazy? You must be crazy to ride in here this +way—with them hosses—talkie’ thet way about Tull en’ +Jerry Card.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jud, I’m not crazy—only mad clean through,” replied +Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“Wal, now, Bern, I’m glad to hear some of your old self in your +voice. Fer when you come up you looked like the corpse of a dead rider with +fire fer eyes. You hed thet crowd too stiff fer throwin’ guns. Come, +we’ve got to hev a talk. Let’s go up the lane. We ain’t much +safe here.” +</p> + +<p> +Judkins mounted Bells and rode with Venters up to the cottonwood grove. Here +they dismounted and went among the trees. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s hear from you first,” said Judkins. “You fetched +back them hosses. Thet <i>is</i> the trick. An’, of course, you got Jerry +the same as you got Horne.” +</p> + +<p> +“Horne!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure. He was found dead yesterday all chewed by coyotes, en’ +he’d been shot plumb center.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where was he found?” +</p> + +<p> +“At the split down the trail—you know where Oldring’s cattle +trail runs off north from the trail to the pass.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where I met Jerry and the rustlers. What was Horne doing +with them? I thought Horne was an honest cattle-man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lord—Bern, don’t ask me thet! I’m all muddled now +tryin’ to figure things.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters told of the fight and the race with Jerry Card and its tragic +conclusion. +</p> + +<p> +“I knowed it! I knowed all along that Wrangle was the best hoss!” +exclaimed Judkins, with his lean face working and his eyes lighting. +“Thet was a race! Lord, I’d like to hev seen Wrangle jump the cliff +with Jerry. An’ thet was good-by to the grandest hoss an’ rider +ever on the sage!... But, Bern, after you got the hosses why’d you want +to bolt right in Tull’s face?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want him to know. An’ if I can get to him +I’ll—” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t get near Tull,” interrupted Judkins. “Thet +vigilante bunch hev taken to bein’ bodyguard for Tull an’ Dyer, +too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t Lassiter made a break yet?” inquired Venters, +curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Naw!” replied Judkins, scornfully. “Jane turned his head. +He’s mad in love over her—follers her like a dog. He ain’t no +more Lassiter! He’s lost his nerve, he doesn’t look like the same +feller. It’s village talk. Everybody knows it. He hasn’t thrown a +gun, an’ he won’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“Jud, I’ll bet he does,” replied Venters, earnestly. +“Remember what I say. This Lassiter is something more than a gun-man. +Jud, he’s big—he’s great!... I feel that in him. God help +Tull and Dyer when Lassiter does go after them. For horses and riders and stone +walls won’t save them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wal, hev it your way, Bern. I hope you’re right. Nat’rully +I’ve been some sore on Lassiter fer gittin’ soft. But I ain’t +denyin’ his nerve, or whatever’s great in him thet sort of +paralyzes people. No later ’n this mornin’ I seen him +saunterin’ down the lane, quiet an’ slow. An’ like his guns +he comes black—<i>black</i>, thet’s Lassiter. Wal, the crowd on the +corner never batted an eye, en’ I’ll gamble my hoss thet there +wasn’t one who hed a heartbeat till Lassiter got by. He went in +Snell’s saloon, an’ as there wasn’t no gun play I had to go +in, too. An’ there, darn my pictures, if Lassiter wasn’t +standin’ to the bar, drinking en’ talkin’ with +Oldrin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Oldring!</i>” whispered Venters. His voice, as all fire and +pulse within him, seemed to freeze. +</p> + +<p> +“Let go my arm!” exclaimed Judkins. “Thet’s my bad arm. +Sure it was Oldrin’. What the hell’s wrong with you, anyway? +Venters, I tell you somethin’s wrong. You’re whiter ’n a +sheet. You can’t be <i>scared</i> of the rustler. I don’t believe +you’ve got a scare in you. Wal, now, jest let me talk. You know I like to +talk, an’ if I’m slow I allus git there sometime. As I said, +Lassiter was talkie’ chummy with Oldrin’. There wasn’t no +hard feelin’s. An’ the gang wasn’t payin’ no +pertic’lar attention. But like a cat watchin’ a mouse I hed my eyes +on them two fellers. It was strange to me, thet confab. I’m gittin’ +to think a lot, fer a feller who doesn’t know much. There’s been +some queer deals lately an’ this seemed to me the queerest. These men +stood to the bar alone, an’ so close their big gun-hilts butted together. +I seen Oldrin’ was some surprised at first, an’ Lassiter was cool +as ice. They talked, an’ presently at somethin’ Lassiter said the +rustler bawled out a curse, an’ then he jest fell up against the bar, +an’ sagged there. The gang in the saloon looked around an’ laughed, +an’ thet’s about all. Finally Oldrin’ turned, and it was easy +to see somethin’ hed shook him. Yes, sir, thet big rustler—you know +he’s as broad as he is long, an’ the powerfulest build of a +man—yes, sir, the nerve had been taken out of him. Then, after a little, +he began to talk an’ said a lot to Lassiter, an’ by an’ by it +didn’t take much of an eye to see thet Lassiter was gittin’ hit +hard. I never seen him anyway but cooler ’n ice—till then. He +seemed to be hit harder ’n Oldrin’, only he didn’t roar out +thet way. He jest kind of sunk in, an’ looked an’ looked, an’ +he didn’t see a livin’ soul in thet saloon. Then he sort of come +to, an’ shakin’ hands—mind you, <i>shakin’ hands</i> +with Oldrin’—he went out. I couldn’t help thinkin’ how +easy even a boy could hev dropped the great gun-man then!... Wal, the rustler +stood at the bar fer a long time, en’ he was seein’ things far off, +too; then he come to an’ roared fer whisky, an’ gulped a drink thet +was big enough to drown me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Oldring here now?” whispered Venters. He could not speak above +a whisper. Judkins’s story had been meaningless to him. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s at Snell’s yet. Bern, I hevn’t told you yet thet +the rustlers hev been raisin’ hell. They shot up Stone Bridge an’ +Glaze, an’ fer three days they’ve been here drinkin’ +an’ gamblin’ an’ throwin’ of gold. These rustlers hev a +pile of gold. If it was gold dust or nugget gold I’d hev reason to think, +but it’s new coin gold, as if it had jest come from the United States +treasury. An’ the coin’s genuine. Thet’s all been proved. The +truth is Oldrin’s on a rampage. A while back he lost his Masked Rider, +an’ they say he’s wild about thet. I’m wonderin’ if +Lassiter could hev told the rustler anythin’ about thet little masked, +hard-ridin’ devil. Ride! He was most as good as Jerry Card. An’, +Bern, I’ve been wonderin’ if you know—” +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, you’re a good fellow,” interrupted Venters. +“Some day I’ll tell you a story. I’ve no time now. Take the +horses to Jane.” +</p> + +<p> +Judkins stared, and then, muttering to himself, he mounted Bells, and stared +again at Venters, and then, leading the other horses, he rode into the grove +and disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +Once, long before, on the night Venters had carried Bess through the cañon and +up into Surprise Valley, he had experienced the strangeness of faculties +singularly, tinglingly acute. And now the same sensation recurred. But it was +different in that he felt cold, frozen, mechanical incapable of free thought, +and all about him seemed unreal, aloof, remote. He hid his rifle in the sage, +marking its exact location with extreme care. Then he faced down the lane and +strode toward the center of the village. Perceptions flashed upon him, the +faint, cold touch of the breeze, a cold, silvery tinkle of flowing water, a +cold sun shining out of a cold sky, song of birds and laugh of children, coldly +distant. Cold and intangible were all things in earth and heaven. Colder and +tighter stretched the skin over his face; colder and harder grew the polished +butts of his guns; colder and steadier became his hands as he wiped the clammy +sweat from his face or reached low to his gun-sheaths. Men meeting him in the +walk gave him wide berth. In front of Bevin’s store a crowd melted apart +for his passage, and their faces and whispers were faces and whispers of a +dream. He turned a corner to meet Tull face to face, eye to eye. As once before +he had seen this man pale to a ghastly, livid white so again he saw the change. +Tull stopped in his tracks, with right hand raised and shaking. Suddenly it +dropped, and he seemed to glide aside, to pass out of Venters’s sight. +Next he saw many horses with bridles down—all clean-limbed, dark bays or +blacks—rustlers’ horses! Loud voices and boisterous laughter, +rattle of dice and scrape of chair and clink of gold, burst in mingled din from +an open doorway. He stepped inside. +</p> + +<p> +With the sight of smoke-hazed room and drinking, cursing, gambling, +dark-visaged men, reality once more dawned upon Venters. +</p> + +<p> +His entrance had been unnoticed, and he bent his gaze upon the drinkers at the +bar. Dark-clothed, dark-faced men they all were, burned by the sun, bow-legged +as were most riders of the sage, but neither lean nor gaunt. Then +Venters’s gaze passed to the tables, and swiftly it swept over the +hard-featured gamesters, to alight upon the huge, shaggy, black head of the +rustler chief. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Oldring!</i>” he cried, and to him his voice seemed to split a +bell in his ears. +</p> + +<p> +It stilled the din. +</p> + +<p> +That silence suddenly broke to the scrape and crash of Oldring’s chair as +he rose; and then, while he passed, a great gloomy figure, again the thronged +room stilled in silence yet deeper. +</p> + +<p> +“Oldring, a word with you!” continued Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! What’s this?” boomed Oldring, in frowning scrutiny. +</p> + +<p> +“Come outside, alone. A word for you—<i>from your Masked +Rider!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Oldring kicked a chair out of his way and lunged forward with a stamp of heavy +boot that jarred the floor. He waved down his muttering, rising men. +</p> + +<p> +Venters backed out of the door and waited, hearing, as no sound had ever before +struck into his soul, the rapid, heavy steps of the rustler. +</p> + +<p> +Oldring appeared, and Venters had one glimpse of his great breadth and bulk, +his gold-buckled belt with hanging guns, his high-top boots with gold spurs. In +that moment Venters had a strange, unintelligible curiosity to see Oldring +alive. The rustler’s broad brow, his large black eyes, his sweeping +beard, as dark as the wing of a raven, his enormous width of shoulder and depth +of chest, his whole splendid presence so wonderfully charged with vitality and +force and strength, seemed to afford Venters an unutterable fiendish joy +because for that magnificent manhood and life he meant cold and sudden death. +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Oldring, Bess is alive! But she’s dead to you—dead to the +life you made her lead—dead as you will be in one second!”</i> +</p> + +<p> +Swift as lightning Venters’s glance dropped from Oldring’s rolling +eyes to his hands. One of them, the right, swept out, then toward his +gun—and Venters shot him through the heart. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus10"></a> +<img src="images/img10.jpg" width="459" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">and Venters shot him through the heart</p> +</div> + +<p> +Slowly Oldring sank to his knees, and the hand, dragging at the gun, fell away. +Venters’s strangely acute faculties grasped the meaning of that limp arm, +of the swaying hulk, of the gasp and heave, of the quivering beard. But was +that awful spirit in the black eyes only one of vitality? +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Man—why—didn’t—you—wait? +Bess—was</i>—” Oldring’s whisper died under his beard, +and with a heavy lurch he fell forward. +</p> + +<p> +Bounding swiftly away, Venters fled around the corner, across the street, and, +leaping a hedge, he ran through yard, orchard, and garden to the sage. Here, +under cover of the tall brush, he turned west and ran on to the place where he +had hidden his rifle. Securing that, he again set out into a run, and, circling +through the sage, came up behind Jane Withersteen’s stable and corrals. +With laboring, dripping chest, and pain as of a knife thrust in his side, he +stopped to regain his breath, and while resting his eyes roved around in search +of a horse. Doors and windows of the stable were open wide and had a deserted +look. One dejected, lonely burro stood in the near corral. Strange indeed was +the silence brooding over the once happy, noisy home of Jane +Withersteen’s pets. +</p> + +<p> +He went into the corral, exercising care to leave no tracks, and led the burro +to the watering-trough. Venters, though not thirsty, drank till he could drink +no more. Then, leading the burro over hard ground, he struck into the sage and +down the slope. +</p> + +<p> +He strode swiftly, turning from time to time to scan the slope for riders. His +head just topped the level of sage-brush, and the burro could not have been +seen at all. Slowly the green of Cottonwoods sank behind the slope, and at last +a wavering line of purple sage met the blue of sky. +</p> + +<p> +To avoid being seen, to get away, to hide his trail—these were the sole +ideas in his mind as he headed for Deception Pass, and he directed all his +acuteness of eye and ear, and the keenness of a rider’s judgment for +distance and ground, to stern accomplishment of the task. He kept to the sage +far to the left of the trail leading into the Pass. He walked ten miles and +looked back a thousand times. Always the graceful, purple wave of sage remained +wide and lonely, a clear, undotted waste. Coming to a stretch of rocky ground, +he took advantage of it to cross the trail and then continued down on the +right. At length he persuaded himself that he would be able to see riders +mounted on horses before they could see him on the little burro, and he rode +bareback. +</p> + +<p> +Hour by hour the tireless burro kept to his faithful, steady trot. The sun sank +and the long shadows lengthened down the slope. Moving veils of purple twilight +crept out of the hollows and, mustering and forming on the levels, soon merged +and shaded into night. Venters guided the burro nearer to the trail, so that he +could see its white line from the ridges, and rode on through the hours. +</p> + +<p> +Once down in the Pass without leaving a trail, he would hold himself safe for +the time being. When late in the night he reached the break in the sage, he +sent the burro down ahead of him, and started an avalanche that all but buried +the animal at the bottom of the trail. Bruised and battered as he was, he had a +moment’s elation, for he had hidden his tracks. Once more he mounted the +burro and rode on. The hour was the blackest of the night when he made the +thicket which inclosed his old camp. Here he turned the burro loose in the +grass near the spring, and then lay down on his old bed of leaves. +</p> + +<p> +He felt only vaguely, as outside things, the ache and burn and throb of the +muscles of his body. But a dammed-up torrent of emotion at last burst its +bounds, and the hour that saw his release from immediate action was one that +confounded him in the reaction of his spirit. He suffered without understanding +why. He caught glimpses into himself, into unlit darkness of soul. The fire +that had blistered him and the cold which had frozen him now united in one +torturing possession of his mind and heart, and like a fiery steed with +ice-shod feet, ranged his being, ran rioting through his blood, trampling the +resurging good, dragging ever at the evil. +</p> + +<p> +Out of the subsiding chaos came a clear question. What had happened? He had +left the valley to go to Cottonwoods. Why? It seemed that he had gone to kill a +man—Oldring! The name riveted his consciousness upon the one man of all +men upon earth whom he had wanted to meet. He had met the rustler. Venters +recalled the smoky haze of the saloon, the dark-visaged men, the huge Oldring. +He saw him step out of the door, a splendid specimen of manhood, a handsome +giant with purple-black and sweeping beard. He remembered inquisitive gaze of +falcon eyes. He heard himself repeating: “<i>Oldring, Bess is alive! But +she’s dead to you</i>,” and he felt himself jerk, and his ears +throbbed to the thunder of a gun, and he saw the giant sink slowly to his +knees. Was that only the vitality of him—that awful light in the +eyes—only the hard-dying life of a tremendously powerful brute? A broken +whisper, strange as death: “<i>Man—why—didn’t—you +wait! Bess—was</i>—” And Oldring plunged face forward, dead. +</p> + +<p> +“I killed him,” cried Venters, in remembering shock. “But it +wasn’t <i>that</i>. Ah, the look in his eyes and his whisper!” +</p> + +<p> +Herein lay the secret that had clamored to him through all the tumult and +stress of his emotions. What a look in the eyes of a man shot through the +heart! It had been neither hate nor ferocity nor fear of men nor fear of death. +It had been no passionate glinting spirit of a fearless foe, willing shot for +shot, life for life, but lacking physical power. Distinctly recalled now, never +to be forgotten, Venters saw in Oldring’s magnificent eyes the rolling of +great, glad surprise—softness—love! Then came a shadow and the +terrible superhuman striving of his spirit to speak. Oldring shot through the +heart, had fought and forced back death, not for a moment in which to shoot or +curse, but to whisper strange words. +</p> + +<p> +What words for a dying man to whisper! Why had not Venters waited? For what? +That was no plea for life. It was regret that there was not a moment of life +left in which to speak. Bess was—Herein lay renewed torture for Venters. +What had Bess been to Oldring? The old question, like a specter, stalked from +its grave to haunt him. He had overlooked, he had forgiven, he had loved and he +had forgotten; and now, out of the mystery of a dying man’s whisper rose +again that perverse, unsatisfied, jealous uncertainty. Bess had loved that +splendid, black-crowned giant—by her own confession she had loved him; +and in Venters’s soul again flamed up the jealous hell. Then into the +clamoring hell burst the shot that had killed Oldring, and it rang in a wild +fiendish gladness, a hateful, vengeful joy. That passed to the memory of the +love and light in Oldring’s eyes and the mystery in his whisper. So the +changing, swaying emotions fluctuated in Venters’s heart. +</p> + +<p> +This was the climax of his year of suffering and the crucial struggle of his +life. And when the gray dawn came he rose, a gloomy, almost heartbroken man, +but victor over evil passions. He could not change the past; and, even if he +had not loved Bess with all his soul, he had grown into a man who would not +change the future he had planned for her. Only, and once for all, he must know +the truth, know the worst, stifle all these insistent doubts and subtle hopes +and jealous fancies, and kill the past by knowing truly what Bess had been to +Oldring. For that matter he knew—he had always known, but he must hear it +spoken. Then, when they had safely gotten out of that wild country to take up a +new and an absorbing life, she would forget, she would be happy, and through +that, in the years to come, he could not but find life worth living. +</p> + +<p> +All day he rode slowly and cautiously up the Pass, taking time to peer around +corners, to pick out hard ground and grassy patches, and to make sure there was +no one in pursuit. In the night sometime he came to the smooth, scrawled rocks +dividing the valley, and here set the burro at liberty. He walked beyond, +climbed the slope and the dim, starlit gorge. Then, weary to the point of +exhaustion, he crept into a shallow cave and fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +In the morning, when he descended the trail, he found the sun was pouring a +golden stream of light through the arch of the great stone bridge. Surprise +Valley, like a valley of dreams, lay mystically soft and beautiful, awakening +to the golden flood which was rolling away its slumberous bands of mist, +brightening its walled faces. +</p> + +<p> +While yet far off he discerned Bess moving under the silver spruces, and soon +the barking of the dogs told him that they had seen him. He heard the +mocking-birds singing in the trees, and then the twittering of the quail. Ring +and Whitie came bounding toward him, and behind them ran Bess, her hands +outstretched. