Riders of the Purple Sage...................................................................................................................................1

Zane Grey .................................................................................................................................................1

A sharp clipcrop of ironshod hoofs deadened and died away, and clouds of yellow dust drifted from under

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

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.

That year, 1871, had marked a change which had been gradually coming in the lives of the peaceloving

Mormons of the border. GlazeStone BridgeSterling, 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.

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

Mormonborn, 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 allthe grove of

cottonwoods, the old stone house, the ambertinted water, and the droves of shaggy, dusty horses and

mustangs, the sleek, cleanlimbed, blooded racers, and the browsing herds of cattle and the lean,

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 sageslope as it rolled before her. Low swells of

prairielike ground sloped up to the west. Dark, lonely cedartrees, 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 canyons from which rose an upHinging of the earth, not mountainous, but a vast heave of purple uplands,

with ribbed and fanshaped walls, castlecrowned cliffs, and gray escarpments. Over it all crept the

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,

"I sent word I'd give that rider Venters half an hour to come down to the village. He didn't come."

"He knows nothing of it;" said Jane. "I didn't tell him. I've been waiting here for you."

"Here, Jerry," called Tull, turning to his men, "take the gang and fetch Venters out here if you have to rope

The dustybooted and longspurred riders clanked noisily into the grove of cottonwoods and disappeared in

"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

"I'll tell you presently," replied Tull. "But first tell me why you defend this worthless rider?"

"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

"I've heard of your love for Fay Larkin and that you intend to adopt her. ButJane Withersteen, the child is

"Yes. But, Elder, I don't love the Mormon children any less because I love a Gentile child. I shall adopt Fay if

"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

Tull spoke with the arrogance of a Mormon whose power could not be brooked and with the passion of a man

"Maybe I do love him," said Jane. She felt both fear and anger stir her heart. "I'd never thought of that. Poor

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

For the first time Jane Withersteen felt Venters's real spirit. She wondered if she would love this splendid

"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.

"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 herand

"Then I'll have you whipped within an inch of your life," replied Tull, harshly. "I'll turn you out in the sage.

Jane impulsively stepped forward. "Oh! Elder Tull!" she cried. "You won't do that!"

"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

"Oh! Don't whip him! It would be dastardly!" implored Jane, with slow certainty of her failing courage.

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

"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

"I'll take it hereif I must," said Venters. "But by God!Tull you'd better kill me outright. That'll be a dear

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

"Elder, II repent my words," Jane faltered. The religion in her, the long habit of obedience, of humility, as

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 sageslopes. 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 creedbound nor creedmad, who would

The restless movements of Tull's men suddenly quieted down. Then followed a low whisper, a rustle, a sharp

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

With a wave of his hand, enjoining silence, Tull stepped forward in such a way that he concealed Venters.

The rider reined in his mount, and with a lithe forwardslipping 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

"Look!" hoarsely whispered one of Tull's companions. "He packs two blackbutted gunslow

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

"Hello, stranger!" called Tull. No welcome was in this greeting only a gruff curiosity.

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.

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'sthe 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

"But mebbe if you knew who I was" He hesitated, with his glance on the listening men. "Mebbe you

"Stranger, it doesn't matter who you are. Water your horse. And if you are thirsty and hungry come into my

Trampling of hoofs interrupted the rider. More restless movements on the part of Tull's men broke up the

"Mebbe I've kind of hindered somethin'for a few moments, perhaps?" inquired the rider.

She felt the drawing power of his eyes; and then she saw him look at the bound Venters, and at the men who

"In this here country all the rustlers an' thieves an' cutthroats an' gunthrowers an' allround nogood men

jest happen to be Gentiles. Ma'am, which of the nogood class does that young feller belong to?"

His clear and distinct question, meant for Tull as well as for Jane Withersteen, stilled the restlessness and

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,

"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

"EasyeasyI 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?"

"Meddler, we have a law here something different from woman's whim Mormon law!...Take care you

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 watchfuleyed, arms hanging rigid, all waiting.

"It's a damned outrage!" burst out Venters. "I've done no wrong. I've offended this Mormon Elder by being a

"Ma'am, is it truewhat he says?" asked the rider of Jane, but his quiveringly alert eyes never left the little

"Well, young man, it seems to me that bein' a friend to such a woman would be what you wouldn't want to

With his gray glance cold on the Mormons, with the restive bitchamping 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.

Tull snarled. "You lovesick fool! Tell your secrets. There'll be a way to teach you what you've never

"Who'll keep him? He's my prisoner!" cried Tull, hotly. "Stranger, again I tell youdon't mix here. You've

Absolute certainty, beyond any shadow of doubt, breathed in the rider's low voice.

The rider dropped his sombrero and made a rapid movement, singular in that it left him somewhat crouched,

It was Venters's wondering, thrilling cry that bridged the fateful connection between the rider's singular

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

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

"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, mosscovered and green and wet and cool, and the clear brown water that

"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

"Oh, it will!...Lassiter, do you think Mormon women wicked? Has your hand been against them, too?"

"No. I believe Mormon women are the best and noblest, the most longsufferin', and the blindest, unhappiest

"Ah!" She gave him a grave, thoughtful look. "Then you will break bread with me?"

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

"Mebbe you have a brother or relative who might drop in an' be offended, an' I wouldn't want to"

"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

"I'm only wonderin' if Tull an' his men'll raise a storm down in the village," said Lassiter, in his last

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 lowbranching cottonwoods. The last rays of the setting sun sent golden bars

through the leaves. The grass was deep and rich, welcome contrast to sagetired eyes. Twittering quail darted

across the path, and from a treetop somewhere a robin sang its evening song, and on the still air floated the

The home of Jane Withersteen stood in a circle of cottonwoods, and was a flat, long, redstone structure with

a covered court in the center through which flowed a lively stream of ambercolored 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 stonebedded stream, in the bright colors

of rugs and blankets on the court floor, and the cozy corner with hammock and books and the cleanlinened

table, showed the grace of a daughter who lived for happiness and the day at hand.

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

She passed through a huge low ceiled chamber, like the inside of a fort, and into a smaller one where a bright

woodfire blazed in an old open fireplace, and from this into her own room. It had the same comfort as was

manifested in the homelike outer court; moreover, it was warm and rich in soft hues.

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 twentyeight 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

gentlevoiced, sadfaced man who was a hater and a killer of Mormons. It was not now her usual

halfconscious vain obsession that actuated her as she hurriedly changed her ridingdress 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

"If by some means I can keep him here a few days, a weekhe 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 isI

almost like him. I remember only that he saved Bern. He has suffered. I wonder what it wasdid he love a

Mormon woman once? How splendidly he championed us poor misunderstood souls! Somehow he

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

halfstarved 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 blackleathergarbed 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 tablelegs. 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

When the meal ended, and the men pushed back their chairs, she leaned closer to Lassiter and looked square

Her question seemed to break a spell. The rider arose as if he had just remembered himself and had tarried

"Ma'am, I have hunted all over the southern Utah and Nevada for somethin'. An' through your name I

"My name! Oh, I remember. You did know my name when you spoke first. Well, tell me where you heard it

"At the little villageGlaze, I think it's calledsome fifty miles or more west of here. An' I heard it from a

Venters wheeled in his chair to regard Lassiter in amazement, and Jane slowly raised herself in white, still

"Milly Erne's grave?" she echoed, in a whisper. "What do you know of Milly Erne, my bestbeloved

"Did I claim to be anythin'?" he inquired. "I know peoplerelatives who have long wanted to know where

"Relatives? She never spoke of relatives, except a brother who was shot in Texas. Lassiter, Milly Erne's grave

"Will you take me there?...You'll be offendin' Mormons worse than by breakin' bread with me."

"Thank you, Jane Withersteen," replied the rider, and he bowed to her and stepped backward out of the court.

"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."

"Lassiter," said Venters, with a halfbitter laugh, "my bed too, is the sage. Perhaps we may meet out there."

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

"Either my friend or the Elder of my church would be lying dead," she interposed

"Oh, you fierceblooded, savage youth! Can't I teach you forebearance, mercy? Bern, it's divine to forgive

"Hush! Talk to me no more of mercy or religionafter today. Today this strange coming of Lassiter left

Silently she went into the house, to return with a heavy cartridgebelt and gunfilled sheath and a long rifle;

these she handed to him, and as he buckled on the belt she stood before him in silent eloquence.

"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!"

"Some of your riders," he continued. "It's getting time for the night shift. Let us go out to the bench in the

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 shrublined 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 treetops, could be seen the sageslope and the

wall of rock and the dim lines of canyons. 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

"Yes, it looks that way. My position is not a happy oneI can't feel rightI've lost all"

"Listen, please. When I say loss I don't mean what you think. I mean loss of goodwill, good namethat

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 today

thatBut you can't see. Your blindnessyour damned religion!...Jane, forgive meI'm sore within and

something rankles. Well, I fear that invisible hand will turn its hidden work to your ruin."

"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

"You wrong Bishop Dyer. Tull is hard, I know. But then he has been in love with me for years."

"Oh, your faith and your excuses! You can't see what I knowand 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

"I know enoughall, perhaps, except the name of the Mormon who brought her here. But I must stop this

She pressed his hand in response. He helped her to a seat beside him on the bench. And he respected a silence

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

Venters moved his glance once more to the west. A horseman showed dark on the skyline, then merged into

"It might be. But I think notthat fellow was coming in. One of your riders, more likely. Yes, I see him

"Jane, your riders seem as many as the bunches of sage. I ran into five yesterday 'way down near the trail to

"You still go to that canyon? Bern, I wish you wouldn't. Oldring and his rustlers live somewhere down there."

"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 canyon. I must drink and water my horse. There! I see more

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 huntinghorn, 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

"So do I," replied Venters. "By this time the riders of the night shift know what happened today. But

"Who is he? I don't know, Jane. Nobody I ever met knows him. He talks a little like a Texan, like Milly Erne.

"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 donewhy you spoke of him to Tullthreatening to become

"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 agreethat he was what riders in this

country call a gunman. 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

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.

Into this peace and calm suddenly broke the highkeyed yelp of a coyote, and from far off in the darkness

"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."

"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

villagewho can tell? Suppose you discovered the longunknown hidingplace 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 canyons, 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

"I must go now. And it hurts, for now I'll never be sure of seeing you again. But tomorrow, Bern?"

Then she left him and moved away, a white, gliding shape that soon vanished in the shadows.

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 blackbearded 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.

No unusual circumstances 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.

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 footpath, were ditches where ran the water

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.

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

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.

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 womenfreedom; to love and to live as her

"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 streetand

nightriding rustlers muffled horsesand Tull was at work in secretand out there in the sage hid a man

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,

When he awoke, day had dawned and all about him was bright steelgray. 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 Lane, perhaps news of the rustlers; on the

And while he waited he talked to his dogs. He called them Ring and Whitie; they were sheepdogs, 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

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.

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

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 skyline, 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

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.

"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

"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 canyons 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."

"It's a hard country for any one, but hardest for Gentiles. Did you ever know or hear of a Gentile prospering

"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."

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

"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

"How'd it come then that you never throwed a gun on Tull or some of them?" inquired the rider, curiously.

"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

"Now that's interestin' to me," said Lassiter, with a quick uplift of his head and a concentration of his gray

Lassiter smiled, and then his bronzed eyelids narrowed till his eyes seemed mere gray slits. "You'll kill Tull!"

"I promised Jane Withersteen I'd try to avoid Tull. I'll keep my word. But sooner or later Tull and I will meet.

"I reckon so. There'll be hell down there, presently." He paused a moment and flicked a sagebrush with his

quirt. "Venters, seein' as you're considerable worked up, tell me Milly Erne's story."

Venters's agitation stilled to the trace of suppressed eagerness in Lassiter's query.

"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 mentionedI

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 religionshe 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 herwhite like ashesand her eyes!...Her eyes have always haunted me. She had one real

"I haven't the slightest idea who the Mormon was," replied Venters; "nor has any Gentile in Cottonwoods."

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, stonelined 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

The spring gushed forth in a swirling torrent, and leaped down joyously to make its swift way along a

willowskirted channel. Moss and ferns and lilies overhung its green banks. Except for the roughhewn

stones that held and directed the water, this willow thicket and glade had been left as nature had made it.

Below were artificial lakes, three in number, one above the other in banks of raised earth, and round about

them rose the lofty greenfoliaged shafts of poplar trees. Ducks dotted the glassy surface of the lakes; a blue

heron stood motionless on a watergate; 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 catbirds. 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.

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

Venters and Lassiter were turning toward the house when Jane appeared in the lane leading a horse. In

ridingskirt 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.

"Good news," she announced. "I've been to the village. All is quiet. I expectedI don't know what. But

"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

"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

"Well, ma'am, the one you've been ridin' takes my eye," said Lassiter, as he walked round the racy,

"Where are the boys?" she asked, looking about. "Jerd, Paul, where are you? Here, bring out the horses."

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.

"Comecomecome," called Jane, holding out her hands. "Why, Bells Wrangle, where are your

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 longbodied, 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

"I never seen their like," was Lassiter's encomium, "an' in my day I've seen a sight of horses. Now, ma'am, if

Lassiter ended there with dry humor, yet behind that was meaning. Jane blushed and made arch eyes at him.

"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

dayriders have gone, and the nightriders haven't come in. Bern, what do you make of that? Need I worry?

"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."

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

darkblue lines of canyons 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 sagebrush close to the edge of the promontory; and a rider could have jumped his horse

She looked sad as she spoke, but she offered no explanation for the neglect of an unmarked, uncaredfor

grave. There was a little bunch of pale, sweet lavender daisies, doubtless planted there by Jane.

A grave in the sage! How lonely this restingplace 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.

Lassiter looked at the grave and then out into space. At that moment he seemed a figure of bronze.

"Bern!" cried Jane, when they were out of hearing. "Suppose Lassiter were Milly's husbandthe father of

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

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.

"It's Judkins, your Gentile rider!" he cried. "Jane, when Judkins rides like that it means hell!"

The rider thundered up and almost threw his foamflecked horse in the sudden stop. He was a giant form,

"Nothin' much Miss Withersteen. I got a nick in the shoulder. I'm some wet an' the hoss's been throwin'

"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."

"Now I wonder," returned Judkins. "They wanted me bad. An' it ain't regular for rustlers to waste time chasin'

"I don't know. The nightriders weren't there last night when I rode down, en' this mornin' I met no

"I don't think so," replied Venters, decidedly. "Jane, your riders haven't gone out in the sage."

"Bern, you're bitter; but that's only natural. We'll wait to see what's happened to my riders. Judkins, come to

"Whew! What on earth can Oldring do with so many cattle? Why, a hundred head is a big steal. I've got to

"Bern, you want a hoss thet can run. Miss Withersteen, if it's not too bold of me to advise, make him take a

"Yes, yes, Judkins. He must ride a horse that can't be caught. Which oneBlack StarNight?"

