Chapter XV. Shadows on the Sage-Slope

by Zane Grey

　　In the cloudy, threatening, waning summer days shadows lengtheneddown the sage-slope, and Jane Withersteen likened them to theshadows gathering and closing in around her life.

　　Mrs. Larkin died, and little Fay was left an orphan with no knownrelative. Jane's love redoubled. It was the saving brightness ofa darkening hour. Fay turned now to Jane in childish worship. AndJane at last found full expression for the mother-longing in herheart. Upon Lassiter, too, Mrs. Larkin's death had some subtlereaction. Before, he had often, without explanation, advised Janeto send Fay back to any Gentile family that would take her in.Passionately and reproachfully and wonderingly Jane had refusedeven to entertain such an idea. And now Lassiter never advised itagain, 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 watchingFay. What did the rider see in the future? Why did he, day byday, grow more silent, calmer, cooler, yet sadder in propheticassurance of something to be?

　　No doubt, Jane thought, the rider, in his almost superhuman powerof foresight, saw behind the horizon the dark, lengtheningshadows that were soon to crowd and gloom over him and her andlittle Fay. Jane Withersteen awaited the long-deferred breakingof the storm with a courage and embittered calm that had come toher in her extremity. Hope had not died. Doubt and fear,subservient to her will, no longer gave her sleepless nights andtortured days. Love remained. All that she had loved she nowloved the more. She seemed to feel that she was defiantlyflinging the wealth of her love in the face of misfortune and ofhate. No day passed but she prayed for all--and most ferventlyfor her enemies. It troubled her that she had lost, or had nevergained, the whole control of her mind. In some measure reason andwisdom 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 todeny the bitter drops in her cup, to tear back the slow, theintangibly slow growth of a hot, corrosive lichen eating into herheart.

　　On the morning of August 10th, Jane, while waiting in the courtfor Lassiter, heard a clear, ringing report of a rifle. It camefrom the grove, somewhere toward the corrals. Jane glanced out inalarm. The day was dull, windless, soundless. The leaves of thecottonwoods drooped, as if they had foretold the doom ofWithersteen House and were now ready to die and drop and decay.Never had Jane seen such shade. She pondered on the meaning ofthe report. Revolver shots had of late cracked from differentparts of the grove--spies taking snap-shots at Lassiter from acowardly distance! But a rifle report meant more. Riders seldomused rifles. Judkins and Venters were the exceptions she calledto mind. Had the men who hounded her hidden in her grove, takento the rifle to rid her of Lassiter, her last friend? It wasprobable--it was likely. And she did not share his coolassumption that his death would never come at the hands of aMormon. Long had she expected it. His constancy to her, hissingular reluctance to use the fatal skill for which he wasfamed-- both now plain to all Mormons--laid him open toinevitable assassination. Yet what charm against ambush and aimand enemy he seemed to bear about him! No, Jane reflected, it wasnot charm; only a wonderful training of eye and ear, and sense ofimpending peril. Nevertheless that could not forever availagainst secret attack.

　　That moment a rustling of leaves attracted her attention; thenthe familiar clinking accompaniment of a slow, soft, measuredstep, and Lassiter walked into the court.

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

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

　　"I reckon not. But mebbe it wasn't a close call!...I'll sit herein this corner where nobody can see me from the grove." He untiedthe scarf and removed it to show a long, bleeding furrow abovehis left temple.

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

　　She ran into the house and returned with bandages; and while shebathed and dressed the wound Lassiter talked.

　　"That fellow had a good chance to get me. But he must haveflinched when he pulled the trigger. As I dodged down I saw himrun through the trees. He had a rifle. I've been expectin' thatkind of gun play. I reckon now I'll have to keep a little closerhid myself. These fellers all seem to get chilly or shaky whenthey draw a bead on me, but one of them might jest happen to hitme."

　　"Won't you go away--leave Cottonwoods as I've begged youto--before some one does happen to hit you?" she appealed to him.

　　"I reckon I'll stay."