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern! You’re back! You’re back!” she cried, in joy +that rang of her loneliness. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’m back,” he said, as she rushed to meet him. +</p> + +<p> +She had reached out for him when suddenly, as she saw him closely, something +checked her, and as quickly all her joy fled, and with it her color, leaving +her pale and trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! What’s happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“A good deal has happened, Bess. I don’t need to tell you what. And +I’m played out. Worn out in mind more than body.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear—you look strange to me!” faltered Bess. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind that. I’m all right. There’s nothing for you to +be scared about. Things are going to turn out just as we have planned. As soon +as I’m rested we’ll make a break to get out of the country. Only +now, right now, I must know the truth about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Truth about me?” echoed Bess, shrinkingly. She seemed to be +casting back into her mind for a forgotten key. Venters himself, as he saw her, +received a pang. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—the truth. Bess, don’t misunderstand. I haven’t +changed that way. I love you still. I’ll love you more afterward. Life +will be just as sweet—sweeter to us. We’ll be—be married as +soon as ever we can. We’ll be happy—but there’s a devil in +me. A perverse, jealous devil! Then I’ve queer fancies. I forgot for a +long time. Now all those fiendish little whispers of doubt and faith and fear +and hope come torturing me again. I’ve got to kill them with the +truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she replied, +frankly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then by Heaven! we’ll have it over and done with!... +Bess—did Oldring love you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly he did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did—did you love him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. I told you so.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you tell it so lightly?” cried Venters, passionately. +“Haven’t you any sense of—of—” He choked back +speech. He felt the rush of pain and passion. He seized her in rude, strong +hands and drew her close. He looked straight into her dark-blue eyes. They were +shadowing with the old wistful light, but they were as clear as the limpid +water of the spring. They were earnest, solemn in unutterable love and faith +and abnegation. Venters shivered. He knew he was looking into her soul. He knew +she could not lie in that moment; but that she might tell the truth, looking at +him with those eyes, almost killed his belief in purity. +</p> + +<p> +“What are—what were you to—to Oldring?” he panted, +fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“I am his daughter,” she replied, instantly. +</p> + +<p> +Venters slowly let go of her. There was a violent break in the force of his +feeling—then creeping blankness. +</p> + +<p> +“What—was it—you said?” he asked, in a kind of dull +wonder. +</p> + +<p> +“I am his daughter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oldring’s daughter?” queried Venters, with life gathering in +his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +With a passionately awakening start he grasped her hands and drew her close. +</p> + +<p> +“All the time—you’ve been Oldring’s daughter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, of course all the time—always.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Bess, you told me—you let me think—I made out you +were—a—so—so ashamed.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is my shame,” she said, with voice deep and full, and now the +scarlet fired her cheek. “I told you—I’m +nothing—nameless—just Bess, Oldring’s girl!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know—I remember. But I never thought—” he went on, +hurriedly, huskily. “That time—when you lay dying—you +prayed—you—somehow I got the idea you were bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bad?” she asked, with a little laugh. +</p> + +<p> +She looked up with a faint smile of bewilderment and the absolute +unconsciousness of a child. Venters gasped in the gathering might of the truth. +She did not understand his meaning. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess! Bess!” He clasped her in his arms, hiding her eyes against +his breast. She must not see his face in that moment. And he held her while he +looked out across the valley. In his dim and blinded sight, in the blur of +golden light and moving mist, he saw Oldring. She was the rustler’s +nameless daughter. Oldring had loved her. He had so guarded her, so kept her +from women and men and knowledge of life that her mind was as a child’s. +That was part of the secret—part of the mystery. That was the wonderful +truth. Not only was she not bad, but good, pure, innocent above all innocence +in the world—the innocence of lonely girlhood. +</p> + +<p> +He saw Oldring’s magnificent eyes, inquisitive, searching, softening. He +saw them flare in amaze, in gladness, with love, then suddenly strain in +terrible effort of will. He heard Oldring whisper and saw him sway like a log +and fall. Then a million bellowing, thundering voices—gunshots of +conscience, thunderbolts of remorse—dinned horribly in his ears. He had +killed Bess’s father. Then a rushing wind filled his ears like a moan of +wind in the cliffs, a knell indeed—Oldring’s knell. +</p> + +<p> +He dropped to his knees and hid his face against Bess, and grasped her with the +hands of a drowning man. +</p> + +<p> +“My God!... My God!... Oh, Bess!... Forgive me! Never mind what +I’ve done—what I’ve thought. But forgive me. I’ll give +you my life. I’ll live for you. I’ll love you. Oh, I do love you as +no man ever loved a woman. I want you to know—to remember that I fought a +fight for you—however blind I was. I thought—I thought—never +mind what I thought—but I loved you—I asked you to marry me. Let +that—let me have that to hug to my heart. Oh, Bess, I was driven! And I +might have known! I could not rest nor sleep till I had this mystery solved. +God! how things work out!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, you’re weak—trembling—you talk wildly,” +cried Bess. “You’ve overdone your strength. There’s nothing +to forgive. There’s no mystery except your love for me. You have come +back to me!” +</p> + +<p> +And she clasped his head tenderly in her arms and pressed it closely to her +throbbing breast. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"></a> +CHAPTER XIX.<br /> +FAY</h2> + +<p> +At the home of Jane Withersteen Little Fay was climbing Lassiter’s knee. +</p> + +<p> +“Does oo love me?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter, who was as serious with Fay as he was gentle and loving, assured her +in earnest and elaborate speech that he was her devoted subject. Fay looked +thoughtful and appeared to be debating the duplicity of men or searching for a +supreme test to prove this cavalier. +</p> + +<p> +“Does oo love my new muvver?” she asked, with bewildering +suddenness. +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen laughed, and for the first time in many a day she felt a stir +of her pulse and warmth in her cheek. +</p> + +<p> +It was a still drowsy summer of afternoon, and the three were sitting in the +shade of the wooded knoll that faced the sage-slope. Little Fay’s brief +spell of unhappy longing for her mother—the childish, mystic +gloom—had passed, and now where Fay was there were prattle and laughter +and glee. She had emerged from sorrow to be the incarnation of joy and +loveliness. She had grown supernaturally sweet and beautiful. For Jane +Withersteen the child was an answer to prayer, a blessing, a possession +infinitely more precious than all she had lost. For Lassiter, Jane divined that +little Fay had become a religion. +</p> + +<p> +“Does oo love my new muvver?” repeated Fay. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter’s answer to this was a modest and sincere affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t oo marry my new muvver an’ be my favver?” +</p> + +<p> +Of the thousands of questions put by little Fay to Lassiter this was the first +he had been unable to answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Fay—Fay, don’t ask questions like that,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” replied Jane. And she found it strangely embarrassing to +meet the child’s gaze. It seemed to her that Fay’s violet eyes +looked through her with piercing wisdom. +</p> + +<p> +“Oo love him, don’t oo?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear child—run and play,” said Jane, “but don’t +go too far. Don’t go from this little hill.” +</p> + +<p> +Fay pranced off wildly, joyous over freedom that had not been granted her for +weeks. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, why are children more sincere than grown-up persons?” asked +Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +“Are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon so. Little Fay there—she sees things as they appear on +the face. An Indian does that. So does a dog. An’ an Indian an’ a +dog are most of the time right in what they see. Mebbe a child is always +right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what does Fay see?” asked Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon you know. I wonder what goes on in Fay’s mind when she +sees part of the truth with the wise eyes of a child, an’ wantin’ +to know more, meets with strange falseness from you? Wait! You are false in a +way, though you’re the best woman I ever knew. What I want to say is +this. Fay has taken you’re pretendin’ to—to care for me for +the thing it looks on the face. An’ her little formin’ mind asks +questions. An’ the answers she gets are different from the looks of +things. So she’ll grow up gradually takin’ on that falseness, +an’ be like the rest of the women, an’ men, too. An’ the +truth of this falseness to life is proved by your appearin’ to love me +when you don’t. Things aren’t what they seem.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, you’re right. A child should be told the absolute truth. +But—is that possible? I haven’t been able to do it, and all my life +I’ve loved the truth, and I’ve prided myself upon being truthful. +Maybe that was only egotism. I’m learning much, my friend. Some of those +blinding scales have fallen from my eyes. And—and as to caring for you, I +think I care a great deal. How much, how little, I couldn’t say. My heart +is almost broken, Lassiter. So now is not a good time to judge of affection. I +can still play and be merry with Fay. I can still dream. But when I attempt +serious thought I’m dazed. I don’t think. I don’t care any +more. I don’t pray!... Think of that, my friend! But in spite of my numb +feeling I believe I’ll rise out of all this dark agony a better woman, +with greater love of man and God. I’m on the rack now; I’m +senseless to all but pain, and growing dead to that. Sooner or later I shall +rise out of this stupor. I’m waiting the hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll soon come, Jane,” replied Lassiter, soberly. +“Then I’m afraid for you. Years are terrible things, an’ for +years you’ve been bound. Habit of years is strong as life itself. +Somehow, though, I believe as you—that you’ll come out of it all a +finer woman. I’m waitin’, too. An’ I’m +wonderin’—I reckon, Jane, that marriage between us is out of all +human reason?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!... My dear friend!... It’s impossible for us to +marry!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why—as Fay says?” inquired Lassiter, with gentle +persistence. +</p> + +<p> +“Why! I never thought why. But it’s not possible. I am Jane, +daughter of Withersteen. My father would rise out of his grave. I’m of +Mormon birth. I’m being broken. But I’m still a Mormon woman. And +you—you are Lassiter!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mebbe I’m not so much Lassiter as I used to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was it you said? Habit of years is strong as life itself! You +can’t change the one habit—the purpose of your life. For you still +pack those black guns! You still nurse your passion for blood.” +</p> + +<p> +A smile, like a shadow, flickered across his face. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, I lied to you. But I beg of you—don’t you lie to +me. I’ve great respect for you. I believe you’re softened toward +most, perhaps all, my people except—But when I speak of your purpose, +your hate, your guns, I have only him in mind. I don’t believe +you’ve changed.” +</p> + +<p> +For answer he unbuckled the heavy cartridge-belt, and laid it with the heavy, +swing gun-sheaths in her lap. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!” Jane whispered, as she gazed from him to the black, +cold guns. Without them he appeared shorn of strength, defenseless, a smaller +man. Was she Delilah? Swiftly, conscious of only one motive—refusal to +see this man called craven by his enemies—she rose, and with blundering +fingers buckled the belt round his waist where it belonged. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, <i>I</i> am the coward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come with me out of Utah—where I can put away my guns an’ be +a man,” he said. “I reckon I’ll prove it to you then! Come! +You’ve got Black Star back, an’ Night an’ Bells. Let’s +take the racers an’ little Fay, en’ race out of Utah. The hosses +an’ the child are all you have left. Come!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, Lassiter. I’ll never leave Utah. What would I do in the +world with my broken fortunes and my broken heart? I’ll never leave these +purple slopes I love so well.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I ought to ’ve knowed that. Presently you’ll be +livin’ down here in a hovel, en’ presently Jane Withersteen will be +a memory. I only wanted to have a chance to show you how a man—<i>any</i> +man—can be better ’n he was. If we left Utah I could prove—I +reckon I could prove this thing you call love. It’s strange, an’ +hell an’ heaven at once, Jane Withersteen. ’Pears to me that +you’ve thrown away your big heart on love—love of religion +an’ duty an’ churchmen, an’ riders an’ poor families +an’ poor children! Yet you can’t see what love is—how it +changes a person!... Listen, an’ in tellin’ you Milly Erne’s +story I’ll show you how love changed her. +</p> + +<p> +“Milly an’ me was children when our family moved from Missouri to +Texas, an’ we growed up in Texas ways same as if we’d been born +there. We had been poor, an’ there we prospered. In time the little +village where we went became a town, an’ strangers an’ new families +kept movin’ in. Milly was the belle them days. I can see her now, a +little girl no bigger ’n a bird, an’ as pretty. She had the finest +eyes, dark blue-black when she was excited, an’ beautiful all the time. +You remember Milly’s eyes! An’ she had light-brown hair with +streaks of gold, an’ a mouth that every feller wanted to kiss. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ about the time Milly was the prettiest an’ the sweetest, +along came a young minister who began to ride some of a race with the other +fellers for Milly. An’ he won. Milly had always been strong on religion, +an’ when she met Frank Erne she went in heart an’ soul for the +salvation of souls. Fact was, Milly, through study of the Bible an’ +attendin’ church an’ revivals, went a little out of her head. It +didn’t worry the old folks none, an’ the only worry to me was +Milly’s everlastin’ prayin’ an’ workin’ to save +my soul. She never converted me, but we was the best of comrades, an’ I +reckon no brother an’ sister ever loved each other better. Well, Frank +Erne an me hit up a great friendship. He was a strappin’ feller, good to +look at, an’ had the most pleasin’ ways. His religion never +bothered me, for he could hunt an’ fish an’ ride an’ be a +good feller. After buffalo once, he come pretty near to savin’ my life. +We got to be thick as brothers, an’ he was the only man I ever seen who I +thought was good enough for Milly. An’ the day they were married I got +drunk for the only time in my life. +</p> + +<p> +“Soon after that I left home—it seems Milly was the only one who +could keep me home—an’ I went to the bad, as to prosperin’ I +saw some pretty hard life in the Pan Handle, an’ then I went North. In +them days Kansas an’ Nebraska was as bad, come to think of it, as these +days right here on the border of Utah. I got to be pretty handy with guns. +An’ there wasn’t many riders as could beat me ridin’. +An’ I can say all modest-like that I never seen the white man who could +track a hoss or a steer or a man with me. Afore I knowed it two years slipped +by, an’ all at once I got homesick, an’ pulled a bridle south. +</p> + +<p> +“Things at home had changed. I never got over that homecomin’. +Mother was dead an’ in her grave. Father was a silent, broken man, killed +already on his feet. Frank Erne was a ghost of his old self, through with +workin’, through with preachin’, almost through with livin’, +an’ Milly was gone!... It was a long time before I got the story. Father +had no mind left, an’ Frank Erne was <i>afraid</i> to talk. So I had to +pick up what’d happened from different people. +</p> + +<p> +“It ’pears that soon after I left home another preacher come to the +little town. An’ he an’ Frank become rivals. This feller was +different from Frank. He preached some other kind of religion, and he was quick +an’ passionate, where Frank was slow an’ mild. He went after +people, women specially. In looks he couldn’t compare to Frank Erne, but +he had power over women. He had a voice, an’ he talked an’ talked +an’ preached an’ preached. Milly fell under his influence. She +became mightily interested in his religion. Frank had patience with her, as was +his way, an’ let her be as interested as she liked. All religions were +devoted to one God, he said, an’ it wouldn’t hurt Milly none to +study a different point of view. So the new preacher often called on Milly, +an’ sometimes in Frank’s absence. Frank was a cattle-man between +Sundays. +</p> + +<p> +“Along about this time an incident come off that I couldn’t get +much light on. A stranger come to town, an’ was seen with the preacher. +This stranger was a big man with an eye like blue ice, an’ a beard of +gold. He had money, an’ he ’peared a man of mystery, an’ the +town went to buzzin’ when he disappeared about the same time as a young +woman known to be mightily interested in the new preacher’s religion. +Then, presently, along comes a man from somewheres in Illinois, en’ he up +an’ spots this preacher as a famous Mormon proselyter. That riled Frank +Erne as nothin’ ever before, an’ from rivals they come to be bitter +enemies. An’ it ended in Frank goin’ to the meetin’-house +where Milly was listenin’, en’ before her en’ everybody else +he called that preacher—called him, well, almost as hard as Venters +called Tull here sometime back. An’ Frank followed up that call with a +hosswhippin’, en’ he drove the proselyter out of town. +</p> + +<p> +“People