"Jane, I won't take either," said Venters, emphatically. "I wouldn't risk losing one of your favorites."

"Thet's the hoss," replied Judkins. "Wrangle can outrun Black Star an' Night. You'd never believe it, Miss

"Oh no, Wrangle can't beat Black Star. But, Bern, take Wrangle if you will go. Ask Jerd for anything you

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

"Wrangle don't git enough work," said Jerd, as the big saddle went on. "He's unruly when he's corralled, an'

"Jerd, this horse is an ironjawed devil. I never straddled him but once. Run? Say, he's swift as wind!"

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 wateringtrough, 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

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

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,

farreaching 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

"What can Oldring do with twentyfive 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

Wrangle did the twentyfive 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 breasthigh 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 hazepurple lent by distance. Far across that wide waste began the slow lift of uplands through

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

canyon 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.

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 leaguelong 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 canyon, to

mount the opposite slope and chase and darken and bury the last golden flare of sunlight.

Venters rode into a trail that he always took to get down into the canyon. 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

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 canyons 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 ironshod 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.

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

Pinyon 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 canyon. 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

rimwall, 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

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 canyons, 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

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 hidingplace. 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

canyon. Moreover, he did not care. And at length, tired out by stress of thought, he fell asleep.

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 dustpatches, and then to run

down the wide, open, windy sageplains, and at night browse and sleep in the cool wet grass of a springhole.

Venters saddled and led him out of the oak thicket, and, leaping astride, rode up the canyon, with Ring and

Whitie trotting behind. An old grassgrown trail followed the course of a shallow wash where flowed a thin

stream of water. The canyon was a hundred rods wide, its yellow walls were perpendicular; it had abundant

sage and a scant growth of oak and pinon. 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 canyon Venters had never explored, and here was the real door to the intricacies of Deception

He reined Wrangle to a walk, halted now and then to listen, and then proceeded cautiously with shifting and

alert gaze. The canyon 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 pinon

trees and grassy plots where longpetaled 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

Venters sat his horse, and, with a rider's eye, studied this wild crosscut 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 canyons, 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

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 sageflat rose a strange upflinging 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

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

All about him was ridgy roll of windsmoothed, rainwashed rock. Not a tuft of grass or a bunch of sage

colored the dull rustyellow. 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 slowswelling 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 mountainside, glistening in the sun like polished granite, with cedartrees 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 rimwall, 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 canyons, one of which surely was another

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 canyons. 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 windworn caves low down and high above

buttressed and turreted ramparts. Farther on Venters came into a region where deep indentations marked the

line of canyon walls. These were huge, covelike blind pockets extending back to a sharp corner with a dense

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 hidingplace 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

Bunches of scattered sage covered the center of the canyon, 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

The canyon opened fanshaped 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 canyons. Here a dull red color

predominated over the fading yellow. The corners of wall bluntly rose, scarred and scrawled, to taper into

Venters pushed on more heedfully than ever. Toward the center of this circle the sagebrush 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

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 sagebrush. He dared not

risk crossing the open patches to reach the rocks. Again he peeped over the sage. The

rustlersfourfiveseveneight 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

He heard the click of ironshod 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 canyon. 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

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 canyon 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 canyon they

had ridden it was too late to tell. He watched the three ride across the oval and round the jutting red corner

A knotty point for Venters was the fact that the cattle tracks all pointed west. The broad trail came from the

direction of the canyon 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 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

Venters cunningly sank, slowly trying to merge into sagebrush. 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.

The bullet zipped through the sagebrush. 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 oncetwice.

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.

The Masked Rider huddled over his pommel slowly swaying to one side, and then, with a faint, strange cry,

Venters looked quickly from the fallen rustlers to the canyon 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 canyon, and felt safe for the immediate present.

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 protrudinga 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.

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

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 gunsheaths on the saddle.

"A rustler who didn't pack guns!" muttered Venters. "He wears no belt. He couldn't pack guns in that

A low, gasping intake of breath and a sudden twitching of body told Venters the rider still lived.

"He's alive!...I've got to stand here and watch him die. And I shot an unarmed man."

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.

The boy showed signs of returning consciousness. He stirred; his lips moved; a small brown hand clenched in

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 bloodwet blouse.

First he saw a gaping hole, dark red against a whiteness of skin, from which welled a slender red stream.

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

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

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 morea revelation

of mortal spirit. The instinctive bringing to life was there, and the divining helplessness and the terrible

"You shot meyou'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 knewit

wouldcomesome day!...Oh, the burn!...Hold meI'm sinkingit's all dark....Ah, God!...Mercy"

Her rigidity loosened in one long quiver and she lay back limp, still, white as snow, with closed eyes.

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 bloodstained,

"Whatnow?" he questioned, with flying mind. "I must get out of here. She's dyingbut I can't leave her."

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 feltcloth 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 canyon, he turned and held close to the wall till he reached his

hidingplace. 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

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.

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 canyon 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 canyon and secluded camp.

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.

The sun set behind the high canyon 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 leanto 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 sprucetree that upheld the

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

It seemed to him that when night fell black he could see her white face so much more plainly.

Every little while certainty of her death came to him with a shock; and then he would bend over and lay his

The early night blackness cleared to the cold starlight. The horses were not moving, and no sound disturbed

"I'll bury her here," thought Venters, "and let her grave be as much a mystery as her life was."

For the girl's few words, the look of her eyes, the prayer, had strangely touched Venters.

"She was only a girl," he soliloquized. "What was she to Oldring? Rustlers don't have wives nor sisters nor

daughters. She was badthat'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 Mask 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."

Hours passed. The white stars moved across the narrow strip of darkblue 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.

The afterpart 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.

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

Broad daylight and a hint of sunshine high on the cliffrim 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 hidingplace. 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.

"A good tracker could trail me," he muttered. "And I'd be cornered here. Let's see. Rustlers are a lazy set

He carefully cleaned and reloaded his guns. When he rose to go he bent a long glance down upon the

The safest cover lay close under the wall of the canyon, 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 canyons, and in the entrance of a third canyon he crossed a wash of swift clear water, to come abruptly

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 canyon 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

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.

"What a range!" went on Venters. "Water and grass enough for fifty thousand head, and no riders needed!"

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 cattlerange 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 rustlerchief to conceal his real life and

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 canyon out of which headed the cattle trail, and into which he had watched

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 cliffwall. 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 pinyon 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

"Falling water," he said. "There's volume to that. I wonder if it's the stream I lost."

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 pinyons warned him that he was nearing the height of slope.

He gained it, and dropped low with a burst of astonishment. Before him stretched a short canyon 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 canyon waterfall burst from a wide rent in the cliff, and, bounding

If Venters had not been indubitably certain that he had entered the right canyon his astonishment would not

have been so great. There had been no breaks in the walls, no side canyons entering this one where the

rustlers' tracks and the cattle trail had guided him, and, therefore, he could not be wrong. But here the canyon

"That cattle trail headed out of here," Venters kept saying to himself. "It headed out. Now what I want to

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 canyon 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 canyon

with the trails. There was nothing else for him to think. Rustlers could not fly, nor cattle jump down

thousandfoot precipices. He was only proving what the sageriders had long said of this labyrinthine system

of deceitful canyons and valleystrails led down into Deception Pass, but no rider had ever followed them.

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 hobblebell of a horse, and the cracking of iron on submerged

Relief surged over him. His mind caught again at realities, and curiosity prompted him to peep from behind

In the middle of the stream waded a long string of packed burros driven by three superbly mounted men. Had

Venters met these darkclothed, darkvisaged, 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.

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

"Good Heaven! Of all the holes for a rustler!...There's a cavern under that waterfall, and a passageway

leading out to a canyon beyond. Oldring hides in there. He needs only to guard a trail leading down from the

sageflat 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 mostwhy that cattle trail was wet!"

He wheeled and ran down the slope, and out to the level of the sagebrush. 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 canyons. He

doubted that he would ever see it again; he knew he never wanted to; yet he looked at the red corners and

Here he spent a panting moment in a slowcircling gaze of the sageoval 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

canyons 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 canyon. 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

The girl lay with wideopen, 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

"When you get betterstrong enoughI'll take you back to the canyon where the rustlers ride through the

As with a faint shadow from a flitting wing overhead, the marble whiteness of her face seemed to change.

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.

"Tell me. Whatever you'll tell me I'll keep to myself. I'm beginning to worry about more than the loss of a

"Well, Miss Withersteen, I think as Venters thinksyour riders have been called in."

"I ain't insinuatin' nothin', Miss Withersteen," answered Judkins, with spirit. "I know what I'm talking about. I

"Oh, I can't believe that! I'll not believe it! Would Tull leave my herds at the mercy of rustlers and wolves

"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

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

"Judkins, go to the village," she said, "and when you have learned anything definite about my riders please

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

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.

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; tonight,

however, it seemed unusually so. At supper her women served her with a silent assiduity; it spoke what their

sealed lips could not utterthe 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 tenmile 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 stonebedded 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 campfire sitting between his faithful dogs. She prayed for his safety, for the success of his

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

"It's high time, Miss Withersteen," he replied. "Will you come into the grove? It ain't jest exactly safe for me

"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."

Jane did not ask to know; she did not want to know; she feared to know. All her calmness fled at a single

"Thet's why I'm packin' guns," went on Judkins. "For I'll never quit ridin' for you, Miss Withersteen, till you

"Oh, thank you, Judkins! You're more faithful than my own people. I ought not accept your loyaltyyou

might suffer more through it. But what in the world can I do? My head whirls. The wrong to Ventersthe

stolen herdthese masks, threats, this coil in the dark! I can't understand! But I feel something dark and

"Miss Withersteen, it's all simple enough," said Judkins, earnestly. "Now please listenan' beggin' your

pardonjest 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 reportthet'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 upthet 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

"Plain!...My herds to wander in the sageto be stolen! Jane Withersteen a poor woman! Her head to be

"Miss Withersteen, let me get what boys I can gather, an' hold the white herd. It's on the slope now, not ten

miles outthree thousand head, an' all steers. They're wild, an' likely to stampede at the pop of a

"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. Butdo not shed blood for my cattle nor

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 stoneblind 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

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.

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 problemthe

She knelt by her bedside and prayed; she prayed as she had never prayed in all her lifeprayed 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

When Jane Withersteen rose from that storm of wrath and prayer for help she was serene, calm, surea

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 sayingsthat 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 Godwould 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.

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 gunsheaths contrasting singularly with his gentle

smile. Jane's active mind took up her interest in him and her halfdetermined 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

"Lassiter I'm not an old woman, or even a madam," she replied, with her bright smile. "If you can't say Miss

Then she told him of Judkins's return, of the driving of the red herd, of Venters's departure on Wrangle, and

"'Pears to me you're some smilin' an' pretty for a woman with so much trouble," he remarked.

"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 unhappyagain."

Lassiter twisted his hat round and round, as was his way, and took his time in replying.

"Women are strange to me. I got to backtrailin' myself from them long ago. But I'd like a game woman.

"Fight! How? Even if I would, I haven't a friend except that boy who doesn't dare stay in the village."

"Lassiter!...Thank you. But how can I accept you as a friend? Think! Why, you'd ride down into the village

"Lassiter! I'll accept your friendshipbe proud of itreturn itif I may keep you from killing another

"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."

In her earnestness she stepped closer to him, repelled yet fascinated by the sudden transition of his moods.

"The man who dragged Milly Erne to hellput 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

"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 meGod knows what!unless by your noble blindness to incite me to greater hatred of

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

"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 fieldglass?"

"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 ridingclothes 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

"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"

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

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.

"We'll turn off here," Lassiter said, "en' take to the sage a mile or so. The white herd is behind them big

He smiled as if he meant that bad news came swiftly enough without being presaged by speech.

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 fieldglasses began to lead the way up the slow

"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"

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 fieldglass

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

"Judkins hasn't been able to get his boys together yet," said Jane. "But he'll be there soon. I hope not too late.

"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."

"They didn't browse that distancenot in less than an hour. Cattle aren't sheep."

"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'

Longdrawn moments of straining sight rewarded Jane with nothing save the low, purple rim of ridge and the

"It's begun again!" whispered Lassiter, and he gripped her arm. "Watch....There, did you see that?"

"A white flasha kind of pinpoint of quick lighta gleam as from sun shinin' on somethin' white."

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

"I reckon there's some one behind that ridge throwin' up a sheet or a white blanket to reflect the sunshine."

"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 theyanybody stampede my cattle?"

"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

"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 Godfearin' Mormons to

"Lassiter, might not this trick be done by Oldring's men?" asked Jane, ever grasping at straws.

"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."

Jane bit her tongue to refrain from championing men who at the very moment were proving to her that they

"Look!...Jane, them leadin' steers have bolted. They're drawin' the stragglers, an' that'll pull the whole herd."

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

"Oh, Lassiter! The herd's running with the valley! It leads into the canyon! There's a straight jumpoff!"

"I reckon they'll run into it, too. But that's a good many miles yet. An', Jane, this valley swings round almost

The long, white, bobbing line of steers streaked swiftly through the sage, and a funnelshaped dustcloud

"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

He ran to his horse and, throwing off saddlebags and tightening the cinches, he leaped astride and galloped

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

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

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 surefootedness of the blind horse. Then it seemed that the

herd moved in a great curve, a huge halfmoon 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 dustblinded wild followers plunged on madly in the tracks of their leaders. This evermoving,

everchanging 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.

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 thrownlost!

Then he reappeared running out of the dust into the sage. He had escaped, and she breathed again.

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

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

When Lassiter reached her and laid his hand on Black Star's mane, Jane could not find speech.

"Oh! I'm sorry," cried Jane. "Lassiter! I know you can't replace him, but I'll give you any one of my

"I'll take a fast hoss, Jane, but not one of your favorites," he replied. "Onlywill you let me have Black Star

He pointed to several moving specks of black and puffs of dust in the purple sage.

But a flush of fire flamed in her cheeks, and her trembling hands shook Black Star's bridle, and her eyes fell

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 gunman, 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

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

"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."

"I jest am weak where a hoss's concerned," said Lassiter. "I'll take him, an' I'll take your orders, ma'am."

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

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

"You've done a headstrong thing to hire this man Lassiter," Tull went on, severely. "He came to Cottonwoods

"I had to have somebody. And perhaps making him my rider may turn out best in the end for the Mormons of

"A woman like you can do anything with a man. That would be well, and would atone in some measure for

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, darkbrowed, 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.

Jane turned into one of the wide lanes leading from the main street and entered a huge, shady yard. Here were

sweetsmelling 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

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 woodenshuttered

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

In the shade of a wide, low, vineroofed porch Jane found Brandt's wives entertaining Bishop Dyer. They

were motherly women, of comparatively similar ages, and plainfeatured, and just at this moment anything

but grave. The Bishop was rather tall, of stout build, with irongray 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

"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."

