Riders of the Purple Sage (Leisure Historical Fiction)

by Zane Grey

  "That's a damnable lie!" cried Jane Withersteen.

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

  "Wait! Missus Larkin, I may have told little white lies in my life, but never a lie that mattered, that hurt anyone. Now believe me. I love little Fay. If I had her near me, I'd grow to worship her. When I asked for her, I thought only of that love. Let me prove this. You and Fay come to live with me. I've such a big house and I'm so lonely. I'll help nurse you, take care of you. When you're better, you can work for me. I'll keep little Fay and bring her up... without Mormon teaching. When she's grown, if she should want to leave me, I'll send her, and not empty-handed, back to Illinois where you came from. I promise you."

  "I knew it was a lie," replied the mother, and she sank back upon her pillow with something of peace in her white, worn face. "Jane Withersteen, may heaven bless you! I've been deeply grateful to you. But because you're a Mormon, I never felt close to you till now. I don't know much about religion as religion, but your God and my God are the same."

  Back in that strange canon, 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 the mask and seen a white face quivering in a convulsion of agony; he had heard God's name whispered by blood-stained lips; through her solemn and awful eyes he had caught a glimpse of her soul. And just now had come this entreaty to him: "Don't... take... me... back... there!"

  Once and for all Venters's quick mind formed a permanent conception of this poor girl. He based it, not upon what the chances of life had made her, but upon the revelation of dark eyes that pierced the infinite, upon a few pitiful, halting words that betrayed failure and wrong and misery, yet breathed the truth of a tragic fate rather than a natural leaning to evil.

  "What's your name?" he inquired.

  "Bess," she answered.

  "Bess what?"

  "That's enough... just Bess."

  The red that deepened in her cheeks was not all the flash 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 matters... what shall I do with you?"

  "Are... you... a rider?" she whispered.

  "Not now. I was once. I drove the Withersteen herds. But I lost my place... lost all I owned... and now I'm... I'm a sort of outcast. My name's Bern Venters."

  "You won't... take me... to Cottonwoods... or Glaze? I'd be... hanged."

  "No, indeed. But I must do something with you. For it's not safe for me here. I shot that rustler who was with you. Sooner or later he'll be found, and then my tracks. I must find a safer hiding place where I can't be trailed."

  "Leave me... here."

  "Alone... to die?"

  "Yes."

  "I will not." Venters spoke shortly with a kind of ring in his voice.

  "What... do you want... to do... with me?" Her whispering grew difficult, so low and faint that Venters had to stoop to hear her.

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

  "And... then?"

  "Well, it'll be time to think of that when you're cured of your wound. It's a bad one. And... Bess, if you don't want to live... if you don't fight for fife... you'll never...."

  "Oh! I want... to live! I'm afraid... to die. But I'd rather... die... than go back... to... to....

  "To Oldring?" asked Venters, interrupting her in turn.

  Her lips moved in an affirmative.

  "I promise not to take you back to him or to Cottonwoods or to Glaze."

  The mournful earnestness of her gaze suddenly shone with unutterable gratitude and wonder. 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 wistful, unconscious searching of his face, a look that trembled on the verge of hope and trust.

  "I'll try... to live," she said. The broken whisper just reached his ears. "Do what... you want... with me."

  "Rest, then... don't worry... sleep," he replied.

  Abruptly he arose, as if her 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 right-hand wall and went along that till its perpendicular line broke into the long incline of bare stone.

  Before proceeding farther he halted, studying the strange character of this slope and realizing that a moving black object could be seen far against such background. Before him ascended a gradual swell of smooth stone. It was hard, polished, and full of pockets worn by centuries of eddying rain water. A hundred yards up began a line of grotesque cedar trees, and they extended along the slope clear to its most southerly end. Beyond that end, Venters wanted to get, and he concluded the cedars, few as they were, would afford some cover.

  Therefore, he climbed swiftly. The trees were farther up than he had estimated, although he had from long habit made allowance for the deceiving nature of distances in this country. When he gained the cover of cedars, he paused to rest and look, and it was then he saw how the trees sprang from holes in the bare rock. Ages of rain had run down the slope, circling, eddying in depressions, wearing deep, round holes. There had been dry seasons, accumulations of dust, wind-blown seeds, and cedars rose wonderfully out of solid rock. But these were not beautiful cedars. They were gnarled, twisted into weird contortions, as if growth were torture, dead at the tops, shrunken, gray, and old. Theirs had been a bitter fight, and Venters felt a strange sympathy for them. This country was hard on trees-and men.

  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 his 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 canon, he began to chase the rabbit.

  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 farther 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. They were only a few inches deep and about a foot apart. Venters began to count them-one-two-three-four-on up to sixteen. That number carried his glance to the top of this first bulging bench of cliff base. Above, after a more level offset, was still steeper slope, and the line of nicks kept on, to wind around a projecting corner of wall.

  A casual look would have passed by these little dents. If Venters had not known what they signified, he would never have bestowed upon them a second glance. But he knew they had been cut there by hand, and, although age-worn, he recognized them as steps cut in the rock by cliff-dwellers. With a pulse beginning to beat and hammer away his calmness, he eyed that indistinct line of steps, up to where the buttress of wall hid farther sight of them. He knew that behind the corner of stone would be a cave or a crack that could never be suspected from below. Chance, that had sported with him of late, now directed him to a probable hiding place. Again he laid aside his rifle, and, removing boots and belt, he began to walk up the steps. Like a mountain goat, he was agile, sure-footed, and he mounted the first bench without bending to use his hands. The next ascent took grip of fingers as well as toes, but he climbed steadily, swiftly, to reach the projecting corner, and slipped around it. Here he faced a notch in the cliff. At the apex he turned abruptly into a rugged 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 on the dusty floor. At every turn he expected to come upon a huge cavern full of little square stone houses, each with a small aperture like a staring, dark eye. The passage lightened and widened, and opened at the foot of a narrow, steep, ascending chute.