　　"But, oh, Lassiter--your blood will be on my hands!"

　　"See here, lady, look at your hands now, right now. Aren't theyfine, firm, white hands? Aren't they bloody now? Lassiter'sblood! That's a queer thing to stain your beautiful hands. But ifyou could only see deeper you'd find a redder color of blood.Heart color, Jane!"

　　"Oh!...My friend!"

　　"No, Jane, I'm not one to quit when the game grows hot, no morethan you. This game, though, is new to me, an' I don't know themoves yet, else I wouldn't have stepped in front of that bullet."

　　"Have you no desire to hunt the man who fired at you--to findhim--and-- and kill him?"

　　"Well, I reckon I haven't any great hankerin' for that."

　　"Oh, the wonder of it!...I knew--I prayed--I trusted. Lassiter, Ialmost gave--all myself to soften you to Mormons. Thank God, andthank you, my friend....But, selfish woman that ] am, this is nogreat test. What's the life of one of those sneaking cowards tosuch a man as you? I think of your great hate toward him who--Ithink of your life's implacable purpose. Can itbe--"

　　"Wait!...Listen!" he whispered. "I hear a hoss."

　　He rose noiselessly, with his ear to the breeze. Suddenly hepulled his sombrero down over his bandaged head and, swinging hisgun-sheaths round in front, he stepped into the alcove.

　　"It's a hoss--comin' fast," he added.

　　Jane's listening ear soon caught a faint, rapid, rhythmic beat ofhoofs. It came from the sage. It gave her a thrill that she wasat a loss to understand. The sound rose stronger, louder. Thencame a clear, sharp difference when the horse passed from thesage trail to the hard-packed ground of the grove. It became aringing run--swift in its bell-like clatterings, yet singular inlonger pause than usual between the hoofbeats of a horse.

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

　　Excitement and thrilling expectancy flooded out all JaneWithersteen s calm. A tight band closed round her breast as shesaw the giant sorrel flit in reddish-brown flashes across theopenings in the green. Then he was pounding down thelane--thundering into the court--crashing his great iron-shodhoofs on the stone flags. Wrangle it was surely, but shaggy andwild-eyed, and sage-streaked, with dust-caked lather staining hisflanks. He reared and crashed down and plunged. The rider leapedoff, threw the bridle, and held hard on a lasso looped roundWrangle's head and neck. Janet's heart sank as she tried torecognize Venters in the rider. Something familiar struck her inthe lofty stature in the sweep of powerful shoulders. But thisbearded, longhaired, unkempt man, who wore ragged clothes patchedwith pieces of skin, and boots that showed bare legs andfeet--this dusty, dark, and wild rider could not possibly beVenters.

　　"Whoa, Wrangle, old boy! Come down. Easy now. So--so--so. You rehome, old boy, and presently you can have a drink of water you'llremember."

　　In the voice Jane knew the rider to be Venters. He tied Wrangleto the hitching-rack and turned to the court.

　　"Oh, Bern!...You wild man!" she exclaimed.

　　"Jane--Jane, it's good to see you! Hello, Lassiter! Yes, it'sVenters."

　　Like rough iron his hard hand crushed Jane's. In it she felt thedifference she saw in him. Wild, rugged, unshorn--yet howsplendid! He had gone away a boy--he had returned a man. Heappeared taller, wider of shoulder, deeper-chested, morepowerfully built. But was that only her fancy--he had always beena young giant--was the change one of spirit? He might have beenabsent for years, proven by fire and steel, grown like Lassiter,strong and cool and sure. His eyes--were they keener, moreflashing 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 notmuch to look at. And, Jane, neither you nor Lassiter, can brag.You're paler than I ever saw you. Lassiter, here, he wears abloody bandage under his hat. That reminds me. Some one took aflying shot at me down in the sage. It made Wrangle runsome....Well, perhaps you've more to tell me than I've got totell you."

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

　　Under his beard and bronze she saw his face whiten in terriblewrath.

　　"Lassiter--what held you back?"