"Bishop, the guilt is mine. I'll come to you and confess," Jane replied, lightly; but she felt the undercurrent of

"Mormon lovemaking!" exclaimed the Bishop, rubbing his hands. "Tull keeps you all to himself."

"What? The laggard! If he does not make haste I'll go acourting myself up to Withersteen House."

There was laughter and further bantering by the Bishop, and then mild talk of village affairs, after which he

"Jane, you're not yourself. Are you sad about the rustling of the cattle? But you have so many, you are so

"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 shotor 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 wifebut 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!"

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 pentup affection of Mormon women, and let her go with her ears ringing of

"Verily," murmured Jane, "I don't know myself when, through all this, I remain unchangednay, more fixed

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 "sagefreighters," 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 cottageyard 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

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 herthat 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

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 logcabins 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 fruittrees 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

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 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?"

Jane felt the stretching and chilling of the skin of her face as the blood left it.

"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

"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 moneygold enough to leave

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

"No, it won't do," he said, when he had somewhat recovered himself. "Miss Withersteen, there are things that

"I seem to be learning many things, Carson. Well, then, will you let me aid yousay till better times?"

"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."

The lane opened out upon the sageinclosed 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

widespreading 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 dwellingplace 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 fairylike and beautiful that

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.

Jane went in. There was only one room, rather dark and bare, but it was clean and neat. A woman lay upon a

"I sent the boys, and they left word with your women that I was ill and would you please come."

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.

"Mrs. Larkin, you're better, and I'm so glad," said Jane. "But may I not do something for youa turn at

"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?"

"Never mind that. The day'll comesooner or later. I refused your offer, and now I'll tell you why."

"I know why," interposed Jane. "It's because you don't want her brought up as a Mormon."

"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. Butit'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 Mormonsgossip 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

"It was what made me hesitate," went on Mrs. Larkin, "but I never believed it at heart. And now I guess I'll

"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 upwithout Mormon teaching. When she's grown, if she should want to leave me, I'll

send her, and not emptyhanded, back to Illinois where you came from. I promise you."

"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

Back in that strange canyon, 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 impressionthat 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 bloodstained lips; through her solemn and awful eyes he had caught a glimpse of her

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

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.

"Very well, Bess. It doesn't matter," he said. "But this matterswhat shall I do with you?"

"Not now. I was once. I drove the Withersteen herds. But I lost my placelost all I ownedand now

"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 hidingplace where I can't be

"Whatdo you wantto dowith me?" Her whispering grew difficult, so low and faint that Venters had to

"Why, let's see," he replied, slowly. "I'd like to take you some place where I could watch by you, nurse you,

"Well, it'll be time to think of that when you're cured of your wound. It's a bad one. AndBess, if you don't

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

"I'll tryto live," she said. The broken whisper just reached his ears. "Do whatyou wantwith me."

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.

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 righthand wall and went along that till its

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 rainwater. A hundred yards up

began a line of grotesque cedartrees, 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

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, windblown 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

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.

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 canyon, he began to chase

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.

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.

themonetwothreefouron up to sixteen. That number carried his glance to the top of his first

bulging bench of cliffbase. Above, after a more level offset, was still steeper slope, and the line of nicks

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 ageworn, he recognized them as steps cut in the rock by the cliffdwellers. 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

hidingplace. 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, surefooted, 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.

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

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

"What a place to hide!" muttered Venters. "I'll climbI'll see where this thing goes. If only I can find

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

cliffdwellers had chipped and chipped away at this boulder fill it rested its tremendous bulk upon a mere

pinpoint of its surface. Venters pondered. Why had the little stonemen 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

Venters divined its significance. It had been meant for defense. The cliffdwellers, 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.

"That was a narrow shave for me," said Venters, soberly. "A balancing rock! The cliffdwellers 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."

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 upsweeping 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

Above Venters loomed a wonderful arch of stone bridging the canyon 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 canyons. 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

"There's water hereand this is the place for me," said Venters. "Only birds can peep over those walls, I've

Venters waited no longer, and turned swiftly to retrace his steps. He named the canyon 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 keensighted, remembering gaze to the rimwall

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 cedartree, he tied

his scarf upon a dead branch, and then hurried toward camp, having no more concern about finding his trail

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

Venters determined at once to lead the other horses out through the thicket and turn them loose. The farther

they wandered from this canyon 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.

Under the clump of silver spruces a denser mantle of darkness, yet not so thick that Venter's nightpracticed

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

He packed his saddlebags. 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 sagebranches.

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 canyon. Then he leaned against a stone

breasthigh 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,

He lifted the girl again and pressed on. The valley better traveling than the canyon. 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

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

The slope before him seemed to swell into obscurity to lose its definite outline in a misty, opaque cloud that

shaded into the overshadowing 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

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

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.

"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.

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

saddlebags. The lasso he took back with him to the corner and looped the noose over the spur of rock.

Then followed scraping of claws and pattering of feet; and out of the gray gloom below him swiftly climbed

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 saddlebags. 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.

"Yes," he replied, and was conscious that his laboring breast made speech difficult.

Venters heard a murmuring moan that one moment swelled to a pitch almost softly shrill and the next lulled

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

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.

Above him, through a Vshaped cleft in the dark rim of the cliff, shone the lustrous stars that had been his

lonely accusers for a long, long year. Tonight 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 cliffwinds in his ears, the white stars above

the dark, bold vent, the difference which he felt was that he was no longer alone.

The rest of that night seemed to Venters only a few moments of starlight, a dark overcasting of sky, an hour

When he had bestirred himself, feeding the hungry dogs and breaking his long fast, and had repacked his

saddlebags, 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 saddlebags slung upon his back,

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 agelong 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

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,

Venters turned out of the gorge, and suddenly paused stockstill, 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

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 cliffdwellers must have

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 canyons 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 fanshape 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

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

He cut spruce boughs and made a bed in the largest cave and laid the girl there. The first intimation that he

He hurried down into the ravine with his canteen. It was a shallow, grassgreen place with aspens growing up

everywhere. To his delight he found a tiny brook of swiftrunning 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.

"You were thirsty," he said. "It's good water. I've found a fine place. Tell mehow do you feel?"

"Why, that's strange! Your wounds are on your right side. I believe you're hungry. Is the pain a kind of dull

"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

"No, people don't starve easily. I've discovered that. You must lie perfectly still and rest and sleepfor

"My handsare dirty; my face feelsso hot and sticky; my boots hurt." It was her longest speech as yet,

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

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 bulletmark, 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

"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

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?

"I shot you," he said, slowly, "and I want you to get well so I shall not have killed a woman. Butfor your

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 wildernessthe 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

canyons. 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 blackbearded rustler who

Venters surmised this much of the change in himidleness 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

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

saddlebags upon the grass and took stock. His outfit consisted of a smallhandled axe, a huntingknife, 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 unheardof 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.

If there was no game in the valleya contingency he doubtedit 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.

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 cliffbase 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 treetops, he made out a long shelf of cliffdwellings, with little

black, staring windows or doors. Like eyes they were, and seemed to watch him. The few cliffdwellings he

had seenall ruinshad left him with haunting memory of age and solitude and of something past. He had

come, in a way, to be a cliffdweller 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.

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 oaktrees 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 birdnotes, and rustling of dead leaves and rapid patterings. Venters crossed wellworn 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.

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

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.

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 campfire, 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

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

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

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 spearpointed spruces. He heard the flutter of aspen leaves and

the soft, continuous splash of falling water. The melancholy note of a canyon 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 canyon 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 halfdreamed what

he thought he heard. Then the sound swelled with the strengthening of the breeze, and he realized it was the

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

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 mockingbirds, and they were

singing as if they wanted to burst their throats. Venters listened. One long, silvertipped 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

Venters stepped before the opening of the other cave and looked in. The girl was awake, with wide eyes and

"The birds woke me. When I heard themand saw the shiny treesand the blue skyand then a blaze of

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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 darkblue eyes underlined by darkblue 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

He lifted herwhat 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.

She soon tired. He arranged a comfortable seat for her under the spruce that overspread the campfire.

He recounted all that had happened from the time of his discovery of the rustlers in the canyon up to the

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.

He made this a briefer story, telling of his coming to Utah, his various occupations till he became a rider, and

Then, no longer able to withstand his own burning curiosity, he questioned her in turn.

"I knew itI recognized your figureand mask, for I saw you once. Yet I can't believe it!...But you never

were really that rustler, as we riders knew him? A thiefa maraudera kidnapper of womena murderer

"But whywhy?" he burst out. "Why the name? I understand Oldring made you ride. But the black

maskthe mysterythe things laid to your handsthe threats in your infamous namethe nightriding

credited to youthe evil deeds deliberately blamed on you and acknowledged by rustlerseven Oldring

"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.

Venters paused in his rapidfire questioning, as if to brace him self to ask for a truth that would be abhorrent

Like some delicate thing suddenly exposed to blasting heat, the girl wilted; her head dropped, and into her

Venters would have given anything to recall that question. It seemed so differenthis thought when spoken.

Yet her shame established in his mind something akin to the respect he had strangely been hungering to feel

"Dn that question!forget it!" he cried, in a passion of pain for her and anger at himself. "But once and

for alltell meI know it, yet I want to hear you say soyou couldn't help yourself?"

"Well, that makes it all right with me," he went on, honestly. "II want you to feel that...you seewe've

been thrown togetherandand I want to help younot 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 heretogether. 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 strengththen get you away, out of

this wild countryhelp you somehow to a happier lifejust think how good that'll be for me!"

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.

"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.

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 goldflecked 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 halfsubmerged mounds of brush and sticks, and all about him were

"Beaver!" he exclaimed. "By all that's lucky! The meadow's full of beaver! How did they ever get here?"

Beaver had not found a way into the valley by the trail of the cliffdwellers, 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 plumtrees 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

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 cliffdwellers.

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 rustcolored

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

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

cliffdwellings rested, a long halfcircle 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.

Venters had visited cliffdwellings 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 smokeblackened stains of fires, the pieces of pottery

scattered about cold hearths, the stone hatchets; and stone pestles and mealingstones lay beside round holes

polished by years of grinding maizelay there as if they had been carelessly dropped yesterday. But the

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 cliffdwellers 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 destroyertime? Venters saw a long line of bloodred

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 winda knell indeed for all that had gone.

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 fatea victim to

some deep plot the mystery of which burned him. As he stepped forward with a halfformed 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.

And Venters thought with lightning swiftness, "I've saved herI've unlinked her from that old lifeshe was

watching as if I were all she had left on earthshe 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, deepseated emotion, mixed with pity

"What a load you had!" she said. "Why, they're pots and crocks! Where did you get them?"

Venters laid down his rifle, and, filling one of the pots from his canteen, he placed it on the smoldering

"Hope it'll hold water," he said, presently. "Why, there's an enormous cliffdwelling 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,

She laughed. It was the first time. He liked that laugh, and though he was tempted to look at her, he did not

"Will you take me over there, and all around in the valleypretty soon, when I'm well?" she added.

"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. Buthaven't you ever seen a cliffdwelling?"

"No. I've heard about them, though. Thethe men say the Pass is full of old houses and ruins."

"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

"When I rodeI rode like the wind," she replied, "and never had time to stop for anything."

"I remember that day II met you in the Passhow dusty you were, how tired your horse looked. Were you

"When Oldring went away on his long tripshe was gone for months sometimeshe shut me up in the

"Perhaps to keep me from running away. I always threatened that. Mostly, though, because the men got drunk

"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

It now required deliberation on Venters's part to persist in his unconcern and to keep at work. He wanted to

"I've a dim memory of some other place, and women and children; but I can't make anything of it. Sometimes

"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."

"No. Every year he drives cattle north of Sterlingthen does not return for months. I heard him accused

Venters dropped his apparent task and looked up with an eagerness he no longer strove to hide.

"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."

"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

"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 killto bluff the

"Drive a few cattle! But, Bess, the Withersteen herd, the red herd twentyfive hundred head! That's not a

"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 timeI won't know whenthen drive it back to the range.

"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,

queershaped man, all humped up. He sat his horse well. I heard one of our men say afterward there was no

"That's it. I rememberit's a name easy to rememberand Jerry Card appeared to be on fair terms with

"I shouldn't wonder," replied Venters, thoughtfully. Verification of his suspicions in regard to Tull's

underhand workfor the deal with Oldring made by Jerry Card assuredly had its inception in the Mormon

Elder's brain, and had been accomplished through his ordersrevived 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 thingwhat, 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

themperhaps the change which was too illusive for himwas 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

"Bess, tell me one more thing," he said. "Haven't you known any women any young people?"

"Sometimes there were women with the men; but Oldring never let me know them. And all the young people

Perhaps that was the most puzzling and thoughtprovoking 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 selfreproach. He would ask no more. Still he

had to think, and he found it difficult to think clearly. This sadeyed 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. Butbut in spite of all thisthere 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

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

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 darkblue 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

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

It occurred again to Venters that he could go to the canyon 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

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 waitingwaiting 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

"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

And those spoken words, in their grim note to his ear, as well as contents to his mind, told Venters that he

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 powerfulhe could take up a sack of grain and

with ease pitch it over a packsaddleand 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

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

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

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 sprucetree. Then he

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 campfire. There

was a tinge of healthy red in the bronze of her cheeks, and her slender form had begun to round out in

"Bess, didn't you say you were tired of rabbit?" inquired Venters. "And quail and beaver?"

"Well, how does that strike you?" Venters pointed to the quarter hanging from the sprucetree. "We'll have

"You went back to the canyonyou risked" While she hesitated the tinge of bloom faded out of her

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

"I've done more than pack in that beef," he said. "For five nights I've been working while you slept. I've got

All that Venters could make of the dilation of her eyes, her slow pallor, and her exclamation, was fearfear

"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

When she had spoken, the strength and the blaze of her died, and she swayed toward Venters.

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 lipsall 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.

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 somethingthat he had seen and felt in herthat he could not

understandseemed very close to him, warm and rich as a fragrant breath, sweet as nothing had ever before

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 slowdawning

"Have you thought that we may make our way out to civilization, or we may have to stay

"Stay!" Newborn thought of self, ringing vibrantly in her voice, gave her answer singular power.

Venters trembled, and then swiftly turned his gaze from her facefrom her eyes. He knew what she had only

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

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

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

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

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

"Lassiter, I see so little of you now," she said, and was conscious of heat in her cheeks.

"But you can't live in the saddle. You come in sometimes. Won't you come here to see meoftener?"

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

"I've reasonsonly 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."

How much better and freer Jane felt after that confession! She meant to show him that there was one Mormon

"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 manexcept Bern Venters."