noticed, so ’twas said, that Milly’s sweet +disposition changed. Some said it was because she would soon become a mother, +en’ others said she was pinin’ after the new religion. An’ +there was women who said right out that she was pinin’ after the Mormon. +Anyway, one mornin’ Frank rode in from one of his trips, to find Milly +gone. He had no real near neighbors—livin’ a little out of +town—but those who was nearest said a wagon had gone by in the night, +an’ they thought it stopped at her door. Well, tracks always tell, +an’ there was the wagon tracks an’ hoss tracks an’ man +tracks. The news spread like wildfire that Milly had run off from her husband. +Everybody but Frank believed it an’ wasn’t slow in tellin’ +why she run off. Mother had always hated that strange streak of Milly’s, +takin’ up with the new religion as she had, an’ she believed Milly +ran off with the Mormon. That hastened mother’s death, an’ she died +unforgivin’. Father wasn’t the kind to bow down under disgrace or +misfortune but he had surpassin’ love for Milly, an’ the loss of +her broke him. +</p> + +<p> +“From the minute I heard of Milly’s disappearance I never believed +she went off of her own free will. I knew Milly, an’ I knew she +<i>couldn’t</i> have done that. I stayed at home awhile, tryin’ to +make Frank Erne talk. But if he knowed anythin’ then he wouldn’t +tell it. So I set out to find Milly. An’ I tried to get on the trail of +that proselyter. I knew if I ever struck a town he’d visited that +I’d get a trail. I knew, too, that nothin’ short of hell would stop +his proselytin’. An’ I rode from town to town. I had a blind faith +that somethin’ was guidin’ me. An’ as the weeks an’ +months went by I growed into a strange sort of a man, I guess. Anyway, people +were afraid of me. Two years after that, way over in a corner of Texas, I +struck a town where my man had been. He’d jest left. People said he came +to that town <i>without</i> a woman. I back-trailed my man through Arkansas +an’ Mississippi, an’ the old trail got hot again in Texas. I found +the town where he first went after leavin’ home. An’ here I got +track of Milly. I found a cabin where she had given birth to her baby. There +was no way to tell whether she’d been kept a prisoner or not. The feller +who owned the place was a mean, silent sort of a skunk, an’ as I was +leavin’ I jest took a chance an’ left my mark on him. Then I went +home again. +</p> + +<p> +“It was to find I hadn’t any home, no more. Father had been dead a +year. Frank Erne still lived in the house where Milly had left him. I stayed +with him awhile, an’ I grew old watchin’ him. His farm had gone to +weed, his cattle had strayed or been rustled, his house weathered till it +wouldn’t keep out rain nor wind. An’ Frank set on the porch and +whittled sticks, an’ day by day wasted away. There was times when he +ranted about like a crazy man, but mostly he was always sittin’ an’ +starin’ with eyes that made a man curse. I figured Frank had a secret +fear that I needed to know. An’ when I told him I’d trailed Milly +for near three years an’ had got trace of her, an’ saw where +she’d had her baby, I thought he would drop dead at my feet. An’ +when he’d come round more natural-like he begged me to <i>give up</i> the +trail. But he wouldn’t explain. So I let him alone, an’ watched him +day en’ night. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ I found there was one thing still precious to him, an’ +it was a little drawer where he kept his papers. This was in the room where he +slept. An’ it ’peared he seldom slept. But after bein’ +patient I got the contents of that drawer an’ found two letters from +Milly. One was a long letter written a few months after her disappearance. She +had been bound an’ gagged an’ dragged away from her home by three +men, an’ she named them—Hurd, Metzger, Slack. They was strangers to +her. She was taken to the little town where I found trace of her two years +after. But she didn’t send the letter from that town. There she was +penned in. ’Peared that the proselytes, who had, of course, come on the +scene, was not runnin’ any risks of losin’ her. She went on to say +that for a time she was out of her head, an’ when she got right again all +that kept her alive was the baby. It was a beautiful baby, she said, an’ +all she thought an’ dreamed of was somehow to get baby back to its +father, an’ then she’d thankfully lay down and die. An’ the +letter ended abrupt, in the middle of a sentence, en’ it wasn’t +signed. +</p> + +<p> +“The second letter was written more than two years after the first. It +was from Salt Lake City. It simply said that Milly had heard her brother was on +her trail. She asked Frank to tell her brother to give up the search because if +he didn’t she would suffer in a way too horrible to tell. She +didn’t beg. She just stated a fact an’ made the simple request. +An’ she ended that letter by sayin’ she would soon leave Salt Lake +City with the man she had come to love, en’ would never be heard of +again. +</p> + +<p> +“I recognized Milly’s handwritin’, an’ I recognized her +way of puttin’ things. But that second letter told me of some great +change in her. Ponderin’ over it, I felt at last she’d either come +to love that feller an’ his religion, or some terrible fear made her lie +an’ say so. I couldn’t be sure which. But, of course, I meant to +find out. I’ll say here, if I’d known Mormons then as I do now +I’d left Milly to her fate. For mebbe she was right about what +she’d suffer if I kept on her trail. But I was young an’ wild them +days. First I went to the town where she’d first been taken, an’ I +went to the place where she’d been kept. I got that skunk who owned the +place, an’ took him out in the woods, an’ made him tell all he +knowed. That wasn’t much as to length, but it was pure hell’s-fire +in substance. This time I left him some incapacitated for any more skunk work +short of hell. Then I hit the trail for Utah. +</p> + +<p> +“That was fourteen years ago. I saw the incomin’ of most of the +Mormons. It was a wild country an’ a wild time. I rode from town to town, +village to village, ranch to ranch, camp to camp. I never stayed long in one +place. I never had but one idea. I never rested. Four years went by, an’ +I knowed every trail in northern Utah. I kept on an’ as time went by, +an’ I’d begun to grow old in my search, I had firmer, blinder faith +in whatever was guidin’ me. Once I read about a feller who sailed the +seven seas an’ traveled the world, an’ he had a story to tell, +an’ whenever he seen the man to whom he must tell that story he knowed +him on sight. I was like that, only I had a question to ask. An’ always I +knew the man of whom I must ask. So I never really lost the trail, though for +many years it was the dimmest trail ever followed by any man. +</p> + +<p> +“Then come a change in my luck. Along in Central Utah I rounded up Hurd, +an’ I whispered somethin’ in his ear, an’ watched his face, +an’ then throwed a gun against his bowels. An’ he died with his +teeth so tight shut I couldn’t have pried them open with a knife. Slack +an’ Metzger that same year both heard me whisper the same question, +an’ neither would they speak a word when they lay dyin’. Long +before I’d learned no man of this breed or class—or God knows +what—would give up any secrets! I had to see in a man’s fear of +death the connections with Milly Erne’s fate. An’ as the years +passed at long intervals I would find such a man. +</p> + +<p> +“So as I drifted on the long trail down into southern Utah my name +preceded me, an’ I had to meet a people prepared for me, an’ ready +with guns. They made me a gun-man. An’ that suited me. In all this time +signs of the proselyter an’ the giant with the blue-ice eyes an’ +the gold beard seemed to fade dimmer out of the trail. Only twice in ten years +did I find a trace of that mysterious man who had visited the proselyter at my +home village. What he had to do with Milly’s fate was beyond all hope for +me to learn, unless my guidin’ spirit led me to him! As for the other +man, I knew, as sure as I breathed en’ the stars shone en’ the wind +blew, that I’d meet him some day. +</p> + +<p> +“Eighteen years I’ve been on the trail. An’ it led me to the +last lonely villages of the Utah border. Eighteen years!... I feel pretty old +now. I was only twenty when I hit that trail. Well, as I told you, back here a +ways a Gentile said Jane Withersteen could tell me about Milly Erne an’ +show me her grave!” +</p> + +<p> +The low voice ceased, and Lassiter slowly turned his sombrero round and round, +and appeared to be counting the silver ornaments on the band. Jane, leaning +toward him, sat as if petrified, listening intently, waiting to hear more. She +could have shrieked, but power of tongue and lips were denied her. She saw only +this sad, gray, passion-worn man, and she heard only the faint rustling of the +leaves. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I came to Cottonwoods,” went on Lassiter, “an’ +you showed me Milly’s grave. An’ though your teeth have been shut +tighter’n them of all the dead men lyin’ back along that trail, +jest the same you told me the secret I’ve lived these eighteen years to +hear! Jane, I said you’d tell me without ever me askin’. I +didn’t need to ask my question here. The day, you remember, when that fat +party throwed a gun on me in your court, an’—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Hush!” whispered Jane, blindly holding up her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I seen in your face that Dyer, now a bishop, was the proselyter who +ruined Milly Erne!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +For an instant Jane Withersteen’s brain was a whirling chaos and she +recovered to find herself grasping at Lassiter like one drowning. And as if by +a lightning stroke she sprang from her dull apathy into exquisite torture. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>It’s a lie!</i> Lassiter! No, no!” she moaned. “I +swear—you’re wrong!” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop! You’d perjure yourself! But I’ll spare you that. You +poor woman! Still blind! Still faithful!... Listen. I <i>know</i>. Let that +settle it. An’ I give up my purpose!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it—you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“I give up my purpose. I’ve come to see an’ feel differently. +I can’t help poor Milly. An’ I’ve outgrowed revenge. +I’ve come to see I can be no judge for men. I can’t kill a man jest +for hate. Hate ain’t the same with me since I loved you and little +Fay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter! You mean you won’t kill him?” Jane whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“For my sake?” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon. I can’t understand, but I’ll respect your +feelin’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you—oh, because you love me?... Eighteen years! You were +that terrible Lassiter! And <i>now</i>—because you love me?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, Jane.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you’ll make me love you! How can I help but love you? My heart +must be stone. But—oh, Lassiter, wait, wait! Give me time. I’m not +what I was. Once it was so easy to love. Now it’s easy to hate. Wait! My +faith in God—<i>some</i> God—still lives. By it I see happier times +for you, poor passion-swayed wanderer! For me—a miserable, broken woman. +I loved your sister Milly. I <i>will</i> love you. I can’t have fallen so +low—I can’t be so abandoned by God—that I’ve no love +left to give you. Wait! Let us forget Milly’s sad life. Ah, I knew it as +no one else on earth! There’s one thing I shall tell you—if you are +at my death-bed, but I can’t speak now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I don’t want to hear no more,” said Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +Jane leaned against him, as if some pent-up force had rent its way out, she +fell into a paroxysm of weeping. Lassiter held her in silent sympathy. By +degrees she regained composure, and she was rising, sensible of being relieved +of a weighty burden, when a sudden start on Lassiter’s part alarmed her. +</p> + +<p> +“I heard hosses—hosses with muffled hoofs!” he said; and he +got up guardedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s Fay?” asked Jane, hurriedly glancing round the shady +knoll. The bright-haired child, who had appeared to be close all the time, was +not in sight. +</p> + +<p> +“Fay!” called Jane. +</p> + +<p> +No answering shout of glee. No patter of flying feet. Jane saw Lassiter +stiffen. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Fay—oh—Fay!</i>” Jane almost screamed. +</p> + +<p> +The leaves quivered and rustled; a lonesome cricket chirped in the grass, a bee +hummed by. The silence of the waning afternoon breathed hateful portent. It +terrified Jane. When had silence been so infernal? +</p> + +<p> +“She’s—only—strayed—out—of earshot,” +faltered Jane, looking at Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +Pale, rigid as a statue, the rider stood, not in listening, searching posture, +but in one of doomed certainty. Suddenly he grasped Jane with an iron hand, +and, turning his face from her gaze, he strode with her from the knoll. +</p> + +<p> +“See—Fay played here last—a house of stones an’ +sticks.... An’ here’s a corral of pebbles with leaves for +hosses,” said Lassiter, stridently, and pointed to the ground. +“Back an’ forth she trailed here.... See, she’s buried +somethin’—a dead grasshopper—there’s a tombstone... +here she went, chasin’ a lizard—see the tiny streaked trail... she +pulled bark off this cottonwood... look in the dust of the path—the +letters you taught her—she’s drawn pictures of birds en’ +hosses an’ people.... Look, a cross! Oh, Jane, <i>your</i> cross!” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter dragged Jane on, and as if from a book read the meaning of little +Fay’s trail. All the way down the knoll, through the shrubbery, round and +round a cottonwood, Fay’s vagrant fancy left records of her sweet musings +and innocent play. Long had she lingered round a bird-nest to leave therein the +gaudy wing of a butterfly. Long had she played beside the running stream +sending adrift vessels freighted with pebbly cargo. Then she had wandered +through the deep grass, her tiny feet scarcely turning a fragile blade, and she +had dreamed beside some old faded flowers. Thus her steps led her into the +broad lane. The little dimpled imprints of her bare feet showed clean-cut in +the dust they went a little way down the lane; and then, at a point where they +stopped, the great tracks of a man led out from the shrubbery and returned. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"></a> +CHAPTER XX.<br /> +LASSITER’S WAY</h2> + +<p> +Footprints told the story of little Fay’s abduction. In anguish Jane +Withersteen turned speechlessly to Lassiter, and, confirming her fears, she saw +him gray-faced, aged all in a moment, stricken as if by a mortal blow. +</p> + +<p> +Then all her life seemed to fall about her in wreck and ruin. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all over,” she heard her voice whisper. +“It’s ended. I’m going—I’m going—” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” demanded Lassiter, suddenly looming darkly over her. +</p> + +<p> +“To—to those cruel men—” +</p> + +<p> +“Speak names!” thundered Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +“To Bishop Dyer—to Tull,” went on Jane, shocked into +obedience. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—what for?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want little Fay. I can’t live without her. They’ve stolen +her as they stole Milly Erne’s child. I must have little Fay. I want only +her. I give up. I’ll go and tell Bishop Dyer—I’m broken. +I’ll tell him I’m ready for the yoke—only give me back +Fay—and—and I’ll marry Tull!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Never!</i>” hissed Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +His long arm leaped at her. Almost running, he dragged her under the +cottonwoods, across the court, into the huge hall of Withersteen House, and he +shut the door with a force that jarred the heavy walls. Black Star and Night +and Bells, since their return, had been locked in this hall, and now they +stamped on the stone floor. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter released Jane and like a dizzy man swayed from her with a hoarse cry +and leaned shaking against a table where he kept his rider’s +accoutrements. He began to fumble in his saddlebags. His action brought a +clinking, metallic sound—the rattling of gun-cartridges. His fingers +trembled as he slipped cartridges into an extra belt. But as he buckled it over +the one he habitually wore his hands became steady. This second belt contained +two guns, smaller than the black ones swinging low, and he slipped them round +so that his coat hid them. Then he fell to swift action. Jane Withersteen +watched him, fascinated but uncomprehending and she saw him rapidly saddle +Black Star and Night. Then he drew her into the light of the huge windows, +standing over her, gripping her arm with fingers like cold steel. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Jane, it’s ended—but you’re not goin’ to +Dyer!... <i>I’m goin’ instead!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Looking at him—he was so terrible of aspect—she could not +comprehend his words. Who was this man with the face gray as death, with eyes +that would have made her shriek had she the strength, with the strange, +ruthlessly bitter lips? Where was the gentle Lassiter? What was this presence +in the hall, about him, about her—this cold, invisible presence? +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s ended, Jane,” he was saying, so awfully quiet and +cool and implacable, “an’ I’m goin’ to make a little +call. I’ll lock you in here, an’ when I get back have the +saddle-bags full of meat an bread. An’ be ready to ride!” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!” cried Jane. +</p> + +<p> +Desperately she tried to meet his gray eyes, in vain, desperately she tried +again, fought herself as feeling and thought resurged in torment, and she +succeeded, and then she knew. +</p> + +<p> +“No—no—no!” she wailed. “You said you’d +foregone your vengeance. You promised not to kill Bishop Dyer.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you want to talk to me about him—leave off the Bishop. I +don’t understand that name, or its use.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, hadn’t you foregone your vengeance on—on Dyer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—your actions—your words—your guns—your +terrible looks!... They don’t seem foregoing vengeance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, now it’s justice.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll—kill him?” +</p> + +<p> +“If God lets me live another hour! If not God—then the devil who +drives me!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll kill him—for yourself—for your vengeful +hate?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“For Milly Erne’s sake?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“For little Fay’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—for whose?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“For yours!”</i> +</p> + +<p> +“His blood on my soul!” whispered Jane, and she fell to her knees. +This was the long-pending hour of fruition. And the habit of years—the +religious passion of her life—leaped from lethargy, and the long months +of gradual drifting to doubt were as if they had never been. “If you +spill his blood it’ll be on my soul—and on my father’s. +Listen.” And she clasped his knees, and clung there as he tried to raise +her. “Listen. Am I nothing to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Woman—don’t trifle at words! I love you! An’ +I’ll soon prove it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give myself to you—I’ll ride away with +you—marry you, if only you’ll spare him?” +</p> + +<p> +His answer was a cold, ringing, terrible laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter—I’ll love you. Spare him!” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +She sprang up in despairing, breaking spirit, and encircled his neck with her +arms, and held him in an embrace that he strove vainly to loosen. +“Lassiter, would you kill me? I’m fighting my last fight for the +principles of my youth—love of religion, love of father. You don’t +know—you can’t guess the truth, and I can’t speak ill. +I’m losing all. I’m changing. All I’ve gone through is +nothing to this hour. Pity me—help me in my weakness. You’re strong +again—oh, so cruelly, coldly strong! You’re killing me. I see +you—feel you as some other Lassiter! My master, be merciful—spare +him!” +</p> + +<p> +His answer was a ruthless smile. +</p> + +<p> +She clung the closer to him, and leaned her panting breast on him, and lifted +her face to his. “Lassiter, <i>I do love you!</i> It’s leaped out +of my agony. It comes suddenly with a terrible blow of truth. You are a man! I +never knew it till now. Some wonderful change came to me when you buckled on +these guns and showed that gray, awful face. I loved you then. All my life +I’ve loved, but never as now. No woman can love like a broken woman. If +it were not for one thing—just one thing—and yet! I +<i>can’t</i> speak it—I’d glory in your manhood—the +lion in you that means to slay for me. Believe me—and spare Dyer. Be +merciful—great as it’s in you to be great.... Oh, listen and +believe—I have nothing, but I’m a woman—a beautiful woman, +Lassiter—a passionate, loving woman—and I love you! Take +me—hide me in some wild place—and love me and mend my broken heart. +Spare him and take me away.” +</p> + +<p> +She lifted her face closer and closer to his, until their lips nearly touched, +and she hung upon his neck, and with strength almost spent pressed and still +pressed her palpitating body to his. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss me!” she whispered, blindly. +</p> + +<p> +“No—not at your price!” he answered. His voice had changed or +she had lost clearness of hearing. +</p> + +<p> +“Kiss me!... Are you a man? Kiss me and save me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, you never played fair with me. But now you’re +blisterin’ your lips—blackenin’ your soul with lies!” +</p> + +<p> +“By the memory of my mother—by my Bible—no! No, I <i>have</i> +no Bible! But by my hope of heaven I swear I love you!” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter’s gray lips formed soundless words that meant even her love +could not avail to bend his will. As if the hold of her arms was that of a +child’s he loosened it and stepped away. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait! Don’t go! Oh, hear a last word!... May a more just and +merciful God than the God I was taught to worship judge me—forgive +me—save me! For I can no longer keep silent!... Lassiter, in pleading for +Dyer I’ve been pleading more for my father. My father was a Mormon +master, close to the leaders of the church. It was my father who sent Dyer out +to proselyte. It was my father who had the blue-ice eye and the beard of gold. +It was my father you got trace of in the past years. Truly, Dyer ruined Milly +Erne—dragged her from her home—to Utah—to Cottonwoods. <i>But +it was for my father!</i> If Milly Erne was ever wife of a Mormon that Mormon +was my father! I never knew—never will know whether or not she was a +wife. Blind I may be, Lassiter—fanatically faithful to a false religion I +may have been but I know justice, and my father is beyond human justice. Surely +he is meeting just punishment—somewhere. Always it has appalled +me—the thought of your killing Dyer for my father’s sins. So I have +prayed!” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, the past is dead. In my love for you I forgot the past. This thing +I’m about to do ain’t for myself or Milly or Fay. It’s not +because of anythin’ that ever happened in the past, but for what is +happenin’ right <i>now. It’s for you!</i>... An’ listen. +Since I was a boy I’ve never thanked God for anythin’. If there is +a God—an’ I’ve come to believe it—I thank Him now for +the years that made me Lassiter!... I can reach down en’ feel these big +guns, en’ know what I can do with them. An’, Jane, only one of the +miracles Dyer professes to believe in can save him!” +</p> + +<p> +Again for Jane Withersteen came the spinning of her brain in darkness, and as +she whirled in endless chaos she seemed to be falling at the feet of a luminous +figure—a man—Lassiter—who had saved her from herself, who +could not be changed, who would slay rightfully. Then she slipped into utter +blackness. +</p> + +<p> +When she recovered from her faint she became aware that she was lying on a +couch near the window in her sitting-room. Her brow felt damp and cold and wet, +some one was chafing her hands; she recognized Judkins, and then saw that his +lean, hard face wore the hue and look of excessive agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins!” Her voice broke weakly. +</p> + +<p> +“Aw, Miss Withersteen, you’re comin’ round fine. Now jest lay +still a little. You’re all right; everythin’s all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is—he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter!” +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t worry none about him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he? Tell me—instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wal, he’s in the other room patchin’ up a few triflin’ +bullet holes.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>“Ah!... Bishop’ Dyer?”</i> +</p> + +<p> +“When I seen him last—a matter of half an hour ago, he was on his +knees. He was some busy, <i>but</i> he wasn’t prayin’!” +</p> + +<p> +“How strangely you talk! I’ll sit up. I’m—well, strong +again. Tell me. Dyer on his knees! What was he doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wal, beggin’ your pardon fer blunt talk, Miss Withersteen, Dyer +was on his knees an’ <i>not</i> prayin’. You remember his big, +broad hands? You’ve seen ’em raised in blessin’ over old gray +men an’ little curly-headed children like—like Fay Larkin! Come to +think of thet, I disremember ever hearin’ of his liftin’ his big +hands in blessin’ over a <i>woman</i>. Wal, when I seen him +last—jest a little while ago—he was on his knees, <i>not</i> +prayin’, as I remarked—an’ he was pressin’ his big +hands over some bigger wounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“Man, you drive me mad! Did Lassiter kill Dyer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he kill Tull?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Tull’s out of the village with most of his riders. He’s +expected back before evenin’. Lassiter will hev to git away before Tull +en’ his riders come in. It’s sure death fer him here. An’ +wuss fer you, too, Miss Withersteen. There’ll be some of an +uprisin’ when Tull gits back.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall ride away with Lassiter. Judkins, tell me all you saw—all +you know about this killing.” She realized, without wonder or amaze, how +Judkins’s one word, affirming the death of Dyer—that the +catastrophe had fallen—had completed the change whereby she had been +molded or beaten or broken into another woman. She felt calm, slightly cold, +strong as she had not been strong since the first shadow fell upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“I jest saw about all of it, Miss Withersteen, an’ I’ll be +glad to tell you if you’ll only hev patience with me,” said +Judkins, earnestly. “You see, I’ve been pecooliarly interested, +an’ nat’rully I’m some excited. An’ I talk a lot thet +mebbe ain’t necessary, but I can’t help thet. +</p> + +<p> +“I was at the meetin’-house where Dyer was holdin’ court. You +know he allus acts as magistrate an’ judge when Tull’s away. +An’ the trial was fer tryin’ what’s left of my boy +riders—thet helped me hold your cattle—fer a lot of hatched-up +things the boys never did. We’re used to thet, an’ the boys +wouldn’t hev minded bein’ locked up fer a while, or hevin’ to +dig ditches, or whatever the judge laid down. You see, I divided the gold you +give me among all my boys, an’ they all hid it, en’ they all feel +rich. Howsomever, court was adjourned before the judge passed sentence. Yes, +ma’m, court was adjourned some strange an’ quick, much as if +lightnin’ hed struck the meetin’-house. +</p> + +<p> +“I hed trouble attendin’ the trial, but I got in. There was a good +many people there, all my boys, an’ Judge Dyer with his several clerks. +Also he hed with him the five riders who’ve been guardin’ him +pretty close of late. They was Carter, Wright, Jengessen, an’ two new +riders from Stone Bridge. I didn’t hear their names, but I heard they was +handy men with guns an’ they looked more like rustlers than riders. +Anyway, there they was, the five all in a row. +</p> + +<p> +“Judge Dyer was tellin’ Willie Kern, one of my best an’ +steadiest boys—Dyer was tellin’ him how there was a ditch opened +near Willie’s home lettin’ water through his lot, where it +hadn’t ought to go. An’ Willie was tryin’ to git a word in to +prove he wasn’t at home all the day it happened—which was true, as +I know—but Willie couldn’t git a word in, an’ then Judge Dyer +went on layin’ down the law. An’ all to onct he happened to look +down the long room. An’ if ever any man turned to stone he was thet man. +</p> + +<p> +“Nat’rully I looked back to see what hed acted so powerful strange +on the judge. An’ there, half-way up the room, in the middle of the wide +aisle, stood Lassiter! All white an’ black he looked, an’ I +can’t think of anythin’ he resembled, onless it’s death. +Venters made thet same room some still an’ chilly when he called Tull; +but this was different. I give my word, Miss Withersteen, thet I went cold to +my very marrow. I don’t know why. But Lassiter had a way about him +thet’s awful. He spoke a word—a name—I couldn’t +understand it, though he spoke clear as a bell. I was too excited, mebbe. Judge +Dyer must hev understood it, an’ a lot more thet was mystery to me, for +he pitched forrard out of his chair right onto the platform. +</p> + +<p> +“Then them five riders, Dyer’s bodyguards, they jumped up, +an’ two of them thet I found out afterward were the strangers from Stone +Bridge, they piled right out of a winder, so quick you couldn’t catch +your breath. It was plain they wasn’t Mormons. +</p> + +<p> +“Jengessen, Carter, an’ Wright eyed Lassiter, for what must hev +been a second an’ seemed like an hour, an’ they went white +en’ strung. But they didn’t weaken nor lose their nerve. +</p> + +<p> +“I hed a good look at Lassiter. He stood sort of stiff, bendin’ a +little, an’ both his arms were crooked an’ his hands looked like a +hawk’s claws. But there ain’t no tellin’ how his eyes looked. +I know this, though, an’ thet is his eyes could read the mind of any man +about to throw a gun. An’ in watchin’ him, of course, I +couldn’t see the three men go fer their guns. An’ though I was +lookin’ right at Lassiter—lookin’ hard—I couldn’t +see how he drawed. He was quicker’n eyesight—thet’s all. But +I seen the red spurtin’ of his guns, en’ heard his shots jest the +very littlest instant before I heard the shots of the riders. An’ when I +turned, Wright an’ Carter was down, en’ Jengessen, who’s +tough like a steer, was pullin’ the trigger of a wabblin’ gun. But +it was plain he was shot through, plumb center. An’ sudden he fell with a +crash, an’ his gun clattered on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Then there was a hell of a silence. Nobody breathed. Sartin I +didn’t, anyway. I saw Lassiter slip a smokin’ gun back in a belt. +But he hadn’t throwed either of the big black guns, an’ I thought +thet strange. An’ all this was happenin’ quick—you +can’t imagine how quick. +</p> + +<p> +“There come a scrapin’ on the floor an’ Dyer got up, his face +like lead. I wanted to watch Lassiter, but Dyer’s face, onct I seen it +like thet, glued my eyes. I seen him go fer his gun—why, I could hev done +better, quicker—an’ then there was a thunderin’ shot from +Lassiter, an’ it hit Dyer’s right arm, an’ his gun went off +as it dropped. He looked at Lassiter like a cornered sage-wolf, an’ sort +of howled, an’ reached down fer his gun. He’d jest picked it off +the floor an’ was raisin’ it when another thunderin’ shot +almost tore thet arm off—so it seemed to me. The gun dropped again +an’ he went down on his knees, kind of flounderin’ after it. It was +some strange an’ terrible to see his awful earnestness. Why would such a +man cling so to life? Anyway, he got the gun with left hand an’ was +raisin’ it, pullin’ trigger in his madness, when the third +thunderin’ shot hit his left arm, an’ he dropped the gun again. But +thet left arm wasn’t useless yet, fer he grabbed up the gun, an’ +with a shakin’ aim thet would hev been pitiful to me—in any other +man—he began to shoot. One wild bullet struck a man twenty feet from +Lassiter. An’ it killed thet man, as I seen afterward. Then come a bunch +of thunderin’ shots—nine I calkilated after, fer they come so quick +I couldn’t count them—an’ I knew Lassiter hed turned the +black guns loose on Dyer. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m tellin’ you straight, Miss Withersteen, fer I want you +to know. Afterward you’ll git over it. I’ve seen some +soul-rackin’ scenes on this Utah border, but this was the awfulest. I +remember I closed my eyes, an’ fer a minute I thought of the strangest +things, out of place there, such as you’d never dream would come to mind. +I saw the sage, an’ runnin’ hosses—an’ thet’s the +beautfulest sight to me—an’ I saw dim things in the dark, an’ +there was a kind of hummin’ in my ears. An’ I remember +distinctly—fer it was what made all these things whirl out of my mind +an’ opened my eyes—I remember distinctly it was the smell of +gunpowder. +</p> + +<p> +“The court had about adjourned fer thet judge. He was on his knees, +en’ he wasn’t prayin’. He was gaspin’ an’ +tryin’ to press his big, floppin’, crippled hands over his body. +Lassiter had sent all those last thunderin’ shots through his body. Thet +was Lassiter’s way. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ Lassiter spoke, en’ if I ever forgit his words +I’ll never forgit the sound of his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“‘<i>Proselyter</i>, I reckon you’d better call quick on thet +God who reveals Hisself to you on earth, because He won’t be +visitin’ the place you’re goin’ to!’ +</p> + +<p> +“An’ then I seen Dyer look at his big, hangin’ hands thet +wasn’t big enough fer the last work he set them to. An’ he looked +up at Lassiter. An’ then he stared horrible at somethin’ thet +wasn’t Lassiter, nor anyone there, nor the room, nor the branches of +purple sage peepin’ into the winder. Whatever he seen, it was with the +look of a man who <i>discovers</i> somethin’ too late. Thet’s a +terrible look!... An’ with a horrible <i>understandin’</i> cry he +slid forrard on his face.” +</p> + +<p> +Judkins paused in his narrative, breathing heavily while he wiped his +perspiring brow. +</p> + +<p> +“Thet’s about all,” he concluded. “Lassiter left the +meetin’-house an’ I hurried to catch up with him. He was +bleedin’ from three gunshots, none of them much to bother him. An’ +we come right up here. I found you layin’ in the hall, an’ I hed to +work some over you.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen offered up no prayer for Dyer’s soul. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter’s step sounded in the hall—the familiar soft, +silver-clinking step—and she heard it with thrilling new emotions in +which was a vague joy in her very fear of him. The door opened, and she saw +him, the old Lassiter, slow, easy, gentle, cool, yet not exactly the same +Lassiter. She rose, and for a moment her eyes blurred and swam in tears. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you—all—all right?” she asked, tremulously. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, I’ll ride away with you. Hide me till danger is +past—till we are forgotten—then take me where you will. Your people +shall be my people, and your God my God!” +</p> + +<p> +He kissed her hand with the quaint grace and courtesy that came to him in rare +moments. +</p> + +<p> +“Black Star an’ Night are ready,” he said, simply. +</p> + +<p> +His quiet mention of the black racers spurred Jane to action. Hurrying to her +room, she changed to her rider’s suit, packed her jewelry, and the gold +that was left, and all the woman’s apparel for which there was space in +the saddle-bags, and then returned to the hall. Black Star stamped his +iron-shod hoofs and tossed his beautiful head, and eyed her with knowing eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, I give Bells to you,” said Jane. “I hope you will +always keep him and be good to him.” +</p> + +<p> +Judkins mumbled thanks that he could not speak fluently, and his eyes flashed. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter strapped Jane’s saddle-bags upon Black Star, and led the racers +out into the court. +</p> + +<p> +“Judkins, you ride with Jane out into the sage. If you see any riders +comin’ shout quick twice. An’, Jane, <i>don’t look back!</i> +I’ll catch up soon. We’ll get to the break into the Pass before +midnight, an’ then wait until mornin’ to go down.” +</p> + +<p> +Black Star bent his graceful neck and bowed his noble head, and his broad +shoulders yielded as he knelt for Jane to mount. +</p> + +<p> +She rode out of the court beside Judkins, through the grove, across the wide +lane into the sage, and she realized that she was leaving Withersteen House +forever, and she did not look back. A strange, dreamy, calm peace pervaded her +soul. Her doom had fallen upon her, but, instead of finding life no longer +worth living she found it doubly significant, full of sweetness as the western +breeze, beautiful and unknown as the sage-slope stretching its purple sunset +shadows before her. She became aware of Judkins’s hand touching hers; she +heard him speak a husky good-by; then into the place of Bells shot the +dead-black, keen, racy nose of Night, and she knew Lassiter rode beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Don’t—look—back!</i>” he said, and his voice, +too, was not clear. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus11"></a> +<img src="images/img11.jpg" width="463" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“Don’t—look—back!”</p> +</div> + +<p> +Facing straight ahead, seeing only the waving, shadowy sage, Jane held out her +gauntleted hand, to feel it enclosed in strong clasp. So she rode on without a +backward glance at the beautiful grove of Cottonwoods. She did not seem to +think of the past of what she left forever, but of the color and mystery and +wildness of the sage-slope leading down to Deception Pass, and of the future. +She watched the shadows lengthen down the slope; she felt the cool west wind +sweeping by from the rear; and she wondered at low, yellow clouds sailing +swiftly over her and beyond. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Don’t look—back!</i>” said Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +Thick-driving belts of smoke traveled by on the wind, and with it came a +strong, pungent odor of burning wood. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter had fired Withersteen House! But Jane did not look back. +</p> + +<p> +A misty veil obscured the clear, searching gaze she had kept steadfastly upon +the purple slope and the dim lines of cañons. It passed, as passed the rolling +clouds of smoke, and she saw the valley deepening into the shades of twilight. +Night came on, swift as the fleet racers, and stars peeped out to brighten and +grow, and the huge, windy, eastern heave of sage-level paled under a rising +moon and turned to silver. Blanched in moonlight, the sage yet seemed to hold +its hue of purple and was infinitely more wild and lonely. So the night hours +wore on, and Jane Withersteen never once looked back. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"></a> +CHAPTER XXI.