  Venters had a moment's notice of the rock which was of the same smoothness and hardness as the slope below, before his gaze went irresistibly upward to the precipitous walls of this wide ladder of granite. These were ruined walls of yellow sandstone and so split and splintered, so overhanging with great sections of balancing rim, so impending with tremendous, crumbling crags, that Venters caught his breath sharply, and, appalled, he instinctively recoiled as if a step upward might jar the ponderous cliffs from their foundation. Indeed, it seemed that these ruined cliffs were but awaiting a breath of wind to collapse and come tumbling down. Venters hesitated. It would be a foolhardy man who risked his life under the leaning, waiting avalanches of rock in that gigantic split. Yet how many years had they leaned there without falling! At the bottom of the incline was an immense heap of weathered sandstone all crumbling to dust, but there were no huge rocks as large as houses, such as rested so lightly and frightfully above, waiting patiently and inevitably to crash down. Slowly split from the parent rock by the weathering process, and carved and sculptured by ages of wind and rain, they waited their moment. Venters felt how foolish it was for him to fear these broken walls, to fear that, after they had endured for thousands of years, the moment of his passing should be the one for them to slip. Yet he feared it.

  What a place to hide! mused Venters. I'll climb... I'll see where this thing goes. If only I can fiscal water!

  With teeth tightly shut he- essayed the incline. 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, sur prised to find the walls still several hundred feet high, and a narrow gorge leading down on the other side. This was a divide between two inclines, about twenty yards wide. At one side stood an enormous rock. Venters gave it a second glance, because it rested on a pedestal. It attracted closer attention. It was like a colossal pear of stone standing on its stem. Around the bottom were thousands of little nicks just distinguishable to the eye. They were marks of stone hatchets. The cliff-dwellers had chipped and chipped away at this boulder till it rested its tremendous bulk upon a mere pinpoint of its surface. Venters pondered. Why had the Stone Age men hacked away at that big boulder? It bore no resemblance to a statue or an idol or a godhead or a sphinx. Instinctively he put his hands on it and pushed; then his shoulder and heaved. The stone seemed to groan, to stir, to grate, and then to move. It tipped a little downward and hung balancing for a long instant, slowly returned, rocked slightly, groaned, and settled back to its former position.

  Venters divined its significance. It had been meant for defense. The cliff-dwellers, driven by dreaded enemies to this last stand, had cunningly cut the rock until it balanced perfectly, ready to be dislodged by strong hands. Just below it leaned a tottering crag that would have toppled, starting an avalanche on an acclivity where no sliding mass could stop. Crags and pinnacles, splintered cliffs, and leaning shafts and monuments would have thundered down to block forever the outlet to Deception Pass.

  That was a narrow shave for me, Venters thought soberly. A balancing rock! The cliff-dwellers never had to roll it. They died, vanished, and here the rock stands, probably little changed. But it might serve another lonely dweller of the cliffs. I'll hide up here somewhere, if I can only find water.

  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 scarcely a dozen feet, and here was darkness of night. But light shone ahead; another abrupt turn brought day again, and then wide-open space.

  Above Venters loomed a wonderful arch of stone bridging the canon 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 canons. No purple sage colored this valley floor. Instead, there were the white of aspens, streaks of branch and slender trunk glistening from the green of leaves, and the darker green of oaks, and through the middle of this forest, from wall to wall, ran a winding line of brilliant green which marked the course of cottonwoods and willows.

  There's water here... and this is the place for me, concluded Venters. Only birds can peep over those walls. I've gone Oldring one better.

  Venters waited no longer, and turned swiftly to retrace his steps. He named the canon 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 cl
imb 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. Here he placed the stones some yards apart. He left the rabbit lying upon the bench where the steps began. Then he addressed a keen-sighted, remembering gaze to the rim wall above. It was serrated, and between two spears of rock, directly in line with his position, showed a zigzag crack that at night would let through the gleam of sky. This settled, he put on his belt and boots and prepared to descend. Some consideration was necessary to decide whether or not to leave his rifle there. On the return, carrying the girl and a pack, it would be added encumbrance, and, after debating the matter, he left the rifle leaning against the bench. As he went straight down the slope, he halted every few rods to look up at his mark on the rim. It changed, but he fixed each change in his memory. When he reached the first cedar tree, he tied his scarf upon a dead branch, and then hurried toward camp, having no more concern about finding his trail upon the return trip.

  Darkness soon emboldened and lent him greater speed. It occurred to him, as he glided into the grassy glade near camp and heard the whinny of a horse, that he had forgotten Wrangle. The big sorrel could not be gotten into Surprise Valley. He would have to be left here.

  Venters determined at once to lead the other horses out through the thicket and turn them loose. The farther they wandered from this canon, the better it would suit him. He easily descried Wrangle through the gloom, but the others were not in sight. Venters whistled now for the dogs, and, when they came trotting to him, he sent them out to search for the horses, and he followed. It soon developed that they were not in the glade or 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 Whine reassured him. The horses had wandered away.