　　No time in the long period of fiery moments and sudden shocks hadJane Withersteen ever beheld Lassiter as calm and serene and coolas then.

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

　　As strange as Lassiter's coolness was Venters's curious, intentscrutiny of them both, and under it Jane felt a flaming tide wavefrom bosom to temples.

　　"Well--you're right," he said, with slow pause. "It surprises mea 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 herintention to acquaint him with the deceit she had fallen to inher zeal to move Lassiter. She did not mean to spare herself. Yetnow, at the moment, before these riders, it was an impossibilityto explain.

　　Venters was speaking somewhat haltingly, without his formerfrankness. "I found Oldring's hiding-place and your red herd. Ilearned--I know-- I'm sure there was a deal between Tull andOldring." He paused and shifted his position and his gaze. Helooked 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 youtoo much. You've almost ruined yourself for me. It was wrong, forI'm not worth it. I never deserved such friendship. Well, maybeit'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, andtell him to his face."

　　"Bern, it's too late," said Jane.

　　"I'll make him believe!" cried Venters, violently.

　　"You ask me to break our friendship?"

　　"Yes. If you don't, I shall."

　　"Forever?"

　　"Forever!"

　　Jane sighed. Another shadow had lengthened down the sage slope tocast further darkness upon her. A melancholy sweetness pervadedher resignation. The boy who had left her had returned a man,nobler, stronger, one in whom she divined something unbending assteel. There might come a moment later when she would wonder whyshe had not fought against his will, but just now she yielded toit. She liked him as well--nay, more, she thought, only heremotions were deadened by the long, menacing wait for thebursting storm.

　　Once before she had held out her hand to him--when she gave it;now she stretched it tremblingly forth in acceptance of thedecree circumstance had laid upon them. Venters bowed over itkissed it, pressed it hard, and half stifled a sound very like asob. Certain it was that when he raised his head tears glistenedin his eyes.

　　"Some--women--have a hard lot," he said, huskily. Then he shookhis powerful form, and his rags lashed about him. "I'll say a fewthings to Tull--when I meet him."

　　"Bern--you'll not draw on Tull? Oh, that must not be! Promiseme--"

　　"I promise you this," he interrupted, in stern passion thatthrilled while it terrorized her. "If you say one more word forthat plotter I'll kill him as I would a mad coyote!"

　　Jane clasped her hands. Was this fire-eyed man the one whom shehad once made as wax to her touch? Had Venters become Lassiterand Lassiter Venters?

　　"I'll--say no more," she faltered.

　　"Jane, Lassiter once called you blind," said Venters. "It must betrue. But I won't upbraid you. Only don't rouse the devil in meby praying for Tull! I'll try to keep cool when I meet him.That's all. Now there's one more thing I want to ask of you--thelast. I've found a valley down in the Pass. It's a wonderfulplace. I intend to stay there. It's so hidden I believe no onecan find it. There's good water, and browse, and game. I want toraise corn and stock. I need to take in supplies. Will you givethem to me?"

　　"Assuredly. The more you take the better you'll please me--andperhaps the less my--my enemies will get."

　　"Venters, I reckon you'll have trouble packin' anythin' away,"put in Lassiter.

　　"I'll go at night."

　　"Mebbe that wouldn't be best. You'd sure be stopped. You'd bettergo early in the mornin'--say, just after dawn. That's the safesttime to move round here."

　　"Lassiter, I'll be hard to stop," returned Venters, darkly.

　　"I reckon so."

　　"Bern," said Jane, "go first to the riders' quarters and getyourself a complete outfit. You're a--a sight. Then help yourselfto whatever else you need--burros, packs, grain, dried fruits,and meat. You must take coffee and sugar and flour--all kinds ofsupplies. Don't forget corn and seeds. I remember how you used tostarve. Please--please take all you can pack away from here. I'llmake a bundle for you, which you mustn't open till you're in yourvalley. How I'd like to see it! To judge by you and Wrangle, howwild it must be!"