"'Pears to me that you'd run no risk, or Venters, either. But mebbe that doesn't hold good for me."

"You mean it wouldn't be safe for you to be often here? You look for ambush in the cottonwoods?"

Whatever Fay seemed to be searching for in Lassiter's sunreddened 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

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.

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 absentmindedly with Fay. Jane

had contented herself with silence. Soon little Fay substituted for the expression of regard, "I like oo," a

Thereafter Lassiter came oftener to see Jane and her little protegee. 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.

Then, if there were anything that a good woman could do to win a man and still preserve her selfrespect, 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, bloodstained 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.

She had a trick of changingand it was not altogether voluntaryfrom 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

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

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,

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.

In the moonlight she saw his dark, worn face change, and by that change she seemed to feel him immovable

Jane slipped her hands down to the swinging gunsheaths, 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.

"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

"I want to keep you from killing more menMormons. You must let me save you from more

wickednessmore wanton bloodshed" Then the truth forced itself falteringly from her lips. "You

mustlethelp me to keep my vow to Milly Erne. I swore to heras she lay dyingthat if ever any one

came here to avenge herI swore I would stay his hand. Perhaps II alone can save thethe man

whowhoOh, Lassiter!...I feel that I can't change youthen soon you'll be out to killand you'll kill by

instinctand among the Mormons you kill will be the onewho...Lassiter, if you care a little for melet

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

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.

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

When Jane did get out to the court, Fay was there alone, and at the moment embarking on a dubious voyage

down the stonelined amber stream upon a craft of two brooms and a pillow. Fay was as delightfully wet as

Clatter of hoofs distracted Fay and interrupted the scolding she was gleefully receiving from Jane. The sound

was not the lightspirited 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

His questions had been swift. She was amazed at a feeling that some one else was replying for her.

"I've come to say a few things to you." He stopped to measure her with stern, speculative eye.

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

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 crossgrained 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 slowgathering might of his wrath.

"Brother Tull has talked to me," he began. "It was your father's wish that you marry Tull, and my order. You

"But you'll do as _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."

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.

"It's well I got you in time, Jane Withersteen. What would your father have said to these goingson 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 born Mormon. There have been Mormons who turned hereticdamn 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

"Yes, he's riding for me. When my riders left me I had to have any one I could get."

"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 gunpacking and fights every daywhere 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

He waved his hand in an imperative gesture of command. The red once more leaped to his face, and in his

"That first day," whispered Jane, "Lassiter said he came here to find Milly Erne's grave!"

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

"For whatelse?" When Bishop Dyer's voice did cleave the silence it was high, curiously shrill, and on the

"To kill the man who persuaded Milly Erne to abandon her home and her husbandand her God!"

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 murmuringsthese sounds that deadened her brain and yet could not break the long and terrible

silence. Then, from somewhere from an immeasurable distancecame a slow, guarded, clinking, clanking

step. Into her it shot electrifying life. It released the weight upon her numbed eyelids. Lifting her eyes she

sawashen, 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 sightand then Lassiter! Bishop

Dyer did not see, did not hear: he stared at Jane in the throes of sudden revelation.

"Ah, I understand!" he cried, in hoarse accents. "That's why you made love to this Lassiterto bind his

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.

The darkness lightened, turned to slowdrifting haze, and lifted. Through a thin film of blue smoke she saw

the roughhewn 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.

"Ahh!" she moaned, and was drifting, sinking again into darkness, when Lassiter's voice arrested her.

"Say! It was queer for you to faint. I thought you were such a strong woman, not faintish like that. You're all

right nowonly some pale. I thought you'd never come to. But I'm awkward round women folks. I couldn't

"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 mewhatever 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

himput 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."

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

"He drew on you first, and you deliberately shot to cripple himyou wouldn't kill himyouLassiter?"

"Don't do that! I won't stand it! An' I don't care a damn who that fat party was."

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 gunsheaths softly brushed against his leather

"Soit's truewhat I heard him say?" Lassiter asked, presently halting before her. "You made love to

"Yes," confessed Jane. It took all her woman's courage to meet the gray storm of his glance.

"All these days that you've been so friendly an' like a pardnerall these evenin's that have been so

bewilderin' to meyour beautyan'an' the way you looked an' came close to methey were woman's

"An' your sweetness that seemed so natural, an' your throwin' little Fay an' me so much togetherto make

"Mebbe it wasn't much in your Mormon thinkin', for you to play that game. But to ring the child inthat was

"Lassiter, whatever my intention in the beginning, Fay loves you dearly and II've grown toto like

"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."

"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 stoneblind. Then I hoped you'd love little Fay, and through

"Jane Withersteen, either you're a fool or noble beyond my understandin'. Mebbe you're both. I know you're

"I reckon I'm a human bein', though I never loved any one but my sister, Milly Erne. That was long"

"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 backtrailed myself from women? I was a Texas ranger tilltill Milly left home, an' then I became

somethin' elseLassiter! 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

neversatisfied 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

"Forgive me! I didn't mean to make you love me like that. Oh, what a tangle of our lives! YouMilly Erne's

brother! And Iheedless, mad to melt your heart toward Mormons. Lassiter, I may be wicked but not

"After all, Jane, mebbe you're only blindMormon blind. That only can explain what's close to

"But you're not free. Not free of Mormonism. An' in playin' this game with me you've been unfaithful."

"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' meall to bind my hands an' keep me from snuffin' out Mormon life. It's your

"Is it vileis it blindis it only Mormonism to save human life? No, Lassiter, that's God's law, divine,

"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

Jane shut out the light, and the hands she held over her eyes trembled and quivered against her face.

"Blindyes, 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 heartbutwhy, 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. Gunpackin' 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' today 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

"No timefor a woman!" exclaimed Jane, brokenly. "Oh, Lassiter, I feel helplesslostand don't know

where to turn. If I am blindthenI need some onea friendyou, Lassitermore than ever!"

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

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 servicefor the second time in yearsand though she did not actually suffer there was a deadlock 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 keenedged curiosity to watch

developments. She had a halfformed conviction that her future conductas related to her churchmenwas

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 hera

whisperwhich 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!"

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 lifework for the welfare and happiness of those among whom she

lived, Mormon and Gentile alike. If that secret, intangible power closed its toils 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.

Then might come her ruin. Then might come her fall into black storm. Yet she would rise again, and to the

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

"I left Bells out in the sage," he said, one day at the end of that week. "I must carry water to him."

"I reckon it'll be safer for me to slip through the grove. I've been watched when I rode in from the sage."

"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."

"Well then, just act natural an' talk natural, an' pretty soongive them time to hear uspretend to go over

"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 justifiedagainst 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 anchorcables to hold fast her soul to

righteousness had not been hers in the strange, biased duty that had so exalted and confounded her.

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

Jane shut the door and returned to Lassiter. Standing unsteadily, she put her hand on his arm. She let him see

"I hate to tell you," he replied. By that she knew he had long spared her. "It's begun againthat work in the

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, stonefaced, 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 blindness again!" cried Jane Withersteen. "In my sisters as in me!...O God!"

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.

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.

"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."

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, everfaithful

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 thingsthe 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 creaturesperhaps 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

fourfooted brother. And when Jane gave Jerd the order to keep her favorites trained down to the day it was a

halfconscious admission that presaged a time when she would need her fleet horses.

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.

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 nightwatches. 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.

She had almost lost track of her more outside concerns when early one morning Judkins presented himself

Thin, hard, burnt, bearded, with the dust and sage thick on him, with his leather wristbands shining from

use, and his boots worn through on the stirrup side, he looked the rider of riders. He wore two guns and

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,

"Left him down the slope," answered Judkins. "I footed it in a ways, an' slept last night in the sage. I went to

"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 aginthet 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 myselfanyway, 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 tonight."

"Judkins, take what you want from the storeroom. Lassiter will help you. II can't thank you

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.

"There, Judkins, and understand that I regard it as little for your loyalty. Give what is fair to your boys, and

"Oh...Miss Withersteen!" ejaculated the rider. "I couldn't earn so much inin ten years. It's not rightI

"Judkins, you know I'm a rich woman. I tell you I've few faithful friends. I've fallen upon evil days. God only

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

"Why, son," was Lassiter's reply, "this breakin' of Miss Withersteen may seem bad to you, but it ain't

badyet. Some of these walleyed 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 hellbent."

Jane covered her ears and ran to her own room, and there like caged lioness she paced to and fro till the

The following day, a warm and muggy one threatening rain awhile Jane was resting in the court, a horseman

clattered through he grove and up to the hitchingrack. 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.

"She died free from pain in the end, and she's buriedresting 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 donesaid to her....Miss Withersteen, we can't talk

"I know a great deal. You understand, my lips are shut. But without explanation or excuse I offer my

services. I'm a MormonI hope a good one. Butthere are some things!...It's no use, Miss Withersteen, I

"Miss Withersteen, it's a liberty on my part to speak so, but I know you pretty wellknow you'll never give

in. I wouldn't if I were you. And II mustSomething makes me tell you the worst is yet to come. That's

all. I absolutely can't say more. Will you take me backlet me ride for youshow everybody what I

"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 themtried 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."

"Do it, then. If you're going to make your life a lesson to Mormon women, let me make mine a lesson to the

"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 meshe told me to come back....Will you take me?"

"God bless you, Blake! Yes, I'll take you back. And will youwill you accept gold from me?"

"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 weeksdays 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

"Well, if it pleases you," replied Blake. "But you know I never thought of pay. Now, Miss Withersteen, one

"Yes, but, BlakewhatNeed you see him? Why?" asked Jane, instantly worried. "I can speak to himtell

"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 stepthen his tall form crossed the threshold.

"Lassiter, here's Blake, an old rider of mine. He has come back to me and he wishes to speak to you."

"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 knowwhat you are.

So I've this to say to your face. It would never occur to this woman to imaginelet 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 herto pull a bridle along with

"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

"Blake," interrupted Jane, nervously anxious to terminate a colloquy that she perceived was an ordeal for

"Of course," replied Jane. "My horses are all there, except the blooded stock I keep here."

"They're gone, Miss Withersteen, gone these ten days past. Dorn told me, and I rode down to see for myself."

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

"Dorn said the riders report another drive by Oldring....And I trailed the horses miles down the slope toward

"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. LassiterBlakeam I in danger of losing

"A rustleroror 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.

"Let me take charge of the blacks?" asked Blake. "One more rider won't be any great help to Judkins. But I

"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

When Blake had mounted and ridden out of the court Lassiter regarded Jane with the smile that was

"'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."

"Lassiter, don't tease me now. I'm miserablesick. Bells is fast, but he can't stay with the blacks, and you

"I'll bet that big rawboned brute can more'n show his heels to your black racers. Jane, out there in the sage,

"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

"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

"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....Besidesthings are happenin', an' somethin' of the same queer nature might have happened to

"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

thoughtswell, 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 instanceif I daredif I dared I'd ask you to saddle the

The rider's sunburnt face turned white. A few times Jane had seen Lassiter's cool calm brokenwhen 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 whitenot 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.

"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 youryour feelings. I

thought of you as my faithful friend. I'm always making you out more than human...only, let me sayI

meant thatabout riding away. I'm wretched, sick of thisthisOh, something bitter and black grows on

"Jane, the hellof it," he replied, with deep intake of breath, "is you can't ride away. Mebbe realizin' it

accounts for my grabbin' youthat way, as much as the crazy boy's rapture your words gave me. I don't

"Tell me all. It's uncertainty that makes me a coward. It's faith and hopeblind love, if you will, that makes

me miserable. Every day I awake believingstill believing. The day grows, and with it doubts, fears, and

that black bat hate that bites hotter and hotter into my heart. Then comes nightI prayI pray for all, and

for myselfI sleepand I awake free once more, trustful, faithful, to believeto 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

"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' beehive of mysterious happenin's. Jane, it ain't so much that these soles 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 leftyour home en' ranchen' 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

"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

"What does it mean? Oh, what does it mean? I am my father's daughtera Mormon, yet I can't see! I've not

failed in religionin 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

"But, Lassiter, I would give freelyall I own to avert thisthis wretched thing. If I gavethat would leave

me with faith still. Surely mymy churchmen think of my soul? If I lose my trust in them"

"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 morethen 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

In his hidden valley Venters awakened from sleep, and his ears rang with innumerable melodies from

fullthroated 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

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 mockingbirds. 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

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

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

cliffdwellers there were peace and quiet and solitude, and another thing, wondrous as the golden morning

The solitude he had hated when alone he had now come to love. He was assimilating something from this

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 cloudsails 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 seldomoccurring hollow crack of a sliding

"Run? He's a demon. Swiftest horse on the sage! I hope he'll stay in that canyon.

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, openmouthed and solemneyed 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. Today a soaring eagle

"She's at the nest. It's on the bridge in a crack near the top. I see her often. She's almost white."

They wandered on down the terrace, into the shady, sunflecked 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

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,

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

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

"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

wellsatisfying. Light, surefooted 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.

Part of the time Ring and Whitie led the way, then Venters, then Bess; and the direction was not an object.

They left the sunstreaked 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.

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 paddlelike tails, and, glossy and shiny in the sun, to

go on with their strange, persistent industry. They were the builders. The lake was a mudhole, and the

immediate environment a scarred and dead region, but it was a wonderful home of wonderful animals.

"Look at that onehe 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?"

Then Venters and Bess wandered farther, and, perhaps not all unconsciously this time, wended their slow

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 windturned leaves brightfaced 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 longcoming hollow sound to rise. They peeped into the little globular houses, like mudwasp

nests, and wondered if these had been storeplaces 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.

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 shockcould not in

"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 peopleknow how they livebut 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 cliffdwellers?

We're alone here. I'm happy when I don't think. Thesethese bones that fly into dustthey 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

"Bess, you ask more than I can tell. It's beyond me. Only there was laughter here onceand now there's

silence. There was lifeand now there's death. Men cut these little steps, made these arrowheads and

mealingstones, 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 today. Maybe we're higher in the scale of human

beingsin intelligence. But who knows? We can't be any higher in the things for which life is lived at all."

"Yes. Love of man for womanlove of woman for man. That's the nature, the meaning, the best of life

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.

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

"Bess, I haven't seen that since last summer. Look!" said Venters, pointing to the scalloped edge of rolling

"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 canyons. And in this little valleywhy, echoes

"I know. But that hasn't anything to do with it. The truth is I'm afraid of lightning and thunder, and

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 darkpurple clouds

"Bern, can't you think of another new way to cook rabbit?" went on Bess, with earnestness.

There was a darkblue, merry flashing of eyes and a parting of lips; then she laughed. In that moment she

"Rabbit seems to agree with you," replied Venters. "You are well and strongand growing very pretty."

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

"I'd better go right away," he continued, "and fetch supplies from Cottonwoods."

A startlingly swift change in the nature of her agitation made him reproach himself for his abruptness.