<br /> +BLACK STAR AND NIGHT</h2> + +<p> +The time had come for Venters and Bess to leave their retreat. They were at +great pains to choose the few things they would be able to carry with them on +the journey out of Utah. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, whatever kind of a pack’s this, anyhow?” questioned +Bess, rising from her work with reddened face. +</p> + +<p> +Venters, absorbed in his own task, did not look up at all, and in reply said he +had brought so much from Cottonwoods that he did not recollect the half of it. +</p> + +<p> +“A woman packed this!” Bess exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +He scarcely caught her meaning, but the peculiar tone of her voice caused him +instantly to rise, and he saw Bess on her knees before an open pack which he +recognized as the one given him by Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“By George!” he ejaculated, guiltily, and then at sight of +Bess’s face he laughed outright. +</p> + +<p> +“A woman packed this,” she repeated, fixing woeful, tragic eyes on +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, is that a crime?” +</p> + +<p> +“There—there <i>is</i> a woman, after all!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now Bess—” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve lied to me!” +</p> + +<p> +Then and there Venters found it imperative to postpone work for the present. +All her life Bess had been isolated, but she had inherited certain elements of +the eternal feminine. +</p> + +<p> +“But there <i>was</i> a woman and you <i>did</i> lie to me,” she +kept repeating, after he had explained. +</p> + +<p> +“What of that? Bess, I’ll get angry at you in a moment. Remember +you’ve been pent up all your life. I venture to say that if you’d +been out in the world you’d have had a dozen sweethearts and have told +many a lie before this.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t anything of the kind,” declared Bess, +indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well—perhaps not lie. But you’d have had the +sweethearts—You couldn’t have helped that—being so +pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +This remark appeared to be a very clever and fortunate one; and the work of +selecting and then of stowing all the packs in the cave went on without further +interruption. +</p> + +<p> +Venters closed up the opening of the cave with a thatch of willows and aspens, +so that not even a bird or a rat could get in to the sacks of grain. And this +work was in order with the precaution habitually observed by him. He might not +be able to get out of Utah, and have to return to the valley. But he owed it to +Bess to make the attempt, and in case they were compelled to turn back he +wanted to find that fine store of food and grain intact. The outfit of +implements and utensils he packed away in another cave. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, we have enough to live here all our lives,” he said once, +dreamily. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I go roll Balancing Rock?” she asked, in light speech, but +with deep-blue fire in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“No—no.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you don’t forget the gold and the world,” she sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“Child, you forget the beautiful dresses and the travel—and +everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I want to go. But I want to stay!” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel the same way.” +</p> + +<p> +They let the eight calves out of the corral, and kept only two of the burros +Venters had brought from Cottonwoods. These they intended to ride. Bess freed +all her pets—the quail and rabbits and foxes. +</p> + +<p> +The last sunset and twilight and night were both the sweetest and saddest they +had ever spent in Surprise Valley. Morning brought keen exhilaration and +excitement. When Venters had saddled the two burros, strapped on the light +packs and the two canteens, the sunlight was dispersing the lazy shadows from +the valley. Taking a last look at the caves and the silver spruces, Venters and +Bess made a reluctant start, leading the burros. Ring and Whitie looked keen +and knowing. Something seemed to drag at Venters’s feet and he noticed +Bess lagged behind. Never had the climb from terrace to bridge appeared so +long. +</p> + +<p> +Not till they reached the opening of the gorge did they stop to rest and take +one last look at the valley. The tremendous arch of stone curved clear and +sharp in outline against the morning sky. And through it streaked the golden +shaft. The valley seemed an enchanted circle of glorious veils of gold and +wraiths of white and silver haze and dim, blue, moving shade—beautiful +and wild and unreal as a dream. +</p> + +<p> +“We—we can—th—think of +it—always—re—remember,” sobbed Bess. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush! Don’t cry. Our valley has only fitted us for a better life +somewhere. Come!” +</p> + +<p> +They entered the gorge and he closed the willow gate. From rosy, golden morning +light they passed into cool, dense gloom. The burros pattered up the trail with +little hollow-cracking steps. And the gorge widened to narrow outlet and the +gloom lightened to gray. At the divide they halted for another rest. +Venters’s keen, remembering gaze searched Balancing Rock, and the long +incline, and the cracked toppling walls, but failed to note the slightest +change. +</p> + +<p> +The dogs led the descent; then came Bess leading her burro; then Venters +leading his. Bess kept her eyes bent downward. Venters, however, had an +irresistible desire to look upward at Balancing Rock. It had always haunted +him, and now he wondered if he were really to get through the outlet before the +huge stone thundered down. He fancied that would be a miracle. Every few steps +he answered to the strange, nervous fear and turned to make sure the rock still +stood like a giant statue. And, as he descended, it grew dimmer in his sight. +It changed form; it swayed; it nodded darkly; and at last, in his heightened +fancy, he saw it heave and roll. As in a dream when he felt himself falling yet +knew he would never fall, so he saw this long-standing thunderbolt of the +little stone-men plunge down to close forever the outlet to Deception Pass. +</p> + +<p> +And while he was giving way to unaccountable dread imaginations the descent was +accomplished without mishap. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad that’s over,” he said, breathing more freely. +“I hope I’m by that hanging rock for good and all. Since almost the +moment I first saw it I’ve had an idea that it was waiting for me. Now, +when it does fall, if I’m thousands of miles away, I’ll hear +it.” +</p> + +<p> +With the first glimpses of the smooth slope leading down to the grotesque +cedars and out to the Pass, Venters’s cool nerve returned. One long +survey to the left, then one to the right, satisfied his caution. Leading the +burros down to the spur of rock, he halted at the steep incline. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, here’s the bad place, the place I told you about, with the +cut steps. You start down, leading your burro. Take your time and hold on to +him if you slip. I’ve got a rope on him and a half-hitch on this point of +rock, so I can let him down safely. Coming up here was a killing job. But +it’ll be easy going down.” +</p> + +<p> +Both burros passed down the difficult stairs cut by the cliff-dwellers, and did +it without a misstep. After that the descent down the slope and over the mile +of scrawled, ripped, and ridged rock required only careful guidance, and +Venters got the burros to level ground in a condition that caused him to +congratulate himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, if we only had Wrangle!” exclaimed Venters. “But +we’re lucky. That’s the worst of our trail passed. We’ve only +men to fear now. If we get up in the sage we can hide and slip along like +coyotes.” +</p> + +<p> +They mounted and rode west through the valley and entered the cañon. From time +to time Venters walked, leading his burro. When they got by all the cañons and +gullies opening into the Pass they went faster and with fewer halts. Venters +did not confide in Bess the alarming fact that he had seen horses and smoke +less than a mile up one of the intersecting cañons. He did not talk at all. +And long after he had passed this cañon and felt secure once more in the +certainty that they had been unobserved he never relaxed his watchfulness. But +he did not walk any more, and he kept the burros at a steady trot. Night fell +before they reached the last water in the Pass and they made camp by starlight. +Venters did not want the burros to stray, so he tied them with long halters in +the grass near the spring. Bess, tired out and silent, laid her head in a +saddle and went to sleep between the two dogs. Venters did not close his eyes. +The cañon silence appeared full of the low, continuous hum of insects. He +listened until the hum grew into a roar, and then, breaking the spell, once +more he heard it low and clear. He watched the stars and the moving shadows, +and always his glance returned to the girl’s dimly pale face. And he +remembered how white and still it had once looked in the starlight. And again +stern thought fought his strange fancies. Would all his labor and his love be +for naught? Would he lose her, after all? What did the dark shadow around her +portend? Did calamity lurk on that long upland trail through the sage? Why +should his heart swell and throb with nameless fear? He listened to the silence +and told himself that in the broad light of day he could dispel this +leaden-weighted dread. +</p> + +<p> +At the first hint of gray over the eastern rim he awoke Bess, saddled the +burros, and began the day’s travel. He wanted to get out of the Pass +before there was any chance of riders coming down. They gained the break as the +first red rays of the rising sun colored the rim. +</p> + +<p> +For once, so eager was he to get up to level ground, he did not send Ring or +Whitie in advance. Encouraging Bess to hurry pulling at his patient, plodding +burro, he climbed the soft, steep trail. +</p> + +<p> +Brighter and brighter grew the light. He mounted the last broken edge of rim to +have the sun-fired, purple sage-slope burst upon him as a glory. Bess panted up +to his side, tugging on the halter of her burro. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re up!” he cried, joyously. “There’s not a +dot on the sage. We’re safe. We’ll not be seen! Oh, +Bess—” +</p> + +<p> +Ring growled and sniffed the keen air and bristled. Venters clutched at his +rifle. Whitie sometimes made a mistake, but Ring never. The dull thud of hoofs +almost deprived Venters of power to turn and see from where disaster +threatened. He felt his eyes dilate as he stared at Lassiter leading Black Star +and Night out of the sage, with Jane Withersteen, in rider’s costume, +close beside them. +</p> + +<p> +For an instant Venters felt himself whirl dizzily in the center of vast circles +of sage. He recovered partially, enough to see Lassiter standing with a glad +smile and Jane riveted in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Bern!” she exclaimed. “How good it is to see you! +We’re riding away, you see. The storm burst—and I’m a ruined +woman!... I thought you were alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters, unable to speak for consternation, and bewildered out of all sense of +what he ought or ought not to do, simply stared at Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Son, where are you bound for?” asked Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +“Not safe—where I was. I’m—we’re going out of +Utah—back East,” he found tongue to say. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon this meetin’s the luckiest thing that ever happened to +you an’ to me—an’ to Jane—an’ to Bess,” +said Lassiter, coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Bess!</i>” cried Jane, with a sudden leap of blood to her pale +cheek. +</p> + +<p> +It was entirely beyond Venters to see any luck in that meeting. +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen took one flashing, woman’s glance at Bess’s +scarlet face, at her slender, shapely form. +</p> + +<p> +“Venters! is this a girl—a woman?” she questioned, in a voice +that stung. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you have her in that wonderful valley?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but Jane—” +</p> + +<p> +“All the time you were gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but I couldn’t tell—” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it for <i>her</i> you asked me to give you supplies? Was it for +<i>her</i> that you wanted to make your valley a paradise?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh—Jane—” +</p> + +<p> +“Answer me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you liar!” And with these passionate words Jane Withersteen +succumbed to fury. For the second time in her life she fell into the +ungovernable rage that had been her father’s weakness. And it was worse +than his, for she was a jealous woman—jealous even of her friends. +</p> + +<p> +As best he could, he bore the brunt of her anger. It was not only his deceit to +her that she visited upon him, but her betrayal by religion, by life itself. +</p> + +<p> +Her passion, like fire at white heat, consumed itself in little time. Her +physical strength failed, and still her spirit attempted to go on in +magnificent denunciation of those who had wronged her. Like a tree cut deep +into its roots, she began to quiver and shake, and her anger weakened into +despair. And her ringing voice sank into a broken, husky whisper. Then, spent +and pitiable, upheld by Lassiter’s arm, she turned and hid her face in +Black Star’s mane. +</p> + +<p> +Numb as Venters was when at length Jane Withersteen lifted her head and looked +at him, he yet suffered a pang. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, the girl is innocent!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you expect me to believe that?” she asked, with weary, bitter +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not that kind of a liar. And you know it. If I lied—if I +kept silent when honor should have made me speak, it was to spare you. I came +to Cottonwoods to tell you. But I couldn’t add to your pain. I intended +to tell you I had come to love this girl. But, Jane I hadn’t forgotten +how good you were to me. I haven’t changed at all toward you. I prize +your friendship as I always have. But, however it may look to +you—don’t be unjust. The girl is innocent. Ask Lassiter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, she’s jest as sweet an’ innocent as little Fay,” +said Lassiter. There was a faint smile upon his face and a beautiful light. +</p> + +<p> +Venters saw, and knew that Lassiter saw, how Jane Withersteen’s tortured +soul wrestled with hate and threw it—with scorn doubt, suspicion, and +overcame all. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, if in my misery I accused you unjustly, I crave +forgiveness,” she said. “I’m not what I once was. Tell +me—who is this girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, she is Oldring’s daughter, and his Masked Rider. Lassiter +will tell you how I shot her for a rustler, saved her life—all the story. +It’s a strange story, Jane, as wild as the sage. But it’s +true—true as her innocence. That you must believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oldring’s Masked Rider! Oldring’s daughter!” exclaimed +Jane. “And she’s innocent! You ask me to believe much. If this girl +is—is what you say, how could she be going away with the man who killed +her father?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you tell that?” cried Venters, passionately. +</p> + +<p> +Jane’s question had roused Bess out of stupefaction. Her eyes suddenly +darkened and dilated. She stepped toward Venters and held up both hands as if +to ward off a blow. +</p> + +<p> +“Did—did you kill Oldring?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did, Bess, and I hate myself for it. But you know I never dreamed he +was your father. I thought he’d wronged you. I killed him when I was +madly jealous.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Bess was shocked into silence. +</p> + +<p> +“But he was my father!” she broke out, at last. “And now I +must go back—I can’t go with you. It’s all over—that +beautiful dream. Oh, I <i>knew</i> it couldn’t come true. You can’t +take me now.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you forgive me, Bess, it’ll all come right in the end!” +implored Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be right. I’ll go back. After all, I loved him. He +was good to me. I can’t forget that.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you go back to Oldring’s men I’ll follow you, and then +they’ll kill me,” said Venters, hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, Bern, you’ll not come. Let me go. It’s best for you +to forget me. I’ve brought you only pain and dishonor.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not weep. But the sweet bloom and life died out of her face. She looked +haggard and sad, all at once stunted; and her hands dropped listlessly; and her +head drooped in slow, final acceptance of a hopeless fate. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, look there!” cried Venters, in despairing grief. “Need +you have told her? Where was all your kindness of heart? This girl has had a +wretched, lonely life. And I’d found a way to make her happy. +You’ve killed it. You’ve killed something sweet and pure and +hopeful, just as sure as you breathe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Bern! It was a slip. I never thought—I never thought!” +replied Jane. “How could I tell she didn’t know?” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter suddenly moved forward, and with the beautiful light on his face now +strangely luminous, he looked at Jane and Venters and then let his soft, bright +gaze rest on Bess. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I reckon you’ve all had your say, an’ now it’s +Lassiter’s turn. Why, I was jest praying for this meetin’. Bess, +jest look here.” +</p> + +<p> +Gently he touched her arm and turned her to face the others, and then outspread +his great hand to disclose a shiny, battered gold locket. +</p> + +<p> +“Open it,” he said, with a singularly rich voice. +</p> + +<p> +Bess complied, but listlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane—Venters—come closer,” went on Lassiter. +“Take a look at the picture. Don’t you know the woman?” +</p> + +<p> +Jane, after one glance, drew back. +</p> + +<p> +“Milly Erne!” she cried, wonderingly. +</p> + +<p> +Venters, with tingling pulse, with something growing on him, recognized in the +faded miniature portrait the eyes of Milly Erne. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s Milly,” said Lassiter, softly. “Bess, did +you ever see her face—look hard—with all your heart an’ +soul?” +</p> + +<p> +“The eyes seem to haunt me,” whispered Bess. “Oh, I +can’t remember—they’re eyes of my +dreams—but—but—” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter’s strong arm went round her and he bent his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Child, I thought you’d remember her eyes. They’re the same +beautiful eyes you’d see if you looked in a mirror or a clear spring. +They’re your mother’s eyes. You are Milly Erne’s child. Your +name is Elizabeth Erne. You’re not Oldring’s daughter. You’re +the daughter of Frank Erne, a man once my best friend. Look! Here’s his +picture beside Milly’s. He was handsome, an’ as fine an’ +gallant a Southern gentleman as I ever seen. Frank came of an old family. You +come of the best of blood, lass, and blood tells.” +</p> + +<p> +Bess slipped through his arm to her knees and hugged the locket to her bosom, +and lifted wonderful, yearning eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“It—can’t—be—true!