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

　　"Wrangle--dear old Wrangle," she said, and put a caressing handon his matted mane. "Oh, he's wild, but he knows me! Bern, can herun as fast as ever?"

　　"Run? Jane, he's done sixty miles since last night at dark, and Icould make him kill Black Star right now in a ten-mile race."

　　"He never could," protested Jane. "He couldn't even if he wasfresh."

　　"I reckon mebbe the best hoss'll prove himself yet," saidLassiter, "an', Jane, if it ever comes to that race I'd like youto be on Wrangle."

　　"I'd like that, too," rejoined Venters. "But, Jane, maybeLassiter's hint is extreme. Bad as your prospects are, you'llsurely never come to the running point."

　　"Who knows!" she replied, with mournful smile.

　　"No, no, Jane, it can't be so bad as all that. Soon as I see Tullthere'll be a change in your fortunes. I'll hurry down to thevillage....Now don't worry."

　　Jane retired to the seclusion of her room. Lassiter's subtleforecasting of disaster, Venters's forced optimism, neitherremained in mind. Material loss weighed nothing in the balancewith other losses she was sustaining. She wondered dully at hersitting there, hands folded listlessly, with a kind of numbdeadness to the passing of time and the passing of her riches.She thought of Venters's friendship. She had not lost that, butshe had lost him. Lassiter's friendship--that was more thanlove--it would endure, but soon he, too, would be gone. LittleFay slept dreamlessly upon the bed, her golden curls streamingover the pillow. Jane had the child's worship. Would she losethat, too? And if she did, what then would be left? Consciencethundered at her that there was left her religion. Consciencethundered that she should be grateful on her knees for thisbaptism of fire; that through misfortune, sacrifice, andsuffering her soul might be fused pure gold. But the old,spontaneous, rapturous spirit no more exalted her. She wanted tobe a woman--not a martyr. Like the saint of old who mortified hisflesh, Jane Withersteen had in her the temper for heroicmartyrdom, if by sacrificing herself she could save the souls ofothers. But here the damnable verdict blistered her that the moreshe sacrificed herself the blacker grew the souls of herchurchmen. There was something terribly wrong with her soul,something terribly wrong with her churchmen and her religion. Inthe whirling gulf of her thought there was yet one shining lightto guide her, to sustain her in her hope; and it was that,despite her errors and her frailties and her blindness, she hadone absolute and unfaltering hold on ultimate and supremejustice. That was love. "Love your enemies as yourself!" was adivine word, entirely free from any church or creed.

　　Jane's meditations were disturbed by Lassiter's soft, tinklingstep in the court. Always he wore the clinking spurs. Always hewas in readiness to ride. She passed out and called him into thehuge, dim hall.

　　"I think you'll be safer here. The court is too open," she said.

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

　　"Already! Where is he?" queried Jane, in quick amaze.

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

　　"Did--did Bern meet Tull?"

　　"I guess he did," answered Lassiter, and he laughed dryly.

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

　　"First time I've been in the village for weeks," went onLassiter, mildly. "I reckon there 'ain't been more of a show fora 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 notmuch thought of hereabouts, an' Venters he sure looks like whatyou called him, a wild man. Well, there was some runnin' of folksbefore we got to the stores. Then everybody vamoosed except somesurprised rustlers in front of a saloon. Venters went right inthe stores an' saloons, an' of course I went along. I don't knowwhich tickled me the most--the actions of many fellers we met, orVenters's nerve. Jane, I was downright glad to be along. You seethat sort of thing is my element, an' I've been away from it fora spell. But we didn't find Tull in one of them places. SomeGentile feller at last told Venters he'd find Tull in that longbuildin' next to Parsons's store. It's a kind of meetin'-room;and sure enough, when we peeped in, it was half full of men.

　　"Venters yelled: 'Don't anybody pull guns! We ain't come forthat!' Then he tramped in, an' I was some put to keep alongsidehim. There was a hard, scrapin' sound of feet, a loud cry, an'then some whisperin', an' after that stillness you could cut witha knife. Tull was there, an' that fat party who once tried tothrow a gun on me, an' other important-lookin' men, en' thatlittle frog-legged feller who was with Tull the day I rode inhere. I wish you could have seen their faces, 'specially Tull'san' the fat party's. But there ain't no use of me tryin' to tellyou how they looked.