"No, no, don't go!" she said. "I didn't meanthat about the rabbit. II was only trying to befunny. Don't

The purple cloudbank darkened the lower edge of the setting sun, crept up and up, obscuring its fiery red

"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."

Venters and Bess finished their simple meal and the few tasks around the camp, then faced the open terrace,

It required keen vision to see any movement whatever in the purple clouds. By infinitesimal degrees the dark

cloudline merged upward into the goldenred 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 spearpointed 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,

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

The night bird of the canyon, 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

"I tell you a storm down in these canyons 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."

"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."

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

The last bit of blue sky yielded to the onsweep 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.

"Listen!...Listen!" cried Bess, with her lips close to Venters's ear. "You'll hear Oldring's knell!"

"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.

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

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

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 bluewhite, 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 againblacker than pitcha thick,

impenetrable coalblackness. 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.

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.

Bess shrank closer to him and closer, found his hands, and pressed them tightly over her ears, and dropped

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

Venters looked out upon the beautiful valleybeautiful now as never beforemystic 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 cliffdwellers 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 recrashing

echoes, mingled with the roar of the flooding rain, and all seemingly were deadened and drowned in a world

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 heartbeat of a woman. By

what strange chance had she come to love him! By what changeby what marvel had she grown into a

No more did he listen to the rush and roar of the thunderstorm. For with the touch of clinging hands and the

throbbing bosom he grew conscious of an inward stormthe 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 breasta storm of real love.

When the storm abated Venters sought his own cave, and late in the night, as his blood cooled and the stir and

With the breaking of dawn his eyes unclosed. The valley lay drenched and bathed, a burnished oval of

glittering green. The rainwashed 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.

"I'll tell you some day," he answered, soberly. Then around the campfire 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.

Aloud he spokeunburdened his heartconfessed his secret. For an instant the golden valley swam before

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 valleyand love. Under the shadow of the great stone bridge God had revealed Himself to

"The world seems very far away," he muttered, "but it's thereand I'm not yet done with it. Perhaps I never

shall be....Onlyhow glorious it would be to live here always and never think again!"

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

"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 knifeedge of entering jealousy. Strong

and passionate effort of will, surprising to him, held back the poison from piercing his soul.

"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 strangeso wonderful. Anything can happen. Who am I to judge her? I'll glory in my love

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 sweetshe 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 rustlershe feared the

ridershe 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

"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

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 faroff thingstidings of life in other climes, of

sunshine asleep on other wallsof other places where reigned peace. It carried, too, sad truth of human

hearts and mysteryof 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

"How much better I am for what has come to me!" he exclaimed. "I'll let the future take care of itself.

Venters retraced his steps along the terrace back to camp, and found Bess in the old familiar seat, waiting and

"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

"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.

"Oh, I want to see himto ride him. Butbut, Bern, this is what troubles me," she said. "Willwill you

"Give me four days. If I'm not back in four days you'll know I'm dead. For that only shall keep me."

"Bess, I'll come back. There's dangerI wouldn't lie to youbut I can take care of myself."

"Bern, I'm sureoh, 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 notnot that Ifear."

"I won't change my mind. As for old friends" He uttered a short, expressive laugh.

"Thentherethere must be aa 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.

"Besslook here," said Venters, with a sharpness due to the violence with which he checked his quick,

As if compelled against her willanswering to an irresistible voice Bess raised her head, looked at him

"There's no woman," went on Venters, deliberately holding her glance with his. "Nothing on earth, barring

Her face flashed and flushed with the glow of a leaping joy; but like the vanishing of a gleam it disappeared

"Do you want me to come back?" he asked, with sudden stern coldness. "Maybe you want to go back to

That brought her erect, trembling and ashy pale, with dark, proud eyes and mute lips refuting his insinuation.

"Bess, I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have said that. But you angered me. I intend to workto make a home

for you hereto be aa brother to you as long as ever you need me. And you must forget what you are

wereI mean, and be happy. When you remember that old life you are bitter, and it hurts me."

"I was happyI shall be very happy. Oh, you're so good thatthat it kills me! If I think, I can't believe it. I

grow sick with wondering why. I'm only a let me say itonly a lost, namelessgirl of the rustlers. Oldring's

Girl, they called me. That you should save mebe so good and kindwant to make me happywhy, it's

beyond belief. No wonder I'm wretched at the thought of your leaving me. But I'll be wretched and bitter no

"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

thatfeel that in you every moment you are near me. I've a mother and a sister 'way back in Illinois. If I

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 morea spirit rising from

"I've been thinkingtoo," she cried, with quivering smile and swelling breast. "I've discovered myselftoo.

"Bess, I believe I can claim credit of that last discoverybefore you," Venters said, and laughed.

"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."

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 yeardry 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 leafbright forest to shine

Venters walked with Bess, once more in a dream, and watched the lights change on the walls, and faced the

Always it brought softly to him strange, sweet tidings of faroff 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

tidingsyouth 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

laneseverywhere in faroff lands, fingers locked and bursting hearts and longing lipsfrom all the world

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 naturestrong

vision of life. All tidings the west wind blew from distance and age he found deep in those darkblue depths,

and found them mysteries solved. Under their wistful shadow he softened, and in the softening felt himself

While the west wind blew its tidings, filling his heart full, teaching him a man's part, the days passed, the

"I'm glad the time has come. It dragged at me. Gofor you'll come back the sooner."

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 closedin, toppling walls.

"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 asas if the place was watching me."

"Look at this rock. It's balanced herebalanced perfectly. You know I told you the cliffdwellers cut the

rock, and why. But they're gone and the rock waits. Can't you seefeel 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

"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

"Bess!...You can't dare me! Wait till I come back with supplies then roll the stone."

"Iwasinfun." Her voice now throbbed low. "Always you must be free to go when you will. Go

"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.

"I've faith in you. I'll not worry until after four days. Only because you mightn't comeI must tell you"

She lost her voice. Her pale face, her great, glowing, earnest eyes, seemed to stand alone out of the gloom of

"I must tell youbecause you mightn't come back," she whispered. "You must know whatwhat I think of

your goodnessof you. Always I've been tonguetied. I seemed not to be grateful. It was deep in my heart.

Even nowif I were other than I amI couldn't tell you. But I'm nothingonly a rustler's

girlnamelessinfamous. You've saved me and I'mI'm yours to do with as you like....With all my

In the cloudy, threatening, waning summer days shadows lengthened down the sageslope, and Jane

Withersteen likened them to the shadows gathering and closing in around her life.

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 motherlonging 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,

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 longdeferred 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 alland 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.

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 grovespies taking

snapshots 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 probableit 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 Mormonslaid 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.

That moment a rustling of leaves attracted her attention; then the familiar clinking accompaniment of a slow,

"Jane, there's a fellow out there with a long gun," he said, and, removing his sombrero, showed his head

"I heard the shot; I knew it was meant for you. Let me seeyou can't be badly injured?"

"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.

"It's only a cut," said Jane. "But how it bleeds! Hold your scarf over it just a moment till I come back."

She ran into the house and returned with bandages; and while she bathed and dressed the wound Lassiter

"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

"Won't you go awayleave Cottonwoods as I've begged you tobefore some one does happen to hit you?"

"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

"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."

"Have you no desire to hunt the man who fired at youto find himand and kill him?"

"Oh, the wonder of it!...I knewI prayedI trusted. Lassiter, I almost gaveall myself to soften you to

Mormons. Thank God, and thank you, my friend....But, selfish woman that ] 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 whoI

He rose noiselessly, with his ear to the breeze. Suddenly he pulled his sombrero down over his bandaged

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 hardpacked ground of the grove. It became a

ringing runswift in its belllike clatterings, yet singular in longer pause than usual between the hoofbeats

"It's Wrangle!...It's Wrangle!" cried Jane Withersteen. "I'd know him from a million horses!"

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 reddishbrown flashes across the openings in the green. Then he was

pounding down the lanethundering into the courtcrashing his great ironshod hoofs on the stone flags.

Wrangle it was surely, but shaggy and wildeyed, and sagestreaked, with dustcaked 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

"Whoa, Wrangle, old boy! Come down. Easy now. Sososo. You re home, old boy, and presently you

In the voice Jane knew the rider to be Venters. He tied Wrangle to the hitchingrack and turned to the court.

Like rough iron his hard hand crushed Jane's. In it she felt the difference she saw in him. Wild, rugged,

unshornyet how splendid! He had gone away a boyhe had returned a man. He appeared taller, wider of

shoulder, deeperchested, more powerfully built. But was that only her fancyhe had always been a young

giantwas 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 eyeswere they keener, more flashing than before?met hers

with clear, frank, warm regard, in which perplexity was not, nor discontent, nor pain.

"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,

Briefly, in few words, Jane outlined the circumstances of her undoing in the weeks of his absence.

No time in the long period of fiery moments and sudden shocks had Jane Withersteen ever beheld Lassiter as

"Jane had gloom enough without my addin' to it by shootin' up the village," he said.

As strange as Lassiter's coolness was Venters's curious, intent scrutiny of them both, and under it Jane felt a

"Wellyou're right," he said, with slow pause. "It surprises me a little, that's all."

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

Venters was speaking somewhat haltingly, without his former frankness. "I found Oldring's hidingplace and

your red herd. I learnedI 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."

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

wellnay, more, she thought, only her emotions were deadened by the long, menacing wait for the bursting

Once before she had held out her hand to himwhen 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.

"Somewomenhave a hard lot," he said, huskily. Then he shook his powerful form, and his rags lashed

"I promise you this," he interrupted, in stern passion that thrilled while it terrorized her. "If you say one more

Jane clasped her hands. Was this fireeyed man the one whom she had once made as wax to her touch? Had

"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 youthe 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?"

"Assuredly. The more you take the better you'll please meand perhaps the less mymy enemies will get."

"Mebbe that wouldn't be best. You'd sure be stopped. You'd better go early in the mornin'say, just after

"Bern," said Jane, "go first to the riders' quarters and get yourself a complete outfit. You're aa sight. Then

help yourself to whatever else you needburros, packs, grain, dried fruits, and meat. You must take coffee

and sugar and flourall kinds of supplies. Don't forget corn and seeds. I remember how you used to starve.

Pleaseplease 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!"

Jane walked down into the outer court and approached the sorrel. Upstarting, he laid back his ears and eyed

"Wrangledear old Wrangle," she said, and put a caressing hand on his matted mane. "Oh, he's wild, but he

"Run? Jane, he's done sixty miles since last night at dark, and I could make him kill Black Star right now in a

"I reckon mebbe the best hoss'll prove himself yet," said Lassiter, "an', Jane, if it ever comes to that race I'd

"I'd like that, too," rejoined Venters. "But, Jane, maybe Lassiter's hint is extreme. Bad as your prospects are,

"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

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 friendshipthat was more than loveit 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 womannot 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.

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.

"I reckon," replied Lassiter. "An' it's cooler here. The day's sure muggy. Well, I went down to the village with

"He's at the corrals. Blake's helpin' him get the burros an' packs ready. That Blake is a good fellow."

"Tell me! Oh, you exasperate me! You're so cool, so calm! For Heaven's sake, tell me what happened!"

"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 mostthe actions of many fellers we met, or

Venters's nerve. Jane, I was downright glad to be along. You see that 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

"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 importantlookin' men, en' that little froglegged 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

"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

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

"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

"Next he spoke up for you. I ain't goin' to tell you what he said. Onlyno other woman who ever lived ever

had such tribute! You had a champion, Jane, an' never fear that those thickskulled 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 froglegged 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 Tullcalled 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' Godfearin' women as

Jane Withersteen. He called Tull a binder of women, a callous beast who hid behind a mock mantle of

righteousnessan' the last an' lowest coward on the face of the earth. To prey on weak women through their

"Then he finished, an' by this time he'd almost lost his voice. But his whisper was enough. 'Tull,' he said, 'she

begged me not to draw on you today. She would pray for you if you burned her at the stake....But listen!...I

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? Overmounting 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

liveto fight. It was a kind of mad joy in Venters's chivalry. It was close to the wrath that had first shaken

"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

thisnothin' ever rang in my soul an' so filled it as what Venters did. I'd like to have done it, butI'm only

good for throwin' a gun, en' it seems you hate that....Well, I'll be goin' now."

"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

"Tell Bern to come for the pack I want to give himandand to say goodby," called Jane, as Lassiter

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

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 goodby; he

kissed her, released her, and turned away. His tall figure blurred in her sight, grew dim through dark, streaked

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 viselike hold on her faculties apparently did not relax for a long time, and it was a

"It's all right. Venters got away. I thought mebbe you'd heard that shot, en' I was worried some."

"Wellsome fool feller tried to stop Venters out there in the sagean' 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

"An' another thing, Jane," he continued, then paused for long"another thingif you ain't here when I

"My dear Lassiter, where could I be goneas you put it?" asked Jane, in curious surprise.

"I reckon you might be somewhere. Mebbe tied in an old barnor corralled in some gulchor chained in a

cave! Milly Erne wastill she give in! Mebbe that's news to you....Well, if you're gone I'll hunt for you."

"No, Lassiter," she replied, sadly and low. "If I'm gone just forget the unhappy woman whose blinded selfish

She heard a deep, muttering curse, under his breath, and then the silvery tinkling of his spurs as he moved

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 dustcovered figure and his darkly grim, almost dazed expression

"Miss Withersteen, I have to reportloss of thewhite herd," said Judkins, hoarsely.

"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.

"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."

"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' tiptop 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 agoin' 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 thin. They was thin when water and grass was everywhere. Thin

at this seasonthet'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 coyotewith an oiled an' blazin' tail! Fer I shot it an'

found out. We had hell with the herd that night, an' if the sage an' grass hadn't been wetwe, 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

"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 amillin'. 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 levelfull of dead steers. Finally I saw the herd was makin' to pass

a kind of low pocket between ridges. There was a hogbackas we used to call 'ema 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

"The other three boysJimmy Vail, Joe Willis, an' thet little Cairns boya 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 washthet 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' Willistwo 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."

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 confessthe 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

When his soft steps clinked into the hall, in answer to her greeting, and his tall, blackgarbed 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 fallenhow broken and spiritless must she beto have

still the same old horror of Lassiter's guns and his name, yet feel somehow a cold, shrinking protection in

"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."

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

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

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

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.

Without a word he led her across the wide yard to the rise of the ground upon which the stable stood.

Jane glanced down, and again, and upon steadier vision made out splotches of blood on the stones, and broad,

"I reckon somebody has dragged dead or wounded men out to where there was hosses in the sage."

His hands were gently holding hers, and his eyessuddenly she could no longer look into them. "Strong?"

Up on the stoneflag drive, nicked with the marks made by the ironshod hoofs of her racers, Lassiter led

"I don't know where Jerb is. Bolted, most likely," replied Lassiter, as he took her through the stone door. "But

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.