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank God, lass, it <i>is</i> true,” replied Lassiter. “Jane +an’ Bern here—they both recognize Milly. They see Milly in you. +They’re so knocked out they can’t tell you, that’s +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” whispered Bess. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I’m Milly’s brother an’ your uncle!... Uncle +Jim! Ain’t that fine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I can’t believe—Don’t raise me! Bern, let me +kneel. I see truth in your face—in Miss Withersteen’s. But let me +hear it all—all on my knees. Tell me <i>how</i> it’s true!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Elizabeth, listen,” said Lassiter. “Before you was +born your father made a mortal enemy of a Mormon named Dyer. They was both +ministers an’ come to be rivals. Dyer stole your mother away from her +home. She gave birth to you in Texas eighteen years ago. Then she was taken to +Utah, from place to place, an’ finally to the last border +settlement—Cottonwoods. You was about three years old when you was taken +away from Milly. She never knew what had become of you. But she lived a good +while hopin’ and prayin’ to have you again. Then she gave up +an’ died. An’ I may as well put in here your father died ten years +ago. Well, I spent my time tracin’ Milly, an’ some months back I +landed in Cottonwoods. An’ jest lately I learned all about you. I had a +talk with Oldrin’ an’ told him you was dead, an’ he told me +what I had so long been wantin’ to know. It was Dyer, of course, who +stole you from Milly. Part reason he was sore because Milly refused to give you +Mormon teachin’, but mostly he still hated Frank Erne so infernally that +he made a deal with Oldrin’ to take you an’ bring you up as an +infamous rustler an’ rustler’s girl. The idea was to break Frank +Erne’s heart if he ever came to Utah—to show him his daughter with +a band of low rustlers. Well—Oldrin’ took you, brought you up from +childhood, an’ then made you his Masked Rider. He made you infamous. He +kept that part of the contract, but he learned to love you as a daughter +an’ never let any but his own men know you was a girl. I heard him say +that with my own ears, an’ I saw his big eyes grow dim. He told me how he +had guarded you always, kept you locked up in his absence, was always at your +side or near you on those rides that made you famous on the sage. He said he +an’ an old rustler whom he trusted had taught you how to read an’ +write. They selected the books for you. Dyer had wanted you brought up the +vilest of the vile! An’ Oldrin’ brought you up the innocentest of +the innocent. He said you didn’t know what vileness was. I can hear his +big voice tremble now as he said it. He told me how the men—rustlers +an’ outlaws—who from time to time tried to approach you +familiarly—he told me how he shot them dead. I’m tellin’ you +this ’specially because you’ve showed such shame—sayin’ +you was nameless an’ all that. Nothin’ on earth can be wronger than +that idea of yours. An’ the truth of it is here. Oldrin’ swore to +me that if Dyer died, releasin’ the contract, he intended to hunt up your +father an’ give you back to him. It seems Oldrin’ wasn’t all +bad, en’ he sure loved you.” +</p> + +<p> +Venters leaned forward in passionate remorse. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Bess! I know Lassiter speaks the truth. For when I shot Oldring he +dropped to his knees and fought with unearthly power to speak. And he said: +‘Man—why—didn’t—you—wait? Bess +was—’ Then he fell dead. And I’ve been haunted by his look +and words. Oh, Bess, what a strange, splendid thing for Oldring to do! It all +seems impossible. But, dear, you really are not what you thought.” +</p> + +<p> +“Elizabeth Erne!” cried Jane Withersteen. “I loved your +mother and I see her in you!” +</p> + +<p> +What had been incredible from the lips of men became, in the tone, look, and +gesture of a woman, a wonderful truth for Bess. With little tremblings of all +her slender body she rocked to and fro on her knees. The yearning wistfulness +of her eyes changed to solemn splendor of joy. She believed. She was realizing +happiness. And as the process of thought was slow, so were the variations of +her expression. Her eyes reflected the transformation of her soul. Dark, +brooding, hopeless belief—clouds of gloom—drifted, paled, vanished +in glorious light. An exquisite rose flush—a glow—shone from her +face as she slowly began to rise from her knees. A spirit uplifted her. All +that she had held as base dropped from her. +</p> + +<p> +Venters watched her in joy too deep for words. By it he divined something of +what Lassiter’s revelation meant to Bess, but he knew he could only +faintly understand. That moment when she seemed to be lifted by some spiritual +transfiguration was the most beautiful moment of his life. She stood with +parted, quivering lips, with hands tightly clasping the locket to her heaving +breast. A new conscious pride of worth dignified the old wild, free grace and +poise. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle Jim!” she said, tremulously, with a different smile from any +Venters had ever seen on her face. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter took her into his arms. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon. It’s powerful fine to hear that,” replied +Lassiter, unsteadily. +</p> + +<p> +Venters, feeling his eyes grow hot and wet, turned away, and found himself +looking at Jane Withersteen. He had almost forgotten her presence. Tenderness +and sympathy were fast hiding traces of her agitation. Venters read her +mind—felt the reaction of her noble heart—saw the joy she was +beginning to feel at the happiness of others. And suddenly blinded, choked by +his emotions, he turned from her also. He knew what she would do presently; she +would make some magnificent amend for her anger; she would give some +manifestation of her love; probably all in a moment, as she had loved Milly +Erne, so would she love Elizabeth Erne. +</p> + +<p> +“’Pears to me, folks, that we’d better talk a little serious +now,” remarked Lassiter, at length. “Time flies.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right,” replied Venters, instantly. “I’d +forgotten time—place—danger. Lassiter, you’re riding away. +Jane’s leaving Withersteen House?” +</p> + +<p> +“Forever,” replied Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“I fired Withersteen House,” said Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +“Dyer?” questioned Venters, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon where Dyer’s gone there won’t be any +kidnappin’ of girls.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I knew it. I told Judkins—And Tull?” went on Venters, +passionately. +</p> + +<p> +“Tull wasn’t around when I broke loose. By now he’s likely on +our trail with his riders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, you’re going into the Pass to hide till all this storm +blows over?” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon that’s Jane’s idea. I’m thinkin’ the +storm’ll be a powerful long time blowin’ over. I was comin’ +to join you in Surprise Valley. You’ll go back now with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I want to take Bess out of Utah. Lassiter, Bess found gold in the +valley. We’ve a saddle-bag full of gold. If we can reach +Sterling—” +</p> + +<p> +“Man! how’re you ever goin’ to do that? Sterlin’ is a +hundred miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“My plan is to ride on, keeping sharp lookout. Somewhere up the trail +we’ll take to the sage and go round Cottonwoods and then hit the trail +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a bad plan. You’ll kill the burros in two days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we’ll walk.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s more bad an’ worse. Better go back down the Pass with +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, this girl has been hidden all her life in that lonely +place,” went on Venters. “Oldring’s men are hunting me. +We’d not be safe there any longer. Even if we would be I’d take +this chance to get her out. I want to marry her. She shall have some of the +pleasures of life—see cities and people. We’ve +gold—we’ll be rich. Why, life opens sweet for both of us. And, by +Heaven! I’ll get her out or lose my life in the attempt!” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon if you go on with them burros you’ll lose your life all +right. Tull will have riders all over this sage. You can’t get out on +them burros. It’s a fool idea. That’s not doin’ best by the +girl. Come with me en’ take chances on the rustlers.” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter’s cool argument made Venters waver, not in determination to go, +but in hope of success. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, I want you to know. Lassiter says the trip’s almost useless +now. I’m afraid he’s right. We’ve got about one chance in a +hundred to go through. Shall we take it? Shall we go on?” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll go on,” replied Bess. +</p> + +<p> +“That settles it, Lassiter.” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter spread wide his hands, as if to signify he could do no more, and his +face clouded. +</p> + +<p> +Venters felt a touch on his elbow. Jane stood beside him with a hand on his +arm. She was smiling. Something radiated from her, and like an electric current +accelerated the motion of his blood. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, you’d be right to die rather than not take Elizabeth out of +Utah—out of this wild country. You must do it. You’ll show her the +great world, with all its wonders. Think how little she has seen! Think what +delight is in store for her! You have gold, You will be free; you will make her +happy. What a glorious prospect! I share it with you. I’ll think of +you—dream of you—pray for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Jane,” replied Venters, trying to steady his voice. +“It does look bright. Oh, if we were only across that wide, open waste of +sage!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, the trip’s as good as made. It’ll be safe—easy. +It’ll be a glorious ride,” she said, softly. +</p> + +<p> +Venters stared. Had Jane’s troubles made her insane? Lassiter, too, acted +queerly, all at once beginning to turn his sombrero round in hands that +actually shook. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a rider. She is a rider. This will be the ride of your +lives,” added Jane, in that same soft undertone, almost as if she were +musing to herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“I give you Black Star and Night!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Black Star and Night!</i>” he echoed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s done. Lassiter, put our saddle-bags on the burros.” +</p> + +<p> +Only when Lassiter moved swiftly to execute her bidding did Venters’s +clogged brain grasp at literal meanings. He leaped to catch Lassiter’s +busy hands. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! What are you doing?” he demanded, in a kind of fury. +“I won’t take her racers. What do you think I am? It’d be +monstrous. Lassiter! stop it, I say!... You’ve got her to save. +You’ve miles and miles to go. Tull is trailing you. There are rustlers in +the Pass. Give me back that saddle-bag!” +</p> + +<p> +“Son—cool down,” returned Lassiter, in a voice he might have +used to a child. But the grip with which he tore away Venters’s grasping +hands was that of a giant. “Listen—you fool boy! Jane’s sized +up the situation. The burros’ll do for us. We’ll sneak along +an’ hide. I’ll take your dogs an’ your rifle. Why, it’s +the trick. The blacks are yours, an’ sure as I can throw a gun +you’re goin’ to ride safe out of the sage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane—stop him—please stop him,” gasped Venters. +“I’ve lost my strength. I can’t do—anything. This is +hell for me! Can’t you see that? I’ve ruined you—it was +through me you lost all. You’ve only Black Star and Night left. You love +these horses. Oh! I know how you must love them now! And—you’re +trying to give them to me. To help me out of Utah! To save the girl I +love!” +</p> + +<p> +“That will be my glory.” +</p> + +<p> +Then in the white, rapt face, in the unfathomable eyes, Venters saw Jane +Withersteen in a supreme moment. This moment was one wherein she reached up to +the height for which her noble soul had ever yearned. He, after disrupting the +calm tenor of her peace, after bringing down on her head the implacable +hostility of her churchmen, after teaching her a bitter lesson of life—he +was to be her salvation. And he turned away again, this time shaken to the core +of his soul. Jane Withersteen was the incarnation of selflessness. He +experienced wonder and terror, exquisite pain and rapture. What were all the +shocks life had dealt him compared to the thought of such loyal and generous +friendship? +</p> + +<p> +And instantly, as if by some divine insight, he knew himself in the +remaking—tried, found wanting; but stronger, better, surer—and he +wheeled to Jane Withersteen, eager, joyous, passionate, wild, exalted. He bent +to her; he left tears and kisses on her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, I—I can’t find words—now,” he said. +“I’m beyond words. Only—I understand. And I’ll take the +blacks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be losin’ no more time,” cut in Lassiter. +“I ain’t certain, but I think I seen a speck up the sage-slope. +Mebbe I was mistaken. But, anyway, we must all be movin’. I’ve +shortened the stirrups on Black Star. Put Bess on him.” +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen held out her arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Elizabeth Erne!” she cried, and Bess flew to her. +</p> + +<p> +How inconceivably strange and beautiful it was for Venters to see Bess clasped +to Jane Withersteen’s breast! +</p> + +<p> +Then he leaped astride Night. +</p> + +<p> +“Venters, ride straight on up the slope,” Lassiter was saying, +“’an if you don’t meet any riders keep on till you’re a +few miles from the village, then cut off in the sage an’ go round to the +trail. But you’ll most likely meet riders with Tull. Jest keep right on +till you’re jest out of gunshot an’ then make your cut-off into the +sage. They’ll ride after you, but it won’t be no use. You can ride, +an’ Bess can ride. When you’re out of reach turn on round to the +west, an’ hit the trail somewhere. Save the hosses all you can, but +don’t be afraid. Black Star and Night are good for a hundred miles before +sundown, if you have to push them. You can get to Sterlin’ by night if +you want. But better make it along about to-morrow mornin’. When you get +through the notch on the Glaze trail, swing to the right. You’ll be able +to see both Glaze an’ Stone Bridge. Keep away from them villages. You +won’t run no risk of meetin’ any of Oldrin’s rustlers from +Sterlin’ on. You’ll find water in them deep hollows north of the +Notch. There’s an old trail there, not much used, en’ it leads to +Sterlin’. That’s your trail. An’ one thing more. If Tull +pushes you—or keeps on persistent-like, for a few miles—jest let +the blacks out an’ lose him an’ his riders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter, may we meet again!” said Venters, in a deep voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Son, it ain’t likely—it ain’t likely. Well, Bess +Oldrin’—Masked Rider—Elizabeth Erne—now you climb on +Black Star. I’ve heard you could ride. Well, every rider loves a good +horse. An’, lass, there never was but one that could beat Black +Star.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Lassiter, there never was any horse that could beat Black +Star,” said Jane, with the old pride. +</p> + +<p> +“I often wondered—mebbe Venters rode out that race when he brought +back the blacks. Son, was Wrangle the best hoss?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Lassiter,” replied Venters. For this lie he had his reward in +Jane’s quick smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, my hoss-sense ain’t always right. An’ here +I’m talkin’ a lot, wastin’ time. It ain’t so easy to +find an’ lose a pretty niece all in one hour! +Elizabeth—good-by!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Uncle Jim!... Good-by!” +</p> + +<p> +“Elizabeth Erne, be happy! Good-by,” said Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-by—oh—good-by!” In lithe, supple action Bess +swung up to Black Star’s saddle. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane Withersteen!... Good-by!” called Venters hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern—Bess—riders of the purple sage—good-by!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"></a> +CHAPTER XXII.<br /> +RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE</h2> + +<p> +Black Star and Night, answering to spur, swept swiftly westward along the +white, slow-rising, sage-bordered trail. Venters heard a mournful howl from +Ring, but Whitie was silent. The blacks settled into their fleet, long-striding +gallop. The wind sweetly fanned Venters’s hot face. From the summit of +the first low-swelling ridge he looked back. Lassiter waved his hand; Jane +waved her scarf. Venters replied by standing in his stirrups and holding high +his sombrero. Then the dip of the ridge hid them. From the height of the next +he turned once more. Lassiter, Jane, and the burros had disappeared. They had +gone down into the Pass. Venters felt a sensation of irreparable loss. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern—look!” called Bess, pointing up the long slope. +</p> + +<p> +A small, dark, moving dot split the line where purple sage met blue sky. That +dot was a band of riders. +</p> + +<p> +“Pull the black, Bess.” +</p> + +<p> +They slowed from gallop to canter, then to trot. The fresh and eager horses did +not like the check. +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, Black Star has great eyesight.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if they’re Tull’s riders. They might be rustlers. +But it’s all the same to us.” +</p> + +<p> +The black dot grew to a dark patch moving under low dust clouds. It grew all +the time, though very slowly. There were long periods when it was in plain +sight, and intervals when it dropped behind the sage. The blacks trotted for +half an hour, for another half-hour, and still the moving patch appeared to +stay on the horizon line. Gradually, however, as time passed, it began to +enlarge, to creep down the slope, to encroach upon the intervening distance. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, what do you make them out?” asked Venters. “I +don’t think they’re rustlers.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re sage-riders,” replied Bess. “I see a white +horse and several grays. Rustlers seldom ride any horses but bays and +blacks.” +</p> + +<p> +“That white horse is Tull’s. Pull the black, Bess. I’ll get +down and cinch up. We’re in for some riding. Are you afraid?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not now,” answered the girl, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t be. Bess, you don’t weigh enough to make Black +Star know you’re on him. I won’t be able to stay with you. +You’ll leave Tull and his riders as if they were standing still.” +</p> + +<p> +“How about you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never fear. If I can’t stay with you I can still laugh at +Tull.