　　"Well, Venters an' I stood there in the middle of the room withthat batch of men all in front of us, en' not a blamed one ofthem winked an eyelash or moved a finger. It was natural, ofcourse, for me to notice many of them packed guns. That's a wayof mine, first noticin' them things. Venters spoke up, an' hisvoice sort of chilled an' cut, en' he told Tull he had a fewthings to say."

　　Here Lassiter paused while he turned his sombrero round andround, in his familiar habit, and his eyes had the look of a manseeing over again some thrilling spectacle, and under his redbronze there was strange animation.

　　"Like a shot, then, Venters told Tull that the friendship betweenyou an' him was all over, an' he was leaving your place. He saidyou'd both of you broken off in the hope of propitiatin' yourpeople, but you hadn't changed your mind otherwise, an' neverwould.

　　"Next he spoke up for you. I ain't goin' to tell you what hesaid. Only--no other woman who ever lived ever had such tribute!You had a champion, Jane, an' never fear that those thick-skulledmen don't know you now. It couldn't be otherwise. He spoke theringin', lightnin' truth....Then he accused Tull of theunderhand, miserable robbery of a helpless woman. He told Tullwhere the red herd was, of a deal made with Oldrin', that JerryCard had made the deal. I thought Tull was goin' to drop, an'that little frog-legged cuss, he looked some limp an' white. ButVenters's voice would have kept anybody's legs from bucklin'. Iwas stiff myself. He went on an' called Tull--called him everybad name ever known to a rider, an' then some. He cursed Tull. Inever hear a man get such a cursin'. He laughed in scorn at theidea of Tull bein' a minister. He said Tull an' a few more dogsof hell builded their empire out of the hearts of such innocentan' God-fearin' women as Jane Withersteen. He called Tull abinder of women, a callous beast who hid behind a mock mantle ofrighteousness--an' the last an' lowest coward on the face of theearth. To prey on weak women through their religion--that was thelast unspeakable crime!

　　"Then he finished, an' by this time he'd almost lost his voice.But his whisper was enough. 'Tull,' he said, 'she begged me notto draw on you to-day. She would pray for you if you burned herat the stake....But listen!...I swear if you and I ever come faceto face again, I'll kill you!'

　　"We backed out of the door then, an' up the road. But nobodyfollered us."

　　Jane found herself weeping passionately. She had not beenconscious of it till Lassiter ended his story, and sheexperienced exquisite pain and relief in shedding tears. Long hadher eyes been dry, her grief deep; long had her emotions beendumb. Lassiter's story put her on the rack; the appalling natureof Venters's act and speech had no parallel as an outrage; it wasworse than bloodshed. Men like Tull had been shot, but had oneever been so terribly denounced in public? Over-mounting herhorror, an uncontrollable, quivering passion shook her very soul.It was sheer human glory in the deed of a fearless man. It washot, primitive instinct to live--to fight. It was a kind of madjoy in Venters's chivalry. It was close to the wrath that hadfirst shaken her in the beginning of this war waged uponher.

　　"Well, well, Jane, don't take it that way," said Lassiter, inevident distress. "I had to tell you. There's some things afeller 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. Iknow this--nothin' ever rang in my soul an' so filled it as whatVenters did. I'd like to have done it, but--I'm only good forthrowin' a gun, en' it seems you hate that....Well, I'll be goin'now."

　　"Where?"

　　"Venters took Wrangle to the stable. The sorrel's shy a shoe, an'I've got to help hold the big devil an' put on another."

　　"Tell Bern to come for the pack I want to give him--and--and tosay good-by," called Jane, as Lassiter went out.