Outstretched upon the stable floor lay Blake, ghastly whitedeadone hand clutching a gun and the other

"Whoever the thieves were, whether your people or rustlersBlake killed some of them!" said Lassiter.

The first stallBells's stallwas empty. All the stalls were empty. No racer whinnied and stamped greeting

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,

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

Upon the last of these trips, when he was some distance down the terrace and out of sight of camp, he heard a

For an instant he straightened up, amazed. Danger for her had been absolutely out of his mind. She had seen a

rattlesnakeor 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 whitefaced girl. By that time

"Hello, Venters! I'm makin' you a visit," said Lassiter, slowly. "An' I'm some surprised to see you've aa

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 suntinted hair and darkened, dilated eyes, the

"Heavens! Lassiter!" panted Venters, when he caught his breath. "What reliefit's only you! Howin the

"I trailed you. WeI wanted to know where you was, if you had a safe place. So I trailed you."

"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

"I tied him in them queer cedars down on the slope. He can't be seen from the valley."

"That's good. Well, well! I'm completely dumfounded. It was my idea that no man could track me in here."

"I reckon. But if there's a tracker in these uplands as good as me he can find you."

"That's bad. That'll worry me. But, Lassiter, now you're here I'm glad to see you. Andand my companion

here is not a young fellow!...Bess, this is a friend of mine. He saved my life once."

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

"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 queerlookin' rock at the top of the passage. I didn't have time to

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 goodby 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.

Then Lassiter put a great hand on Venters's shoulder and wheeled him to meet a smoldering fire of gray eyes.

"Lassiter, I couldn't tell Jane! I couldn't," burst out Venters, reading his friend's mind. "I tried. But I couldn't.

"Venters, I reckon this beats me. I've seen some queer things in my time, too. This girlwho is she?"

"I don't know that, either. Oh, it's the strangest story you ever heard. I must tell you. But you'll never believe."

"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?"

"I reckoned so. Mebbe my temper oughtn't led me to make sure. But, man, she's a woman in all but years.

"Lassiter, I know, I know. And the hell of it is that in spite of her innocence and charm she'sshe's not what

"I wouldn't want toof course, I couldn't call you a liar, Venters," said the older man.

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

"Son, tell me all about this," presently said Lassiter as he seated himself on a stone and wiped his moist brow.

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

"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

"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 allwise an' allwonderful. That's 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

"Lassiter, if I ever meet Oldring I'll kill him!" cried Venters, with sudden intensity.

"Sure, sure, son. Cool down now. If you're goin' to begin pullin' guns on Tull an' Oldin' you want to be cool. I

"I reckon not. But I wouldn't be afraid to bet that after she'd got over anger at your secrecyVenters, 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

In the further ascent Venters halted several times with the intention of saying goodby, 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.

"Hold on!" cried Venters. "I heaved at it once and have never gotten over my scare."

"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? Honesteven 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?"

"You'd close the outlet forever!" exclaimed Venters. "Well, goodby, Lassiter. Keep my secret and don't

forget me. And be mighty careful how you get out of the valley below. The rustlers' canyon isn't more than

three miles up the Pass. Now you've tracked me here, I'll never feel safe again."

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

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 wellmeaning friend, had not

only dispelled all its dream and much of its charm, but had instilled a canker of fear. Both had seen the

Venters did no more work that day. Sunset and twilight gave way to night, and the canyon bird whistled its

melancholy notes, and the wind sang softly in the cliffs, and the campfire 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

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 mindwhy 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

meshowing his teeth!" muttered Venters, scornfully. "I'll just kill him good and quick! I'll be fair to this

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

Venters took hold of her gently, though masterfully, forced her to meet his eyes.

"You can't look at me and lie," he said. "Nowwhat's wrong with you? You're keeping something from me.

"OhI have 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 backgloating over it. But when Lassiter came I got an ideathat

"Yesyes. I was coming to it. I tried yesterday, but you were so cold. I was afraid. I couldn't keep it much

"You needn't laugh," she retorted, with a first glimpse of reviving spirit. "I can take the laugh out of you in

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.

"I imagine you lounged about, waiting and watching for me," he replied, smiling. "I've my share of conceit,

"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,

"Fooling? Look here!" With deft fingers she spread open the black scarf, and the bright sun shone upon a

"Yes, gold! See, pounds of gold! I found itwashed it out of the streampicked it out grain by grain,

For a long minute Venters gazed. Then he stretched forth a hand to feel if the gold was real.

"Gold!" he almost shouted. "Bess, there are hundredsthousands of dollars' worth here!"

"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 forfor a fortune for you."

"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

"Notnot altogether." Bess lowered her head. "It was because I knew you'd never stay here long after you

"Listen!...You great, simple child! Listen...You sweet, wonderful, wild, blueeyed girl! I was tortured by my

secret. It was that I knew wewe must leave the valley. We can't stay here much longer. I couldn't think

how we'd get awayout of the countryor 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. Now! We've

gold! Once beyond Sterling, well be safe from rustlers. We've no others to fear.

"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 awayfar 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 forgottenas if they had never been. This is how much I'd leave you here aloneyou sadeyed

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 mana man

you've madeno more a beggar!...Kiss me! This is how much I'd leave you here aloneyou beautiful,

strange, unhappy girl. But I'll make you happy. Whatwhat do I care foryour past! I love you! I'll take

you home to Illinoisto my mother. Then I'll take you to far places. I'll make up all you've lost. Oh, I know

you love meknew it before you told me. And it changed my life. And you'll go with me, not as my

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 posthaste 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

"Hard! Well, I should think so," replied Venters. "Maybein years" But he did not complete in words his

thought that might be possible to return after many years of absence and change.

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

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 hidingplace in the split of canyon 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.

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

"You wild devil," said Venters, as he slowly pulled Wrangle up. "Don't you know me? Come nowold

Wrangle yielded to the lasso and then to Venters's strong hand. He was as straggly and wildlooking 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 canyon, then he was in the saddle, riding south.

Wrangle's long, swinging canter was a wonderful groundgainer. 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

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 sagelevel. 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

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

"What's wrong, old boy?" called Venters, looking down for a loose shoe or a snake or a foot lamed by a

pickedup 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 dustclouded, dark group of

horsemen riding down the slope. If they had seen him, it apparently made no difference in their speed or

"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 sagebrush. 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

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

Then he heard shouts, and the hard scrape of sliding hoofs, and saw horses rear and plunge back with

upflung 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

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

The band had scattered so as not to afford such a broad mark for bullets. The riders faced Venters, some with

redbelching guns. He heard a sharper report, and just as Wrangle plunged again he caught the whim 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.

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 strangeappearing 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 riflea burdensome weapon seldom carried by rustlers or

Suddenly Venters discovered that one of the two men last noted was riding Jane Withersteen's horse

Bellsthe beautiful bay racer she had given to Lassiter. Venters uttered a savage outcry. Then the small,

wiry, froglike shape of the second rider, and the ease and grace of his seat in the saddlethings so

It was indeed Tull's righthand man. Such a white hot wrath inflamed Venters that he fought himself to see

"It's Jerry Card!" he exclaimed, instantly. "And he's riding Black Star and leading Night!"

The longkindling, 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 hardpacked 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

"Wrangle, the race's on," said Venters, grimly. "We'll canter with them and gallop with them and run with

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 thenthe thing rife in him that was note hate, but something as remorselessmight have been the fiery

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 blacksthat 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 oncoming 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

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

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

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 farsightedness. 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 trailand the last thing such men would do would be to leave itthey were

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

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 surerfooted 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

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 skunkbitten coyotes, but also he had restraint enough to keep from shooting one of Jane's beloved

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 lowplaced 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 halferect 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.

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

In his mind perhaps, as certainly as in Venters's, this moment was the beginning of the real race.

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 coldblooded 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

So, with his passion to kill still keen and unabated, Venters lived out that ride, and drank a rider's sagesweet

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.

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 righthand side of the trail. The racer was now on the side to the left.

Noit 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.

"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.

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 callthe sudden upflashing instinct of

selfpreservationwould he lose his skill and judgment and nerve and the spirit of that race. Venters seemed

to read Jerry's mind. That little crimestained 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

For the distance of a mile Jerry rode Black Star and then changed back to Night. But all Jerry's skill and the

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

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

Only a hundred yards now stretched between Black Star and Wrangle. The giant sorrel thundered onand

onand 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 wonand 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 ononon! 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.

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

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

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

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 canyon where the cattle trail must surely turn off and

He was very near to the ragged edge of a deep canyon into which the trail turned. The ground lay in uneven

ridges divided by washes, and these sloped into the canyon. Following the canyon line, he saw where its rim

was broken by other intersecting canyons, 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 stonewalled 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

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

The sorrel had wandered off down the sage between the trail and the canyon. 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

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

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 canyons gleamed crimson and the deep clefts appeared to belch forth

It was broken by a horrid, longdrawn scream of a horse and the thudding of heavy hoofs. Venters sprang

erect and wheeled south. Along the canyon rim, near the edge, came Wrangle, once more in thundering flight.

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 froglike 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

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 halfbrute, the more than halfhorse 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

"NoJerry!" whispered Venters, stepping forward and throwing up the rifle. He tried to catch the little

humped, froglike 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!

With a deepmuttered 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 canyon rim. And he whirled downward with the little froglike shape

Then up rolled a heavy crash, a long roar of sliding rocks dying away in distant echo, then silence unbroken.

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,

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 archplotter'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 morehe 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 Wrangleall 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.

He walked the three racers down the broad, greenbordered 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 welltrimmed 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 vineclad stone house. In the music of the singing

birds, in the murmur of the running water, he heard an ominous sound. Quiet beautysweet

musicinnocent laughter! By what monstrous abortion of fate did these abide in the shadow of Dyer?

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;

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.

Venters's glance swept down the line of silent stonefaced 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 characteristicsmasked

feelingstrange secretivenessexpressionless expression of mystery and hidden power.

In reply there came not a word, not a nod or shake of head, not so much as dropping eye or twitching

"Been under the knife? You've a fine knifewielder hereone Tull, I believe!...Maybe you've all had your

This passionate sarcasm of Venters brought no response, and the stony calm was as oil on the fire within him.

"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 will never return!"

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.

"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 waywith them hossestalkie' thet way about Tull en' Jerry Card."

"Mad, 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

Judkins mounted Bells and rode with Venters up to the cottonwood grove. Here they dismounted and went

"Let's hear from you first," said Judkins. "You fetched back them hosses. Thet is the trick. An', of course, you

"Sure. He was found dead yesterday all chewed by coyotes, en' he'd been shot plumb center."

"At the split down the trailyou know where Oldring's cattle trail runs off north from the trail to the pass."

"That's where I met Jerry and the rustlers. What was Horne doing with them? I thought Horne was an honest

Venters told of the fight and the race with Jerry Card and its tragic conclusion.

"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 goodby to the grandest hoss an' rider ever on the sage!...But, Bern, after you got the hosses

"You can't get near Tull," interrupted Judkins. "Thet vigilante bunch hev taken to bein' bodyguard for Tull an'

"Naw!" replied Judkins, scornfully. "Jane turned his head. He's mad in love over herfollers 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

"Jud, I'll bet he does," replied Venters, earnestly. "Remember what I say. This Lassiter is something more

than a gunman. Jud, he's bighe's great!...I feel that in him. God help Tull and Dyer when Lassiter does go

"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 blackblack, 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'."

"Oldring!" whispered Venters. His voice, as all fire and pulse within him, seemed to freeze.

"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 scared 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 gunhilts 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 rustleryou

know he's as broad as he is long, an' the powerfulest build of a manyes, 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 icetill 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' handsmind you, shakin' hands with

Oldrin'he went out. I couldn't help thinkin' how easy even a boy could hev dropped the great gunman

then!...Wal, the rustler stood at the bar fer a long time, en' he was seein' things far off, too; then he come to

"Is Oldring here now?" whispered Venters. He could not speak above a whisper. Judkins's story had been

"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, hardridin' devil. Ride! He was most as

"Judkins, you're a good fellow," interrupted Venters. "Some day I'll tell you a story. I've no time now. Take

Judkins stared, and then, muttering to himself, he mounted Bells, and stared again at Venters, and then,

Once, long before, on the night Venters had carried Bess through the canyon 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

gunsheaths. 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 downall

cleanlimbed, dark bays or blacksrustlers' 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.

With the sight of smokehazed room and drinking, cursing, gambling, darkvisaged men, reality once more

His entrance had been unnoticed, and he bent his gaze upon the drinkers at the bar. Darkclothed, darkfaced

men they all were, burned by the sun, bowlegged 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 hardfeatured gamesters, to alight

That silence suddenly broke to the scrape and crash of Oldring's chair as he rose; and then, while he passed, a

Oldring kicked a chair out of his way and lunged forward with a stamp of heavy boot that jarred the floor. He

Venters backed out of the door and waited, hearing, as no sound had ever before struck into his soul, the

Oldring appeared, and Venters had one glimpse of his great breadth and bulk, his goldbuckled belt with

hanging guns, his hightop 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.

"Oldring, Bess is alive! But she's dead to youdead to the life you made her leaddead as you will be in

Swift as lightning Venters's glance dropped from Oldring's rolling eyes to his hands. One of them, the right,

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

"Manwhydidn'tyouwait? Besswas" Oldring's whisper died under his beard, and with a heavy

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

He went into the corral, exercising care to leave no tracks, and led the burro to the wateringtrough. Venters,

though not thirsty, drank till he could drink no more. Then, leading the burro over hard ground, he struck into

He strode swiftly, turning from time to time to scan the slope for riders. His head just topped the level of

sagebrush, and the burro could not have been seen at all. Slowly the green of Cottonwoods sank behind the

To avoid being seen, to get away, to hide his trailthese 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

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

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

He felt only vaguely, as outside things, the ache and burn and throb of the muscles of his body. But a

dammedup 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

iceshod feet, ranged his being, ran rioting through his blood, trampling the resurging good, dragging ever at

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 manOldring! 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 darkvisaged men, the huge Oldring. He saw him step out of the

door, a splendid specimen of manhood, a handsome giant with purpleblack and sweeping beard. He

remembered inquisitive gaze of falcon eyes. He heard himself repeating: "OLDRING, BESS IS ALIVE!

BUT SHE'S DEAD TO YOU," 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 himthat awful light in the eyesonly

the harddying life of a tremendously powerful brute? A broken whisper, strange as death:

"I killed him," cried Venters, in remembering shock. "But it wasn't THAT. Ah, the look in his eyes and his

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 surprisesoftnesslove! 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

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 wasHerein 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,

blackcrowned giantby 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.

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 knewhe 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.

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

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

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 mockingbirds 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.

"Bern! You're back! You're back!" she cried, in joy that rang of her loneliness.