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look, Bern! They’ve stopped on that ridge. They see us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But we’re too far yet for them to make out who we are. +They’ll recognize the blacks first. We’ve passed most of the ridges +and the thickest sage. Now, when I give the word, let Black Star go and +ride!” +</p> + +<p> +Venters calculated that a mile or more still intervened between them and the +riders. They were approaching at a swift canter. Soon Venters recognized +Tull’s white horse, and concluded that the riders had likewise recognized +Black Star and Night. But it would be impossible for Tull yet to see that the +blacks were not ridden by Lassiter and Jane. Venters noted that Tull and the +line of horsemen, perhaps ten or twelve in number, stopped several times and +evidently looked hard down the slope. It must have been a puzzling circumstance +for Tull. Venters laughed grimly at the thought of what Tull’s rage would +be when he finally discovered the trick. Venters meant to sheer out into the +sage before Tull could possibly be sure who rode the blacks. +</p> + +<p> +The gap closed to a distance of half a mile. Tull halted. His riders came up +and formed a dark group around him. Venters thought he saw him wave his arms +and was certain of it when the riders dashed into the sage, to right and left +of the trail. Tull had anticipated just the move held in mind by Venters. +</p> + +<p> +“Now Bess!” shouted Venters. “Strike north. Go round those +riders and turn west.” +</p> + +<p> +Black Star sailed over the low sage, and in a few leaps got into his stride and +was running. Venters spurred Night after him. It was hard going in the sage. +The horses could run as well there, but keen eyesight and judgment must +constantly be used by the riders in choosing ground. And continuous swerving +from aisle to aisle between the brush, and leaping little washes and mounds of +the pack-rats, and breaking through sage, made rough riding. When Venters had +turned into a long aisle he had time to look up at Tull’s riders. They +were now strung out into an extended line riding northeast. And, as Venters and +Bess were holding due north, this meant, if the horses of Tull and his riders +had the speed and the staying power, they would head the blacks and turn them +back down the slope. Tull’s men were not saving their mounts; they were +driving them desperately. Venters feared only an accident to Black Star or +Night, and skilful riding would mitigate possibility of that. One glance ahead +served to show him that Bess could pick a course through the sage as well as +he. She looked neither back nor at the running riders, and bent forward over +Black Star’s neck and studied the ground ahead. +</p> + +<p> +It struck Venters, presently, after he had glanced up from time to time, that +Bess was drawing away from him as he had expected. He had, however, only +thought of the light weight Black Star was carrying and of his superior speed; +he saw now that the black was being ridden as never before, except when Jerry +Card lost the race to Wrangle. How easily, gracefully, naturally, Bess sat her +saddle! She could ride! Suddenly Venters remembered she had said she could +ride. But he had not dreamed she was capable of such superb horsemanship. Then +all at once, flashing over him, thrilling him, came the recollection that Bess +was Oldring’s Masked Rider. +</p> + +<p> +He forgot Tull—the running riders—the race. He let Night have a +free rein and felt him lengthen out to suit himself, knowing he would keep to +Black Star’s course, knowing that he had been chosen by the best rider +now on the upland sage. For Jerry Card was dead. And fame had rivaled him with +only one rider, and that was the slender girl who now swung so easily with +Black Star’s stride. Venters had abhorred her notoriety, but now he took +passionate pride in her skill, her daring, her power over a horse. And he +delved into his memory, recalling famous rides which he had heard related in +the villages and round the camp-fires. Oldring’s Masked Rider! Many times +this strange rider, at once well known and unknown, had escaped pursuers by +matchless riding. He had to run the gantlet of vigilantes down the main street +of Stone Bridge, leaving dead horses and dead rustlers behind. He had jumped +his horse over the Gerber Wash, a deep, wide ravine separating the fields of +Glaze from the wild sage. He had been surrounded north of Sterling; and he had +broken through the line. How often had been told the story of day stampedes, of +night raids, of pursuit, and then how the Masked Rider, swift as the wind, was +gone in the sage! A fleet, dark horse—a slender, dark form—a black +mask—a driving run down the slope—a dot on the purple sage—a +shadowy, muffled steed disappearing in the night! +</p> + +<p> +And this Masked Rider of the uplands had been Elizabeth Erne! +</p> + +<p> +The sweet sage wind rushed in Venters’s face and sang a song in his ears. +He heard the dull, rapid beat of Night’s hoofs; he saw Black Star drawing +away, farther and farther. He realized both horses were swinging to the west. +Then gunshots in the rear reminded him of Tull. Venters looked back. Far to the +side, dropping behind, trooped the riders. They were shooting. Venters saw no +puffs or dust, heard no whistling bullets. He was out of range. When he looked +back again Tull’s riders had given up pursuit. The best they could do, no +doubt, had been to get near enough to recognize who really rode the blacks. +Venters saw Tull drooping in his saddle. +</p> + +<p> +Then Venters pulled Night out of his running stride. Those few miles had +scarcely warmed the black, but Venters wished to save him. Bess turned, and, +though she was far away, Venters caught the white glint of her waving hand. He +held Night to a trot and rode on, seeing Bess and Black Star, and the sloping +upward stretch of sage, and from time to time the receding black riders behind. +Soon they disappeared behind a ridge, and he turned no more. They would go back +to Lassiter’s trail and follow it, and follow in vain. So Venters rode +on, with the wind growing sweeter to taste and smell, and the purple sage +richer and the sky bluer in his sight; and the song in his ears ringing. By and +by Bess halted to wait for him, and he knew she had come to the trail. When he +reached her it was to smile at sight of her standing with arms round Black +Star’s neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Bern! I love him!” she cried. “He’s beautiful; he +knows; and how he can run! I’ve had fast horses. But Black Star!... +Wrangle never beat him!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m wondering if I didn’t dream that. Bess, the blacks are +grand. What it must have cost Jane—ah!—well, when we get out of +this wild country with Star and Night, back to my old home in Illinois, +we’ll buy a beautiful farm with meadows and springs and cool shade. There +we’ll turn the horses free—free to roam and browse and +drink—never to feel a spur again—never to be ridden!” +</p> + +<p> +“I would like that,” said Bess. +</p> + +<p> +They rested. Then, mounting, they rode side by side up the white trail. The sun +rose higher behind them. Far to the left a low line of green marked the site of +Cottonwoods. Venters looked once and looked no more. Bess gazed only straight +ahead. They put the blacks to the long, swinging rider’s canter, and at +times pulled them to a trot, and occasionally to a walk. The hours passed, the +miles slipped behind, and the wall of rock loomed in the fore. The Notch opened +wide. It was a rugged, stony pass, but with level and open trail, and Venters +and Bess ran the blacks through it. An old trail led off to the right, taking +the line of the wall, and this Venters knew to be the trail mentioned by +Lassiter. +</p> + +<p> +The little hamlet, Glaze, a white and green patch in the vast waste of purple, +lay miles down a slope much like the Cottonwoods slope, only this descended to +the west. And miles farther west a faint green spot marked the location of +Stone Bridge. All the rest of that world was seemingly smooth, undulating sage, +with no ragged lines of cañons to accentuate its wildness. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, we’re safe—we’re free!” said Venters. +“We’re alone on the sage. We’re half way to Sterling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! I wonder how it is with Lassiter and Miss Withersteen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never fear, Bess. He’ll outwit Tull. He’ll get away and hide +her safely. He might climb into Surprise Valley, but I don’t think +he’ll go so far.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bern, will we ever find any place like our beautiful valley?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. But, dear, listen. Well go back some day, after years—ten +years. Then we’ll be forgotten. And our valley will be just as we left +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What if Balancing Rock falls and closes the outlet to the Pass?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve thought of that. I’ll pack in ropes and ropes. And if +the outlet’s closed we’ll climb up the cliffs and over them to the +valley and go down on rope ladders. It could be done. I know just where to make +the climb, and I’ll never forget.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, let us go back!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s something sweet to look forward to. Bess, it’s like all +the future looks to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Call me—Elizabeth,” she said, shyly. +</p> + +<p> +“Elizabeth Erne! It’s a beautiful name. But I’ll never forget +Bess. Do you know—have you thought that very soon—by this time +to-morrow—you will be Elizabeth Venters?” +</p> + +<p> +So they rode on down the old trail. And the sun sloped to the west, and a +golden sheen lay on the sage. The hours sped now; the afternoon waned. Often +they rested the horses. The glisten of a pool of water in a hollow caught +Venters’s eye, and here he unsaddled the blacks and let them roll and +drink and browse. When he and Bess rode up out of the hollow the sun was low, a +crimson ball, and the valley seemed veiled in purple fire and smoke. It was +that short time when the sun appeared to rest before setting, and silence, like +a cloak of invisible life, lay heavy on all that shimmering world of sage. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus12"></a> +<img src="images/img12.jpg" width="458" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">When he and Bess rode up out of the hollow the sun was low.</p> +</div> + +<p> +They watched the sun begin to bury its red curve under the dark horizon. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll ride on till late,” he said. “Then you can sleep +a little, while I watch and graze the horses. And we’ll ride into +Sterling early to-morrow. We’ll be married!... We’ll be in time to +catch the stage. We’ll tie Black Star and Night behind—and +then—for a country not wild and terrible like this!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Bern!... But look! The sun is setting on the sage—the last +time for us till we dare come again to the Utah border. Ten years! Oh, Bern, +look, so you will never forget!” +</p> + +<p> +Slumbering, fading purple fire burned over the undulating sage ridges. Long +streaks and bars and shafts and spears fringed the far western slope. Drifting, +golden veils mingled with low, purple shadows. Colors and shades changed in +slow, wondrous transformation. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Venters was startled by a low, rumbling roar—so low that it was +like the roar in a sea-shell. +</p> + +<p> +“Bess, did you hear anything?” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen!... Maybe I only imagined—<i>Ah!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Out of the east or north from remote distance, breathed an infinitely low, +continuously long sound—deep, weird, detonating, thundering, +deadening—dying. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"></a> +CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> +THE FALL OF BALANCING ROCK</h2> + +<p> +Through tear-blurred sight Jane Withersteen watched Venters and Elizabeth Erne +and the black racers disappear over the ridge of sage. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re gone!” said Lassiter. “An’ they’re +safe now. An’ there’ll never be a day of their comin’ happy +lives but what they’ll remember Jane Withersteen +an’—an’ Uncle Jim!... I reckon, Jane, we’d better be on +our way.” +</p> + +<p> +The burros obediently wheeled and started down the break with little cautious +steps, but Lassiter had to leash the whining dogs and lead them. Jane felt +herself bound in a feeling that was neither listlessness nor indifference, yet +which rendered her incapable of interest. She was still strong in body, but +emotionally tired. That hour at the entrance to Deception Pass had been the +climax of her suffering—the flood of her wrath—the last of her +sacrifice—the supremity of her love—and the attainment of peace. +She thought that if she had little Fay she would not ask any more of life. +</p> + +<p> +Like an automaton she followed Lassiter down the steep trail of dust and bits +of weathered stone; and when the little slides moved with her or piled around +her knees she experienced no alarm. Vague relief came to her in the sense of +being enclosed between dark stone walls, deep hidden from the glare of sun, +from the glistening sage. Lassiter lengthened the stirrup straps on one of the +burros and bade her mount and ride close to him. She was to keep the burro from +cracking his little hard hoofs on stones. Then she was riding on between dark, +gleaming walls. There were quiet and rest and coolness in this cañon. She +noted indifferently that they passed close under shady, bulging shelves of +cliff, through patches of grass and sage and thicket and groves of slender +trees, and over white, pebbly washes, and around masses of broken rock. The +burros trotted tirelessly; the dogs, once more free, pattered tirelessly; and +Lassiter led on with never a stop, and at every open place he looked back. The +shade under the walls gave place to sunlight. And presently they came to a +dense thicket of slender trees, through which they passed to rich, green grass +and water. Here Lassiter rested the burros for a little while, but he was +restless, uneasy, silent, always listening, peering under the trees. She dully +reflected that enemies were behind them—before them; still the thought +awakened no dread or concern or interest. +</p> + +<p> +At his bidding she mounted and rode on close to the heels of his burro. The +cañon narrowed; the walls lifted their rugged rims higher; and the sun shone +down hot from the center of the blue stream of sky above. Lassiter traveled +slower, with more exceeding care as to the ground he chose, and he kept +speaking low to the dogs. They were now hunting-dogs—keen, alert, +suspicious, sniffing the warm breeze. The monotony of the yellow walls broke in +change of color and smooth surface, and the rugged outline of rims grew craggy. +Splits appeared in deep breaks, and gorges running at right angles, and then +the Pass opened wide at a junction of intersecting cañons. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter dismounted, led his burro, called the dogs close, and proceeded at +snail pace through dark masses of rock and dense thickets under the left wall. +Long he watched and listened before venturing to cross the mouths of side +cañons. At length he halted, fled his burro, lifted a warning hand to Jane, +and then slipped away among the boulders, and, followed by the stealthy dogs, +disappeared from sight. The time he remained absent was neither short nor long +to Jane Withersteen. +</p> + +<p> +When he reached her side again he was pale, and his lips were set in a hard +line, and his gray eyes glittered coldly. Bidding her dismount, he led the +burros into a covert of stones and cedars, and tied them. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, I’ve run into the fellers I’ve been lookin’ for, +an’ I’m goin’ after them,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I won’t take time to tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t we slip by without being seen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Likely enough. But that ain’t my game. An’ I’d like to +know, in case I don’t come back, what you’ll do.” +</p> + +<p> +“What can I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon you can go back to Tull. Or stay in the Pass an’ be taken +off by rustlers. Which’ll you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I can’t think very well. But I believe +I’d rather be taken off by rustlers.” +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter sat down, put his head in his hands, and remained for a few moments in +what appeared to be deep and painful thought. When he lifted his face it was +haggard, lined, cold as sculptured marble. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go. I only mentioned that chance of my not comin’ back. +I’m pretty sure to come.” +</p> + +<p> +“Need you risk so much? Must you fight more? Haven’t you shed +enough blood?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to tell you why I’m goin’,” he +continued, in coldness he had seldom used to her. She remarked it, but it was +the same to her as if he had spoken with his old gentle warmth. “But I +reckon I won’t. Only, I’ll say that mercy an’ goodness, such +as is in you, though they’re the grand things in human nature, +can’t be lived up to on this Utah border. Life’s hell out here. You +think—or you used to think—that your religion made this life +heaven. Mebbe them scales on your eyes has dropped now. Jane, I wouldn’t +have you no different, an’ that’s why I’m going to try to +hide you somewhere in this Pass. I’d like to hide many more women, for +I’ve come to see there are more like you among your people. An’ +I’d like you to see jest how hard an’ cruel this border life is. +It’s bloody. You’d think churches an’ churchmen would make it +better. They make it worse. You give names to things—bishops, elders, +ministers, Mormonism, duty, faith, glory. You dream—or you’re +driven mad. I’m a man, an’ I know. I name fanatics, followers, +blind women, oppressors, thieves, ranchers, rustlers, riders. An’ we +have—what you’ve lived through these last months. It can’t be +helped. But it can’t last always. An’ remember this—some day +the border’ll be better, cleaner, for the ways of men like +Lassiter!” +</p> + +<p> +She saw him shake his tall form erect, look at her strangely and steadfastly, +and then, noiselessly, stealthily slip away amid the rocks and trees. Ring and +Whitie, not being bidden to follow, remained with Jane. She felt extreme +weariness, yet somehow it did not seem to be of her body. And she sat down in +the shade and tried to think. She saw a creeping lizard, cactus flowers, the +drooping burros, the resting dogs, an eagle high over a yellow crag. Once the +meanest flower, a color, the flight of the bee, or any living thing had given +her deepest joy. Lassiter had gone off, yielding to his incurable blood lust, +probably to his own death; and she was sorry, but there was no feeling in her +sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly from the mouth of the cañon just beyond her rang out a clear, sharp +report of a rifle. Echoes clapped. Then followed a piercingly high yell of +anguish, quickly breaking. Again echoes clapped, in grim imitation. Dull +revolver shots—hoarse yells—pound of hoofs—shrill neighs of +horses—commingling of echoes—and again silence! Lassiter must be +busily engaged, thought Jane, and no chill trembled over her, no blanching +tightened her skin. Yes, the border was a bloody place. But life had always +been bloody. Men were blood-spillers. Phases of the history of the world +flashed through her mind—Greek and Roman wars, dark, mediæval times, the +crimes in the name of religion. On sea, on land, everywhere—shooting, +stabbing, cursing, clashing, fighting men! Greed, power, oppression, +fanaticism, love, hate, revenge, justice, freedom—for these, men killed +one another. +</p> + +<p> +She lay there under the cedars, gazing up through the delicate lacelike foliage +at the blue sky, and she thought and wondered and did not care. +</p> + +<p> +More rattling shots disturbed the noonday quiet. She heard a sliding of +weathered rock, a hoarse shout of warning, a yell of alarm, again the clear, +sharp crack of the rifle, and another cry that was a cry of death. Then rifle +reports pierced a dull volley of revolver shots. Bullets whizzed over +Jane’s hiding-place; one struck a stone and whined away in the air. After +that, for a time, succeeded desultory shots; and then they ceased under long, +thundering fire from heavier guns. +</p> + +<p> +Sooner or later, then, Jane heard the cracking of horses’ hoofs on the +stones, and the sound came nearer and nearer. Silence intervened until +Lassiter’s soft, jingling step assured her of his approach. When he +appeared he was covered with blood. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Jane,” he said. “I come back. An’ +don’t worry.” +</p> + +<p> +With water from a canteen he washed the blood from his face and hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, hurry now. Tear my scarf in two, en’ tie up these places. +That hole through my hand is some inconvenient, worse’n this at over my +ear. There—you’re doin’ fine! Not a bit nervous—no +tremblin’. I reckon I ain’t done your courage justice. I’m +glad you’re brave jest now—you’ll need to be. Well, I was hid +pretty good, enough to keep them from shootin’ me deep, but they was +slingin’ lead close all the time. I used up all the rifle shells, +an’ en I went after them. Mebbe you heard. It was then I got hit. Had to +use up every shell in my own gun, an’ they did, too, as I seen. Rustlers +an’ Mormons, Jane! An’ now I’m packin’ five bullet +holes in my carcass, an’ guns without shells. Hurry, now.” +</p> + +<p> +He unstrapped the saddle-bags from the burros, slipped the saddles and let them +lie, turned the burros loose, and, calling the dogs, led the way through stones +and cedars to an open where two horses stood. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, are you strong?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I think so. I’m not tired,” Jane replied. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean that way. Can you bear up?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I can bear anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon you look a little cold an’ thick. So I’m +preparin’ you.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t tell you why I jest had to go after them fellers. I +couldn’t tell you. I believe you’d have died. But I can tell you +now—if you’ll bear up under a shock?” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, my friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I’ve got little Fay!</i> Alive—bad hurt—but +she’ll live!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane Withersteen’s dead-locked feeling, rent by Lassiter’s deep, +quivering voice, leaped into an agony of sensitive life. +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” he added, and showed her where little Fay lay on the grass. +</p> + +<p> +Unable to speak, unable to stand, Jane dropped on her knees. By that long, +beautiful golden hair Jane recognized the beloved Fay. But Fay’s +loveliness was gone. Her face was drawn and looked old with grief. But she was +not dead—her heart beat—and Jane Withersteen gathered strength and +lived again. +</p> + +<p> +“You see I jest had to go after Fay,” Lassiter was saying, as he +knelt to bathe her little pale face. “But I reckon I don’t want no +more choices like the one I had to make. There was a crippled feller in that +bunch, Jane. Mebbe Venters crippled him. Anyway, that’s why they were +holding up here. I seen little Fay first thing, en’ was hard put to it to +figure out a way to get her. An’ I wanted hosses, too. I had to take +chances. So I crawled close to their camp. One feller jumped a hoss with little +Fay, an’ when I shot him, of course she dropped. She’s stunned +an’ bruised—she fell right on her head. Jane, she’s +comin’ to! She ain’t bad hurt!” +</p> + +<p> +Fay’s long lashes fluttered; her eyes opened. At first they seemed glazed +over. They looked dazed by pain. Then they quickened, darkened, to shine with +intelligence—bewilderment—memory—and sudden wonderful joy. +</p> + +<p> +“Muvver—Jane!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, little Fay, little Fay!” cried Jane, lifting, clasping the +child to her. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Now</i>, we’ve got to rustle!” said Lassiter, in grim +coolness. “Jane, look down the Pass!” +</p> + +<p> +Across the mounds of rock and sage Jane caught sight of a band of riders filing +out of the narrow neck of the Pass; and in the lead was a white horse, which, +even at a distance of a mile or more, she knew. +</p> + +<p> +“Tull!” she almost screamed. +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon. But, Jane, we’ve still got the game in our hands. +They’re ridin’ tired hosses. Venters likely give them a chase. He +wouldn’t forget that. An’ we’ve fresh hosses.” +</p> + +<p> +Hurriedly he strapped on the saddle-bags, gave quick glance to girths and +cinches and stirrups, then leaped astride. +</p> + +<p> +“Lift little Fay up,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +With shaking arms Jane complied. +</p> + +<p> +“Get back your nerve, woman! This’s life or death now. Mind that. +Climb up! Keep your wits. Stick close to me. Watch where your hoss’s +goin’ en’ ride!” +</p> + +<p> +Somehow Jane mounted; somehow found strength to hold the reins, to spur, to +cling on, to ride. A horrible quaking, craven fear possessed her soul. Lassiter +led the swift flight across the wide space, over washes, through sage, into a +narrow cañon where the rapid clatter of hoofs rapped sharply from the walls. +The wind roared in her ears; the gleaming cliffs swept by; trail and sage and +grass moved under her. Lassiter’s bandaged, blood-stained face turned to +her; he shouted encouragement; he looked back down the Pass; he spurred his +horse. Jane clung on, spurring likewise. And the horses settled from hard, +furious gallop into a long-striding, driving run. She had never ridden at +anything like that pace; desperately she tried to get the swing of the horse, +to be of some help to him in that race, to see the best of the ground and guide +him into it. But she failed of everything except to keep her seat the saddle, +and to spur and spur. At times she closed her eyes unable to bear sight of +Fay’s golden curls streaming in the wind. She could not pray; she could +not rail; she no longer cared for herself. All of life, of good, of use in the +world, of hope in heaven entered in Lassiter’s ride with little Fay to +safety. She would have tried to turn the iron-jawed brute she rode, she would +have given herself to that relentless, dark-browed Tull. But she knew Lassiter +would turn with her, so she rode on and on. +</p> + +<p> +Whether that run was of moments or hours Jane Withersteen could not tell. +Lassiter’s horse covered her with froth that blew back in white streams. +Both horses ran their limit, were allowed slow down in time to save them, and +went on dripping, heaving, staggering. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lassiter, we must run—we must run!” +</p> + +<p> +He looked back, saying nothing. The bandage had blown from his head, and blood +trickled down his face. He was bowing under the strain of injuries, of the +ride, of his burden. Yet how cool and gay he looked—how intrepid! +</p> + +<p> +The horses walked, trotted, galloped, ran, to fall again to walk. Hours sped or +dragged. Time was an instant—an eternity. Jane Withersteen felt hell +pursuing her, and dared not look back for fear she would fall from her horse. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lassiter! Is he coming?” +</p> + +<p> +The grim rider looked over his shoulder, but said no word. Fay’s golden +hair floated on the breeze. The sun shone; the walls gleamed; the sage +glistened. And then it seemed the sun vanished, the walls shaded, the sage +paled. The horses walked—trotted—galloped—ran—to fall +again to walk. Shadows gathered under shelving cliffs. The cañon turned, +brightened, opened into a long, wide, wall-enclosed valley. Again the sun, +lowering in the west, reddened the sage. Far ahead round, scrawled stone +appeared to block the Pass. +</p> + +<p> +“Bear up, Jane, bear up!” called Lassiter. “It’s our +game, if you don’t weaken.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter! Go on—<i>alone!</i> Save little Fay!” +</p> + +<p> +“Only with you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!—I’m a coward—a miserable coward! I can’t +fight or think or hope or pray! I’m lost! Oh, Lassiter, look back! Is he +coming? I’ll not—hold out—” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep your breath, woman, an’ ride not for yourself or for me, but +for Fay!” +</p> + +<p> +A last breaking run across the sage brought Lassiter’s horse to a walk. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s done,” said the rider. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no—no!” moaned Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“Look back, Jane, look back. Three—four miles we’ve come +across this valley, en’ no Tull yet in sight. Only a few more +miles!” +</p> + +<p> +Jane looked back over the long stretch of sage, and found the narrow gap in the +wall, out of which came a file of dark horses with a white horse in the lead. +Sight of the riders acted upon Jane as a stimulant. The weight of cold, +horrible terror lessened. And, gazing forward at the dogs, at Lassiter’s +limping horse, at the blood on his face, at the rocks growing nearer, last at +Fay’s golden hair, the ice left her veins, and slowly, strangely, she +gained hold of strength that she believed would see her to the safety Lassiter +promised. And, as she gazed, Lassiter’s horse stumbled and fell. +</p> + +<p> +He swung his leg and slipped from the saddle. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, take the child,” he said, and lifted Fay up. Jane clasped +her arms suddenly strong. “They’re gainin’,” went on +Lassiter, as he watched the pursuing riders. “But we’ll beat +’em yet.” +</p> + +<p> +Turning with Jane’s bridle in his hand, he was about to start when he saw +the saddle-bag on the fallen horse. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve jest about got time,” he muttered, and with swift +fingers that did not blunder or fumble he loosened the bag and threw it over +his shoulder. Then he started to run, leading Jane’s horse, and he ran, +and trotted, and walked, and ran again. Close ahead now Jane saw a rise of bare +rock. Lassiter reached it, searched along the base, and, finding a low place, +dragged the weary horse up and over round, smooth stone. Looking backward, Jane +saw Tull’s white horse not a mile distant, with riders strung out in a +long line behind him. Looking forward, she saw more valley to the right, and to +the left a towering cliff. Lassiter pulled the horse and kept on. +</p> + +<p> +Little Fay lay in her arms with wide-open eyes—eyes which were still +shadowed by pain, but no longer fixed, glazed in terror. The golden curls blew +across Jane’s lips; the little hands feebly clasped her arm; a ghost of a +troubled, trustful smile hovered round the sweet lips. And Jane Withersteen +awoke to the spirit of a lioness. +</p> + +<p> +Lassiter was leading the horse up a smooth slope toward cedar trees of twisted +and bleached appearance. Among these he halted. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane, give me the girl en’ get down,” he said. As if it +wrenched him he unbuckled the empty black guns with a strange air of finality. +He then received Fay in his arms and stood a moment looking backward. +Tull’s white horse mounted the ridge of round stone, and several bays or +blacks followed. “I wonder what he’ll think when he sees them empty +guns. Jane, bring your saddle-bag and climb after me.” +</p> + +<p> +A glistening, wonderful bare slope, with little holes, swelled up and up to +lose itself in a frowning yellow cliff. Jane closely watched her steps and +climbed behind Lassiter. He moved slowly. Perhaps he was only husbanding his +strength. But she saw drops of blood on the stone, and then she knew. They +climbed and climbed without looking back. Her breast labored; she began to feel +as if little points of fiery steel were penetrating her side into her lungs. +She heard the panting of Lassiter and the quicker panting of the dogs. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait—here,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Before her rose a bulge of stone, nicked with little cut steps, and above that +a corner of yellow wall, and overhanging that a vast, ponderous cliff. +</p> + +<p> +The dogs pattered up, disappeared round the corner. Lassiter mounted the steps +with Fay, and he swayed like a drunken man, and he too disappeared. But +instantly he returned alone, and half ran, half slipped down to her. +</p> + +<p> +Then from below pealed up hoarse shouts of angry men. Tull and several of his +riders had reached the spot where Lassiter had parted with his guns. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll need that breath—mebbe!” said Lassiter, facing +downward, with glittering eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Jane, the last pull,” he went on. “Walk up them little +steps. I’ll follow an’ steady you. Don’t think. Jest go. +Little Fay’s above. Her eyes are open. She jest said to me, +‘<i>Where’s muvver Jane?</i>’” +</p> + +<p> +Without a fear or a tremor or a slip or a touch of Lassiter’s hand Jane +Withersteen walked up that ladder of cut steps. +</p> + +<p> +He pushed her round the corner of the wall. Fay lay, with wide staring eyes, in +the shade of a gloomy wall. The dogs waited. Lassiter picked up the child and +turned into a dark cleft. It zigzagged. It widened. It opened. Jane was amazed +at a wonderfully smooth and steep incline leading up between ruined, +splintered, toppling walls. A red haze from the setting sun filled this +passage. Lassiter climbed with slow, measured steps, and blood dripped from him +to make splotches on the white stone. Jane tried not to step in his blood, but +was compelled, for she found no other footing. The saddle-bag began to drag her +down; she gasped for breath, she thought her heart was bursting. Slower, slower +yet the rider climbed, whistling as he breathed. The incline widened. Huge +pinnacles and monuments of stone stood alone, leaning fearfully. Red sunset +haze shone through cracks where the wall had split. Jane did not look high, but +she felt the overshadowing of broken rims above. She felt that it was a +fearful, menacing place. And she climbed on in heartrending effort. And she +fell beside Lassiter and Fay at the top of the incline in a narrow, smooth +divide. +</p> + +<p> +He staggered to his feet—staggered to a huge, leaning rock that rested on +a small pedestal. He put his hand on it—the hand that had been shot +through—and Jane saw blood drip from the ragged hole. Then he fell. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane—I—can’t—do—it!” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Roll the—stone!... All my—life I’ve loved—to +roll stones—en’ now I—can’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“What of it? You talk strangely. Why roll that stone?” +</p> + +<p> +“I planned to—fetch you here—to roll this stone. See! +It’ll smash the crags—loosen the walls—close the +outlet!” +</p> + +<p> +As Jane Withersteen gazed down that long incline, walled in by crumbling +cliffs, awaiting only the slightest jar to make them fall asunder, she saw Tull +appear at the bottom and begin to climb. A rider followed +him—another—and another. +</p> + +<p> +“See! Tull! The riders!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—they’ll get us—now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why? Haven’t you strength left to roll the stone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane—it ain’t that—I’ve lost my nerve!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You!</i>... Lassiter!” +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to roll it—meant to—but I—can’t. +Venters’s valley is down behind here. We could—live there. But if I +roll the stone—we’re shut in for always. I don’t dare. +I’m thinkin’ of you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Lassiter! Roll the stone!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +He arose, tottering, but with set face, and again he placed the bloody hand on +the Balancing Rock. Jane Withersteen gazed from him down the passageway. Tull +was climbing. Almost, she thought, she saw his dark, relentless face. Behind +him more riders climbed. What did they mean for Fay—for +Lassiter—for herself? +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Roll the stone!... Lassiter, I love you!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Under all his deathly pallor, and the blood, and the iron of seared cheek and +lined brow, worked a great change. He placed both hands on the rock and then +leaned his shoulder there and braced his powerful body. +</p> + +<p> +“R<small>OLL THE STONE</small>!” +</p> + +<p> +It stirred, it groaned, it grated, it moved, and with a slow grinding, as of +wrathful relief, began to lean. It had waited ages to fall, and now was slow in +starting. Then, as if suddenly instinct with life, it leaped hurtlingly down to +alight on the steep incline, to bound more swiftly into the air, to gather +momentum, to plunge into the lofty leaning crag below. The crag thundered into +atoms. A wave of air—a splitting shock! Dust shrouded the sunset red of +shaking rims; dust shrouded Tull as he fell on his knees with uplifted arms. +Shafts and monuments and sections of wall fell majestically. +</p> + +<p> +From the depths there rose a long-drawn rumbling roar. The outlet to Deception +Pass closed forever. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1300 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/1300-h/images/cover.jpg b/1300-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..752f47c --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img01.jpg b/1300-h/images/img01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..91ddde1 --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img01.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img02.jpg b/1300-h/images/img02.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2f93101 --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img02.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img03.jpg b/1300-h/images/img03.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..53d94fc --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img03.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img04.jpg b/1300-h/images/img04.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..33601ff --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img04.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img05.jpg b/1300-h/images/img05.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cbb4cbc --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img05.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img06.jpg b/1300-h/images/img06.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f858f8a --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img06.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img07.jpg b/1300-h/images/img07.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a954269 --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img07.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img08.jpg b/1300-h/images/img08.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..eab6423 --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img08.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img09.jpg b/1300-h/images/img09.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0a6501a --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img09.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img10.jpg b/1300-h/images/img10.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f275b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img10.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img11.jpg b/1300-h/images/img11.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9d0ae31 --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img11.jpg diff --git a/1300-h/images/img12.jpg b/1300-h/images/img12.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b0b7405 --- /dev/null +++ b/1300-h/images/img12.jpg |