　　Jane passed the rest of that day in a vain endeavor to decidewhat and what not to put in the pack for Venters. This task wasthe last she would ever perform for him, and the gifts were thelast she would ever make him. So she picked and chose andrejected, and chose again, and often paused in sad revery, andbegan again, till at length she filled the pack.

　　It was about sunset, and she and Fay had finished supper and weresitting in the court, when Venters's quick steps rang on thestones. She scarcely knew him, for he had changed the tatteredgarments, and she missed the dark beard and long hair. Still hewas not the Venters of old. As he came up the steps she feltherself pointing to the pack, and heard herself speaking wordsthat were meaningless to her. He said good-by; he kissed her,released her, and turned away. His tall figure blurred in hersight, grew dim through dark, streaked vision, and then hevanished.

　　Twilight fell around Withersteen House, and dusk and night.Little Fay slept; but Jane lay with strained, aching eyes. Sheheard the wind moaning in the cottonwoods and mice squeaking inthe walls. The night was interminably long, yet she prayed tohold back the dawn. What would another day bring forth? Theblackness of her room seemed blacker for the sad, entering grayof morning light. She heard the chirp of awakening birds, andfancied she caught a faint clatter of hoofs. Then low, dulldistant, throbbed a heavy gunshot. She had expected it, waswaiting for it; nevertheless, an electric shock checked herheart, froze the very living fiber of her bones. That vise-likehold on her faculties apparently did not relax for a long time,and it was a voice under her window that releasedher.

　　"Jane!...Jane!" softly called Lassiter.

　　She answered somehow.

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

　　"What was it--who fired?"

　　"Well--some fool feller tried to stop Venters out there in thesage--an' he only stopped lead!...I think it'll be all right. Ihaven't seen or heard of any other fellers round. Venters'll gothrough safe. An', Jane, I've got Bells saddled, an' I'm going totrail Venters. Mind, I won't show myself unless he falls foul ofsomebody an' needs me. I want to see if this place where he'sgoin' is safe for him. He says nobody can track him there. Inever seen the place yet I couldn't track a man to. Now, Jane,you stay indoors while I'm gone, an' keep close watch on Fay.Will you?"

　　"Yes! Oh yes!"

　　"An' another thing, Jane," he continued, then paused forlong--"another thing--if you ain't here when I come back--ifyou're gone--don't fear, I'll trail you--I'll find you out."

　　"My dear Lassiter, where could I be gone--as you put it?" askedJane, in curious surprise.

　　"I reckon you might be somewhere. Mebbe tied in an old barn--orcorralled in some gulch--or chained in a cave! Milly Ernewas--till she give in! Mebbe that's news to you....Well, ifyou're gone I'll hunt for you."

　　"No, Lassiter," she replied, sadly and low. "If I'm gone justforget the unhappy woman whose blinded selfish deceit you repaidwith kindness and love."

　　She heard a deep, muttering curse, under his breath, and then thesilvery tinkling of his spurs as he moved away.

　　Jane entered upon the duties of that day with a settled, gloomycalm. Disaster hung in the dark clouds, in the shade, in thehumid west wind. Blake, when he reported, appeared without hisusual cheer; and Jerd wore a harassed look of a worn and worriedman. And when Judkins put in appearance, riding a lame horse, anddismounted with the cramp of a rider, his dust-covered figure andhis darkly grim, almost dazed expression told Jane of direcalamity. She had no need of words.

　　"Miss Withersteen, I have to report--loss of the--white herd,"said Judkins, hoarsely.

　　"Come, sit down, you look played out," replied Jane,solicitously. She brought him brandy and food, and while hepartook of refreshments, of which he appeared badly in need, sheasked no questions.

　　"No one rider--could hev done more--Miss Withersteen," he wenton, presently.