She had reached out for him when suddenly, as she saw him closely, something checked her, and as quickly

"A good deal has happened, Bess. I don't need to tell you what. And I'm played out. Worn out in mind more

"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

"Truth about me?" echoed Bess, shrinkingly. She seemed to be casting back into her mind for a forgotten key.

"Yesthe 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 sweetsweeter to us. We'll bebe married as soon as ever we can. We'll be

happybut 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

"How can you tell it so lightly?" cried Venters, passionately. "Haven't you any sense ofof" 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 darkblue eyes. They were shadowing with the old wistful light, hut 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.

Venters slowly let go of her. There was a violent break in the force of his feelingthen creeping blankness.

"It is my shame," she said, with voice deep and full, and now the scarlet fired her cheek. "I told youI'm

"I knowI remember. But I never thought" he went on, hurriedly, huskily. "That timewhen you lay

She looked up with a faint smile of bewilderment and the absolute unconsciousness of a child. Venters

"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 secretpart of the mystery. That was the wonderful truth. Not only was she not

bad, but good, pure, innocent above all innocence in the worldthe innocence of lonely girlhood.

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 voicesgunshots of conscience, thunderbolts

of remorsedinned horribly in his ears. He had killed Bess's father. Then a rushing wind filled his ears like a

He dropped to his knees and hid his face against Bess, and grasped her with the hands of a drowning man.

"My God!...My God!...Oh, Bess!...Forgive me! Never mind what I've donewhat 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 knowto remember that I fought a fight for youhowever blind I was. I thoughtI

thoughtnever mind what I thoughtbut I loved youI asked you to marry me. Let thatlet 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

"Bern, you're weaktremblingyou 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!"

And she clasped his head tenderly in her arms and pressed it closely to her throbbing breast.

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

Jane Withersteen laughed, and for the first time in many a day she felt a stir of her pulse and warmth in her

It was a still drowsy summer of afternoon, and the three were sitting in the shade of the wooded knoll that

faced the sageslope Little Fay's brief spell of unhappy longing for her motherthe childish, mystic

gloomhad passed, and now where Fay was there were prattle and laughter and glee. She had emerged Iron

sorrow to be the incarnation of joy and loveliness. She had growl supernaturally sweet and beautiful. For Jane

Withersteen the child was an answer to prayer, a blessing, a possession infinitely more precious than all she

Of the thousands of questions put by little Fay to Lassiter the was the first he had been unable to answer.

"Because," replied Jane. And she found it strangely embarrassing to meet the child's gaze. It seemed to her

"Dear childrun and play," said Jane, "but don't go too far. Don't go from this little hill."

Fay pranced off wildly, joyous over freedom that had not been granted her for weeks.

"I reckon so. Little Fay thereshe 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."

"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' toto

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

"Lassiter, you're right. A child should be told the absolute truth. Butis 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. Andand

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."

"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 youthat

you'll come out of it all a finer woman. I'm waitin', too. An' I'm wonderin'I reckon, Jane, that marriage

"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 youyou are

"What was it you said? Habit of years is strong as life itself! You can't change the one habitthe purpose of

your life. For you still pack those black guns! You still nurse your passion for blood."

"Lassiter, I lied to you. But I beg of youdon't you lie to me. I've great respect for you. I believe you're

softened toward most, perhaps all, my people exceptBut when I speak of your purpose, your hate, your

For answer he unbuckled the heavy cartridgebelt, and laid it with the heavy, swing gunsheaths in her lap.

"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 motiverefusal to

see this man called craven by his enemiesshe rose, and with blundering fingers buckled the belt round his

"Come with me out of Utahwhere 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

"No, no, Lassiter. I'll never leave Utah. What would I do in the world with my broken fortunes and my

"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 manany mancan be

better 'n he was. If we left Utah I could proveI 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 lovelove

of religion an' duty an' churchmen, an' riders an' poor families an' poor children! Yet you can't see what love

ishow it changes a person!...Listen, an' in tellin' you Milly Erne's story I'll show you how love changed

"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 blueblack when she was

excited, an' beautiful all the time. You remember Milly's eyes! An' she had lightbrown hair with streaks of

"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.

"Soon after that I left homeit seems Milly was the only one who could keep me homean' 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 modestlike

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

"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 afraid to talk. So I had to pick up whet 'd happened

"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 cattleman between Sundays.

"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 'peered 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

preachercalled him, well, almost as hard as Venters called Tull here sometime back. An' Frank followed

"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 neighborslivin' a little out of townbut those who was nearest said a

wagon had gone by in the night, an' they though 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.

"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 couldn't 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 without a woman. I backtrailed 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.

"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 naturallike he begged me to give up the trail. But he wouldn't explain. So I let him alone, an' watched

"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 'peered 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 themHurd,

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

"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

"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'sfire in substance. This time I left him some incapacitated for any more skunk work short of hell. Then I

"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,

"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 classor God knows whatwould 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.

"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 gunman. An' that suited me. In all this time signs of

the proselyter an' the giant with the blueice 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

"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!"

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,

"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'"

"I seen in your face that Dyer, now a bishop, was the proselyter who ruined Milly Erne."

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

"Stop! You'd perjure yourself! But I'll spare you that. You poor woman! Still blind! Still faithful!...Listen. I

"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

"Because youoh, because you love me?...Eighteen years! You were that terrible Lassiter! And

"Oh, you'll make me love you! How can I help but love you? My heart must be stone. Butoh, 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 Godsome Godstill lives. By it I see happier times for you, poor passionswayed wanderer! For

mea miserable, broken woman. I loved your sister Milly. I will love you. I can't have fallen so lowI

can't be so abandoned by Godthat 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 youif you are at my deathbed, but I can't

Jane leaned against him, as if some pentup 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.

"Where's Fay?" asked Jane, hurriedly glancing round the shady knoll. The brighthaired child, who had

No answering shout of glee. No patter of flying feet. Jane saw Lassiter stiffen.

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?

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

"SeeFay played here lasta 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 grasshopperthere's a tombstone... here she went, chasin' a lizardsee the tiny

streaked trail...she pulled bark off this cottonwood...look in the dust of the paththe letters you taught

hershe's drawn pictures of birds en' hosses an' people....Look, a cross! Oh, Jane, your cross!"

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 birdnest 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 cleancut 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.

Footprints told the story of little Fay's abduction. In anguish Jane Withersteen turned speechlessly to Lassiter,

and, confirming her fears, she saw him grayfaced, aged all in a moment, stricken as if by a mortal blow.

"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 DyerI'm broken. I'll tell him I'm ready for the

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.

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 soundthe rattling of guncartridges. 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

Looking at himhe was so terrible of aspectshe 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

"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 saddlebags full of meat an bread. An' be ready to

Desperately she tried to meet his gray eyes, in vain, desperately she tried again, fought herself as feeling and

"Nonono!" she wailed. "You said you'd foregone your vengeance. You promised not to kill Bishop

"If you want to talk to me about himleave off the Bishop. I don't understand that name, or its use."

Butyour actionsyour wordsyour gunsyour terrible looks!... They don't seem foregoing

"His blood on my soul!" whispered Jane, and she fell to her knees. This was the longpending hour of

fruition. And the habit of yearsthe religious passion of her lifeleaped 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

souland on my father's. Listen." And she clasped his knees, and clung there as he tried to raise her. "Listen.

"I'll give myself to youI'll ride away with youmarry you, if only you'll spare him?"

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 youthlove of religion, love of father. You don't knowyou 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 againoh, so cruelly, coldly strong! You're killing me. I see youfeel you

She clung the closer to him, and leaned her panting breast on him, and lifted her face to his. "Lassiter, I do

love you! 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 thingjust one thingand yet! I can't speak itI'd glory in your

manhoodthe lion in you that means to slay for me. Believe meand spare Dyer. Be mercifulgreat as

it's in you to be great....Oh, listen and believeI have nothing, but I'm a womana beautiful woman,

Lassitera passionate, loving womanand I love you! Take mehide me in some wild placeand love

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.

"Nonot at your price!" he answered. His voice had changed or she had lost clearness of hearing.

"Jane, you never played fair with me. But now you're blisterin' your lipsblackenin' your soul with lies!"

"By the memory of my motherby my Bibleno! No, I have no Bible! But by my hope of heaven I swear I

Lassiter's gray lips formed soundless words that meant even her love could not avail to bend his will. As if

"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 meforgive mesave 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 blueice eye and the beard of

gold. It was my father you got trace of in the past years. Truly, Dyer ruined Milly Ernedragged her from

her hometo Utahto Cottonwoods. But it was for my father! If Milly Erne was ever wife of a Mormon

that Mormon was my father! I never knewnever will know whether or not she was a wife. Blind I may be,

Lassiterfanatically 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 punishmentsomewhere. Always it has appalled methe thought

"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 now.

It's for you!...An' listen. Since I was a boy I've never thanked God for anythin'. If there is a Godan' I've

come to believe itI 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

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 figurea manLassiterwho had saved her from

herself, who could not be changed, who would slay rightfully. Then she slipped into utter blackness.

When she recovered from her faint she became aware that she was lying on a couch near the window in her

sittingroom. 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.

"Aw, Miss Withersteen, you're comin' round fine. Now jest lay still a little. You're all right; everythin's all

"When I seen him lasta matter of half an hour ago, he was on his knees. He was some busy, but he wasn't

"How strangely you talk! I'll sit up. I'mwell, strong again. Tell me. Dyer on his knees! What was he

"Wal, beggin' your pardon fer blunt talk, Miss Withersteen, Dyer was on his knees an' not prayin'. You

remember his big, broad hands? You've seen 'em raised in blessin' over old gray men an' little curlyheaded

children likelike Fay Larkin! Come to think of thet, I disremember ever hearin' of his liftin' his big hands

in blessin' over a woman. Wal, when I seen him lastjest a little while agohe was on his knees, not

prayin', as I remarkedan' he was pressin' his big hands over some bigger wounds."

"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

"I shall ride away with Lassiter. Judkins, tell me all you sawall you know about this killing." She realized,

without wonder or amaze, how Judkins's one word, affirming the death of Dyerthat the catastrophe had

fallenhad 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.

"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

"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 ridersthet helped me hold your

cattlefer a lot of hatchedup 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,

"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,

"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 happenedwhich was true, as I knowbut

Willie couldn't git a word in, an' then Judge Dyer went on layin' down the law. An' all to onct he happened to

"Nat'rully I looked back to see what hed acted so powerful strange on the judge. An' there, halfway 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 worda nameI 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.

"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

"Jengessen, Carter, an' Wright eyed Lassiter, for what must hev been a second an' seemed like an hour, an'

"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 Lassiterlookin' hardI couldn't see how

he drawed. He was quicker 'n eyesightthet'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.

"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

"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 gunwhy, I could hev done better,

quickeran' 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 sagewolf, 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 offso 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 mein any other manhe 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'

shotsnine I calkilated after, fer they come so quick I couldn't count theman' I knew Lassiter hed turned

"I'm tellin' you straight, Miss Withersteen, fer I want you to know. Afterward you'll git over it. I've seen some

soulrackin' 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' hossesan' thet's the beautfulest sight to mean' I saw dim things in the dark, an'

there was a kind of hummin' in my ears. An' I remember distinctlyfer it was what made all these things

whirl out of my mind an' opened my eyesI remember distinctly it was the smell of gunpowder.

"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

"An' Lassiter spoke, en' if I ever forgit his words I'll never forgit the sound of his voice.

"'Proselyter, I reckon you'd better call quick on thet God who reveals Hisself to you on earth, because He

"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 discovers somethin' too late. Thet's a terrible look!...An' with a horrible understandin' cry he

Judkins paused in his narrative, breathing heavily while he wiped his perspiring brow.

"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'

Lassiter's step sounded in the hallthe familiar soft, silverclinking stepand 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

"Lassiter, I'll ride away with you. Hide me till danger is pasttill we are forgottenthen take me where you

He kissed her hand with the quaint grace and courtesy that came to him in rare moments.

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 saddlebags, and then returned to the hall. Black Star stamped his ironshod hoofs and tossed his

"Judkins, I give Bells to you," said Jane. "I hope you will always keep him and be good to him."

Lassiter strapped Jane's saddlebags upon Black Star, and led the racers out into the court.

"Judkins, you ride with Jane out into the sage. If you see any riders comin' shout quick twice. An', Jane, don't

look back! I'll catch up soon. We'll get to the break into the Pass before midnight, an' then wait until mornin'

Black Star bent his graceful neck and bowed his noble head, and his broad shoulders yielded as he knelt for

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 sageslope

stretching its purple sunset shadows before her. She became aware of Judkins's hand touching hers; she heard

him speak a husky goodby; then into the place of Bells shot the deadblack, keen, racy nose of Night, and

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

sageslope 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

Thickdriving belts of smoke traveled by on the wind, and with it came a strong, pungent odor of burning

A misty veil obscured the clear, searching gaze she had kept steadfastly upon the purple slope and the dim

lines of canyons. 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 sagelevel 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

The time had come for Venters and Bess to leave their retreat. They were at great pains to choose the few

"Bern, whatever kind of a pack's this, anyhow?" questioned Bess, rising from her work with reddened face.

Venters, absorbed in his own task, did not look up at all, and in reply said he had brought so much from

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.

"By George!" he ejaculated, guiltily, and then at sight of Bess's face he laughed outright.

Then and there Venters found it imperative to postpone work for the present. All her life Bess had been

"But there was a woman and you did lie to me," she kept repeating, after he had explained.

"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

"Wellperhaps not lie. But you'd have had the sweetheartsYou couldn't have helped thatbeing so

This remark appeared to be a very clever and fortunate one; and the work of selecting and then of stowing all

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

"Shall I go roll Balancing Rock?" she asked, in light speech, but with deepblue fire in her eyes.

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 petsthe quail and rabbits and foxes.

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.

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 shadebeautiful and wild and unreal as a dream.

"Hush! Don't cry. Our valley has only fitted us for a better life somewhere. Come!"

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 hollowcracking 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

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 longstanding

thunderbolt of the little stonemen plunge down to close forever the outlet to Deception Pass.

And while he was giving way to unaccountable dread imaginations the descent was accomplished without

"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

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

"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 halfhitch 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."

Both burros passed down the difficult stairs cut by the cliffdwellers, 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.

"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."

They mounted and rode west through the valley and entered the canyon. From time to time Venters walked,

leading his burro. When they got by all the canyons 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 canyons. He did not talk at all. And long after he had passed this

canyon 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 canyon 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 leadenweighted dread.

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

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.

Brighter and brighter grew the light. He mounted the last broken edge of rim to have the sunfired, purple

sageslope burst upon him as a glory. Bess panted up to his side, tugging on the halter of her burro.

"We're up!" he cried, joyously. "There's not a dot on the sage We're safe. We'll not be seen! Oh, Bess"

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

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.

"Why, Bern!" she exclaimed. "How good it is to see you! We're riding away, you see. The storm burstand

Venters, unable to speak for consternation, and bewildered out of all sense of what he ought or ought not to

"Not safewhere I was. I'mwe're going out of Utahback East," he found tongue to say.

"I reckon this meetin's the luckiest thing that ever happened to you an' to mean' to Janean' to Bess," said

Jane Withersteen took one flashing, woman's glance at Bess's scarlet face, at her slender, shapely form.

"Was it for her you asked me to give you supplies? Was it for her that you wanted to make your valley a

"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

As best he could, he bore the brunt of her anger. It was not only his deceit to her that she visited upon him,

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

Numb as Venters was when at length Jane Withersteen lifted her head and looked at him, he yet suffered a

"I'm not that kind of a liar. And you know it. If I liedif 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 youdon't be unjust.

"Jane, she's jest as sweet an' innocent as little Fay," said Lassiter. There was a faint smile upon his face and a

Venters saw, and knew that Lassiter saw, how Jane Withersteen's tortured soul wrestled with hate and threw

"Bern, if in my misery I accused you unjustly, I crave forgiveness," she said. "I'm not what I once was. Tell

"Jane, she is Oldring's daughter, and his Masked Rider. Lassiter will tell you how I shot her for a rustler,

saved her lifeall the story. It's a strange story, Jane, as wild as the sage. But it's truetrue as her

"Oldring's Masked Rider! Oldring's daughter!" exclaimed Jane "And she's innocent! You ask me to believe

much. If this girl isis what you say, how could she be going away with the man who killed her father?"

Jane's question had roused Bess out of stupefaction. Her eyes suddenly darkened and dilated. She stepped

"I did, Bess, and I hate myself for it. But you know I never dreamed he was your father. I thought he'd

"But he was my father!" she broke out, at last. "And now I must go backI can't go with you. It's all

overthat beautiful dream. Oh, I knew it couldn't come true. You can't take me now."

"It can't be right. I'll go back. After all, I loved him. He was good to me. I can't forget that."

"If you go back to Oldring's men I'll follow you, and then they'll kill me," said Venters, hoarsely.

"Oh no, Bern, you'll not come. Let me go. It's best for you to forget mot I've brought you only pain and

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.

"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."

"Oh, Bern! It was a slip. I never thoughtI never thought!" replied Jane. "How could I tell she didn't know?"

Lassiter suddenly moved forward, and with the beautiful light on his face now strangely luminous, he looked

"Well, I reckon you've all had your say, an' now it's Lassiter's turn. Why, I was jest praying for this meetin'.

Gently he touched her arm and turned her to face the others, and then outspread his great hand to disclose a

"JaneVenterscome closer," went on Lassiter. "Take a look at the picture. Don't you know the woman?"

Venters, with tingling pulse, with something growing on him, recognized in the faded miniature portrait the

"Yes, that's Milly," said Lassiter, softly. "Bess, did you ever see her facelook hardwith all your heart an'

"The eyes seem to haunt me," whispered Bess. "Oh, I can't remember they're eyes of my

"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."

Bess slipped through his arm to her knees and hugged the locket to her bosom, and lifted wonderful, yearning

"Thank God, lass, it is true," replied Lassiter. "Jane an' Bern herethey both recognize Milly. They see

"Oh, I can't believeDon't raise me! Bern, let me kneel. I see truth in your facein Miss Withersteen's. But

"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 settlementCottonwoods. 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 Utahto show him his daughter with a band of low rustlers. WellOldrin' 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 menrustlers an' outlawswho from time to time tried

to approach you familiarlyhe told me how he shot them dead. I'm tellin' you this 'specially because you've

showed such shamesayin' 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."

"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: 'Manwhydidn'tyouwait? 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

"Elizabeth Erne!" cried Jane Withersteen. "I loved your mother and I see her in you!"

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 beliefclouds of gloomdrifted, paled,

vanished in glorious light. An exquisite rose flusha glowshone 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.

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

"Uncle Jim!" she said, tremulously, with a different smile from any Venters had ever seen on her face.

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 mindfelt the reaction of her noble heartsaw 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.

"'Pears to me, folks, that we'd better talk a little serious now," remarked Lassiter, at length. "Time flies."

"You're right," replied Venters, instantly. "I'd forgotten timeplace danger. Lassiter, you're riding away.

"Tull wasn't around when I broke loose. By now he's likely on our trail with his riders."

"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

"No. I want to take Bess out of Utah. Lassiter, Bess found gold in the valley. We've a saddlebag full of gold.

"My plan is to ride on, keeping sharp lookout. Somewhere up the trail we'll take to the sage and go round

"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 lifesee cities and people. We've goldwe'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!"

"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

Lassiter's cool argument made Venters waver, not in determination to go, but in hope of success.

"Bess, I want you to know. Lassiter says the trip's almost useless now. I'm afraid he's right. We've got about

Lassiter spread wide his hands, as if to signify he could do no more, and his face clouded.

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.

"Bern, you'd be right to die rather than not take Elizabeth out of Utahout 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

"Thank you, Jane," replied Venters, trying to steady his voice. "It does look bright. Oh, if we were only

"Bern, the trip's as good as made. It'll be safeeasy. It'll be a glorious ride," she said, softly.

Venters stared. Had Jane's troubles made her insane? Lassiter, too, acted queerly, all at once beginning to turn

"You are a rider. She is a rider. This will be the ride of your lives," added Jane, in that same soft undertone,

Only when Lassiter moved swiftly to execute her bidding did Venters's clogged brain grasp at literal

"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

"Soncool 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. "Listenyou fool boyl Jane's sized up the situation.

The burros'll do for us. Well 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."

"Janestop himplease stop him," gasped Venters. "I've lost my strength. I can't doanything. This is hell

for me! Can't you see that? I've ruined youit 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! Andyou're trying to give

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 lifehe 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

And instantly, as if by some divine insight, he knew himself in the remakingtried, found wanting; but

stronger, better, surerand he wheeled to Jane Withersteen, eager, joyous, passionate, wild, exalted. He bent

"Jane, II can't find wordsnow," he said. "I'm beyond words. OnlyI understand. And I'll take the

"Don't be losin' no more time," cut in Lassiter. "I ain't certain, but I think I seen a speck up the sageslope.

Mebbe I was mistaken. But, anyway, we must all be movin'. I've shortened the stirrups on Black Star. Put

How inconceivably strange and beautiful it was for Venters to see Bess clasped to Jane Withersteen's breast!

"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 cutoff 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 tomorrow 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 youor keeps on persistentlike, for a few

"Son, it ain't likelyit ain't likely. Well, Bess Oldrin'Masked RiderElizabeth Ernenow 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

"Ah, Lassiter, there never was any horse that could beat Black Star," said Jane, with the old pride.

"I often wonderedmebbe Venters rode out that race when he brought back the blacks. Son, was Wrangle

"No, Lassiter," replied Venters. For this lie he had his reward in Jane's quick smile.

"Well, well, my hosssense ain't always right. An' here I'm talkie' a lot, wastin' time. It ain't so easy to find

Black Star and Night, answering to spur, swept swiftly westward along the white, slowrising, sagebordered

trail. Venters heard a mournful howl from Ring, but Whitie was silent. The blacks settled into their fleet,

longstriding gallop. The wind sweetly fanned Venters's hot face. From the summit of the first lowswelling

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

A small, dark, moving dot split the line where purple sage met blue sky. That dot was a band of riders.

They slowed from gallop to canter, then to trot. The fresh and eager horses did not like the check.

"I wonder if they're Tull's riders. They might be rustlers. But it's all the same to us."

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 halfhour, 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

"Bess, what do you make them out?" asked Venters. "I don't think they're rustlers."

"They're sageriders," replied Bess. "I see a white horse and several grays. Rustlers seldom ride any horses

"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

"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."

"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!"

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

The gap closed to a distance to 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.

"Now Bess!" shouted Venters. "Strike north. Go round those riders and turn west."

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 packrats, 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

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

He forgot Tullthe running ridersthe 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 campfires.

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 horsea slender, dark

forma black maska driving run down the slopea dot on the purple sagea shadowy, muffled steed

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

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.

"Oh, Bern! I love him!" she cried. "He's beautiful; he knows; and how he can run! I've had fast horses. But

"I'm wondering if I didn't dream that. Bess, the blacks are grand. What it must have cost Janeah!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 freefree to roam and

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 fine 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 his Venters

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

"Bess, we're safewe're free!" said Venters. "We're alone on the sage. We're half way to Sterling."

"Never fear, Bess. He'll outwit Tull. He'll get away and hide her safely. He might climb into Surprise Valley,

"No. But, dear, listen. Well go back some day, after yearsten years. Then we'll be forgotten. And our

"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

"It's something sweet to look forward to. Bess, it's like all the future looks to me."

"Elizabeth Erne! It's a beautiful name. But I'll never forget Bess. Do you knowhave you thought that very

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

"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 tomorrow. We'll be married!...We'll be in time to catch the stage. We'll tie Black Star

"Oh, Bern!...But look! The sun is setting on the sagethe last time for us till we dare come again to the Utah

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

Suddenly Venters was startled by a low, rumbling roarso low that it was like the roar in a seashell.

Out of the east or north from remote distance, breathed an infinitely low, continuously long sounddeep,

Through tearblurred sight Jane Withersteen watched Venters and Elizabeth Erne and the black racers

"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."

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 sufferingthe flood of her

wraththe last of her sacrificethe supremity of her loveand the attainment of peace. She thought that if

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 canyon. 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 thembefore them; still the thought awakened no dread or concern

At his bidding she mounted and rode on close to the heels of his burro. The canyon 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 huntingdogskeen, 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

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 canyons. 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

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.

"Jane, I've run into the fellers I've been lookin' for, an' I'm goin' after them," he said.

"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."

"I reckon you can go back to Tull. Or stay in the Pass an' be taken off by rustlers. Which'll you do?"

"I don't know. I can't think very well. But I believe I'd rather be taken off by rustlers."

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.

"I'll go. I only mentioned that chance of my not comin' back. I'm pretty sure to come."

"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 thinkor you used to thinkthat 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 thingsbishops, elders, ministers, Mormonism, duty, faith, glory. You dreamor you're driven

mad. I'm a man, an' I know. I name fanatics, followers, blind women, oppressors, thieves, ranchers, rustlers,

riders. An' we havewhat you've lived through these last months. It can't be helped. But it can't last always.

An' remember hissome day the border'll be better, cleaner, for the ways of ten like Lassiter!"

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,

Suddenly from the mouth of the canyon 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 shotshoarse yellspound of hoofsshrill neighs of horsescommingling of

echoesand 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

bloodspillers. Phases of the history of the world flashed through her mindGreek and Roman wars, dark,

mediaeval times, the crimes in the name of religion. On sea, on land, everywhereshooting, stabbing,

cursing, clashing, fighting men! Greed, power, oppression, fanaticism, love, hate, revenge, justice,

She lay there under the cedars, gazing up through the delicate lacelike foliage at the blue sky, and she thought

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 hidingplace; one struck a

stone and whined away in the air. After that, for a time, succeeded desultory shots; and then they ceased

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

"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. Thereyou're doin' fine! Not a bit nervousno tremblin'. I

reckon I ain't done your courage justice. I'm glad you're brave jest nowyou'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

He unstrapped the saddlebags 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.

"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

Jane Withersteen's deadlocked feeling, rent by Lassiter's deep, quivering voice, leaped into an agony of

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 deadher heart beatand Jane Withersteen gathered strength and lived again.

"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' bruisedshe fell right on her head. Jane, she's comin' to! She ain't bad hurt!"

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 intelligencebewildermentmemoryand sudden

"Now, we've got to rustle!" said Lassiter, in grim coolness. "Jane, look down the Pass!"

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.

"I reckon. But, Jane, we've still got the game in our hands. They're ridin' tired hosses. Venters likely give

Hurriedly he strapped on the saddlebags, gave quick glance to girths and cinches and stirrups, then leaped

"Get back your nerve, woman! This's life or death now. Mind that. Climb up! Keep your wits. Stick close to

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 canyon 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, bloodstained 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

longstridng, 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 ironjawed brute she rode, she would

have given herself to that relentless, darkbrowed Tull. But she knew Lassiter would turn with her, so she

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

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 lookedhow

The horses walked, trotted, galloped, ran, to fall again to walk. Hours sped or dragged. Time was an

instantan eternity. Jane Withersteen felt hell pursuing her, and dared not look back for fear she would fall

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 walkedtrottedgallopedranto fall again to walk. Shadows gathered under shelving

cliffs. The canyon turned, brightened, opened into a long, wide, wallenclosed valley. Again the sun,

lowering in the west, reddened the sage. Far ahead round, scrawled stone appeared to block the Pass.

"Bear up, Jane, bear up!" called Lassiter. "It's our game, if you don't weaken."

"Oh!I'm a cowarda miserable coward! I can't fight or think or hope or pray! I'm lost! Oh, Lassiter, look

"Look back, Jane, look back. Threefour miles we've come across this valley, en' no Tull yet in sight. Only

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,

"Jane, take the child," he said, and lifted Fay up. Jane clasped her arms suddenly strong. "They're gainin',"

Turning with Jane's bridle in his hand, he was about to start when he saw the saddlebag on the fallen horse.

"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

Little Fay lay in her arms with wideopen eyeseyes 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

Lassiter was leading the horse up a smooth slope toward cedar trees of twisted and bleached appearance.

"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

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.

Before her rose a bulge of stone, nicked with little cut steps, and above that a corner of yellow wall, and

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

Then from below pealed up hoarse shouts of angry men. Tull and several of his riders had reached the spot

"You'll need that breathmebbe!" said Lassiter, facing downward, with glittering eyes.

"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, 'Where's muvver Jane?'"

Without a fear or a tremor or a slip or a touch of Lassiter's hand Jane Withersteen walked up that ladder of cut

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 saddlebag 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

He staggered to his feetstaggered to a huge, leaning rock that rested on a small pedestal. He put his hand

on itthe hand that had been shot throughand Jane saw blood drip from the ragged hole. Then he fell.

"I planned tofetch you hereto roll this stone. See! It'll smash the cragsloosen the wallsclose the

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

"I wanted to roll itmeant tobut Ican't. Venters's valley is down behind here. We couldlive there.

But if I roll the stonewe're shut in for always. I don't dare. I'm thinkin' of you!"

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 Fayfor Lassiterfor

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.

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 hurtingly

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 aira splitting shock! Dust shrouded

the sunset red of shaking rims; dust shrouded Tull as he fell on his knees with uplifted arms. Shafts and

From the depths there rose a longdrawn rumbling roar. The outlet to Deception Pass closed forever.