　　"Judkins, don't be distressed. You've done more than any otherrider. I've long expected to lose the white herd. It's nosurprise. It's in line with other things that are happening. I'mgrateful 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 somuch fer you, an' I'd got fond of my job. We led the herd a waysoff to the north of the break in the valley. There was a biglevel an' pools of water an' tip-top browse. But the cattle wasin a high nervous condition. Wild-- as wild as antelope! You see,they'd been so scared they never slept. I ain't a-goin' to tellyou of the many tricks that were pulled off out there in thesage. But there wasn't a day for weeks thet the herd didn't getstarted to run. We allus managed to ride 'em close an' drive 'emback an' keep 'em bunched. Honest, Miss Withersteen, them steerswas thin. They was thin when water and grass was everywhere. Thinat this season--thet'll tell you how your steers was pestered.Fer instance, one night a strange runnin' streak of fire runright through the herd. That streak was a coyote--with an oiledan' blazin' tail! Fer I shot it an' found out. We had hell withthe herd that night, an' if the sage an' grass hadn't beenwet--we, hosses, steers, an' all would hev burned up. But I saidI wasn't goin' to tell you any of the tricks....Strange now, MissWithersteen, when the stampede did come it was from naturalcause-- jest a whirlin' devil of dust. You've seen the likeoften. An' this wasn't no big whirl, fer the dust was mostlysettled. It had dried out in a little swale, an' ordinarily nosteer would ever hev run fer it. But the herd was nervous en'wild. An' jest as Lassiter said, when that bunch of white steersgot to movin' they was as bad as buffalo. I've seen some buffalostampedes back in Nebraska, an' this bolt of the steers was thesame kind.

　　"I tried to mill the herd jest as Lassiter did. But I wasn'tequal to it, Miss Withersteen. I don't believe the rider liveswho could hev turned thet herd. We kept along of the herd fermiles, an' more 'n one of my boys tried to get the steersa-millin'. It wasn't no use. We got off level ground, goin' down,an' then the steers ran somethin' fierce. We left the littlegullies an' washes level-full of dead steers. Finally I saw theherd was makin' to pass a kind of low pocket between ridges.There was a hog-back--as we used to call 'em--a pile of rocksstickin' up, and I saw the herd was goin' to split round it, orswing out to the left. An' I wanted 'em to go to the right somebbe we'd be able to drive 'em into the pocket. So, with all myboys except three, I rode hard to turn the herd a little to theright. We couldn't budge 'em. They went on en' split round therocks, en' the most of 'em was turned sharp to the left by a deepwash we hedn't seen--hed no chance to see.

　　"The other three boys--Jimmy Vail, Joe Willis, an' thet littleCairns boy--a nervy kid! they, with Cairns leadin', tried to buckthet herd round to the pocket. It was a wild, fool idee. Icouldn't do nothin'. The boys got hemmed in between the steersan' the wash--thet they hedn't no chance to see, either. Vail an'Willis was run down right before our eyes. An' Cairns, who rode afine hoss, he did some ridin'. I never seen equaled, en' wouldhev beat the steers if there'd been any room to run in. I washigh up an' could see how the steers kept spillin' by twos an'threes over into the wash. Cairns put his hoss to a place thetwas too wide fer any hoss, an' broke his neck an' the hoss's too.We found that out after, an' as fer Vail an' Willis--two thousandsteers ran over the poor boys. There wasn't much left to packhome fer burying!...An', Miss Withersteen, thet all happenedyesterday, en' I believe, if the white herd didn't run over thewall of the Pass, it's runnin' yet."

　　On the morning of the second day after Judkins's recital, duringwhich time Jane remained indoors a prey to regret and sorrow forthe boy riders, and a new and now strangely insistent fear forher own person, she again heard what she had missed more than shedared honestly confess--the soft, jingling step of Lassiter.Almost overwhelming relief surged through her, a feeling as akinto joy as any she could have been capable of in those gloomyhours of shadow, and one that suddenly stunned her with thesignificance of what Lassiter had come to mean to her. She hadbegged him, for his own sake, to leave Cottonwoods. She might yetbeg that, if her weakening courage permitted her to dare absoluteloneliness and helplessness, but she realized now that if shewere left alone her life would become one long, hideousnightmare.

　　When his soft steps clinked into the hall, in answer to hergreeting, and his tall, black-garbed form filled the door, shefelt an inexpressible sense of immediate safety. In his presenceshe lost her fear of the dim passageways of Withersteen House andof every sound. Always it had been that, when he entered thecourt or the hall, she had experienced a distinctly sickening butgradually lessening shock at sight of the huge black gunsswinging at his sides. This time the sickening shock againvisited her, it was, however, because a revealing flash ofthought told her that it was not alone Lassiter who wasthrillingly welcome, but also his fatal weapons. They meant somuch. How she had fallen--how broken and spiritless must shebe--to have still the same old horror of Lassiter's guns and hisname, yet feel somehow a cold, shrinking protection in their lawand might and use.

　　"Did you trail Venters--find his wonderful valley?" she asked,eagerly.

　　"Yes, an' I reckon it's sure a wonderful place."

　　"Is he safe there?"

　　"That's been botherin' me some. I tracked him an' part of thetrail was the hardest I ever tackled. Mebbe there's a rustler orsomebody in this country who's as good at trackin' as I am. Ifthat's so Venters ain't safe."

　　"Well--tell me all about Bern and his valley."

　　To Jane's surprise Lassiter showed disinclination for furthertalk about his trip. He appeared to be extremely fatigued. Janereflected that one hundred and twenty miles, with probably agreat deal of climbing on foot, all in three days, was enough totire any rider. Moreover, it presently developed that Lassiterhad returned in a mood of singular sadness and preoccupation. Sheput it down to a moodiness over the loss of her white herd andthe now precarious condition of her fortune.

　　Several days passed, and as nothing happened, Jane's spiritsbegan to brighten. Once in her musings she thought that thistendency of hers to rebound was as sad as it was futile.Meanwhile, she had resumed her walks through the grove withlittle Fay.

　　One morning she went as far as the sage. She had not seen theslope since the beginning of the rains, and now it bloomed a richdeep purple. There was a high wind blowing, and the sage tossedand waved and colored beautifully from light to dark. Cloudsscudded across the sky and their shadows sailed darkly down thesunny slope.

　　Upon her return toward the house she went by the lane to thestables, and she had scarcely entered the great open space withits corrals and sheds when she saw Lassiter hurriedlyapproaching. Fay broke from her and, running to a corral fence,began to pat and pull the long, hanging ears of a drowsy burro.

　　One look at Lassiter armed her for a blow.

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

　　"Jane--look!" he said, and pointed to the ground.

　　Jane glanced down, and again, and upon steadier vision made outsplotches of blood on the stones, and broad, smooth marks in thedust, leading out toward the sage.

　　"What made these?" she asked.

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

　　"Dead--or--wounded--men!"

　　"I reckon--Jane, are you strong? Can you bear up?"

　　His hands were gently holding hers, and his eyes--suddenly shecould no longer look into them. "Strong?" she echoed, trembling."I--I will be."

　　Up on the stone-flag drive, nicked with the marks made by theiron-shod hoofs of her racers, Lassiter led her, his grasp evergrowing firmer.

　　"Where's Blake--and--and Jerb?" she asked, haltingly.

　　"I don't know where Jerb is. Bolted, most likely," repliedLassiter, as he took her through the stone door. "But Blake--poorBlake! He's gone forever!...Be prepared, Jane."

　　With a cold prickling of her skin, with a queer thrumming in herears, with fixed and staring eyes, Jane saw a gun lying at herfeet with chamber swung and empty, and discharged shellsscattered near.

　　Outstretched upon the stable floor lay Blake, ghastlywhite--dead--one hand clutching a gun and the other twisted inhis bloody blouse.

　　"Whoever the thieves were, whether your people or rustlers--Blakekilled some of them!" said Lassiter.

　　"Thieves?" whispered Jane.

　　"I reckon. Hoss-thieves!...Look!" Lassiter waved his hand towardthe stalls.

　　The first stall--Bells's stall--was empty. All the stalls wereempty. No racer whinnied and stamped greeting to her. Night wasgone! Black Star was gone!