Riders of the Purple Sage

by Zane Grey

  CHAPTER XIV. WEST WIND

  When the storm abated Venters sought his own cave, and late in thenight, as his blood cooled and the stir and throb and thrill subsided,he fell asleep.

  With the breaking of dawn his eyes unclosed. The valley lay drenchedand bathed, a burnished oval of glittering green. The rain-washed wallsglistened in the morning light. Waterfalls of many forms poured overthe rims. One, a broad, lacy sheet, thin as smoke, slid over the westernnotch and struck a ledge in its downward fall, to bound into broaderleap, to burst far below into white and gold and rosy mist.

  Venters prepared for the day, knowing himself a different man.

  "It's a glorious morning," said Bess, in greeting.

  "Yes. After the storm the west wind," he replied.

  "Last night was I--very much of a baby?" she asked, watching him.

  "Pretty much."

  "Oh, I couldn't help it!"

  "I'm glad you were afraid."

  "Why?" she asked, in slow surprise.

  "I'll tell you some day," he answered, soberly. Then around thecamp-fire and through the morning meal he was silent; afterward hestrolled thoughtfully off alone along the terrace. He climbed a greatyellow rock raising its crest among the spruces, and there he sat downto face the valley and the west.

  "I love her!"

  Aloud he spoke--unburdened his heart--confessed his secret. For aninstant the golden valley swam before his eyes, and the walls waved, andall about him whirled with tumult within.

  "I love her!... I understand now."

  Reviving memory of Jane Withersteen and thought of the complications ofthe present amazed him with proof of how far he had drifted from hisold life. He discovered that he hated to take up the broken threads, todelve into dark problems and difficulties. In this beautiful valley hehad been living a beautiful dream. Tranquillity had come to him, and thejoy of solitude, and interest in all the wild creatures and crannies ofthis incomparable valley--and love. Under the shadow of the great stonebridge God had revealed Himself to Venters.

  "The world seems very far away," he muttered, "but it's there--and I'mnot yet done with it. Perhaps I never shall be.... Only--how glorious itwould be to live here always and never think again!"

  Whereupon the resurging reality of the present, as if in irony of hiswish, steeped him instantly in contending thought. Out of it all hepresently evolved these things: he must go to Cottonwoods; he must bringsupplies back to Surprise Valley; he must cultivate the soil and raisecorn and stock, and, most imperative of all, he must decide the futureof the girl who loved him and whom he loved. The first of these thingsrequired tremendous effort, the last one, concerning Bess, seemed simplyand naturally easy of accomplishment. He would marry her. Suddenly, asfrom roots of poisonous fire, flamed up the forgotten truth concerningher. It seemed to wither and shrivel up all his joy on its hot, tearingway to his heart. She had been Oldring's Masked Rider. To Venters'squestion, "What were you to Oldring?" she had answered with scarletshame and drooping head.

  "What do I care who she is or what she was!" he cried, passionately. Andhe knew it was not his old self speaking. It was this softer, gentlerman who had awakened to new thoughts in the quiet valley. Tenderness,masterful in him now, matched the absence of joy and blunted theknife-edge 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 sostrange--so wonderful. Anything can happen. Who am I to judge her? I'llglory in my love for her. But I can't tell it--can't give up to it."

  Certainly he could not then decide her future. Marrying her wasimpossible in Surprise Valley and in any village south of Sterling. Evenwithout the mask she had once worn she would easily have been recognizedas 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 allother argument was the fact that he did not want to take her away fromSurprise Valley. He resisted all thought of that. He had brought her tothe most beautiful and wildest place of the uplands; he had saved her,nursed her back to strength, watched her bloom as one of the valleylilies; he knew her life there to be pure and sweet--she belonged tohim, and he loved her. Still these were not all the reasons why hedid not want to take her away. Where could they go? He feared therustlers--he feared the riders--he feared the Mormons. And if he shouldever succeed in getting Bess safely away from these immediate perils, hefeared the sharp eyes of women and their tongues, the big outside worldwith its problems of existence. He must wait to decide her future,which, after all, was deciding his own. But between her future and hissomething hung impending. Like Balancing Rock, which waited darkly overthe steep gorge, ready to close forever the outlet to Deception Pass,that nameless thing, as certain yet intangible as fate, must fall andclose forever all doubts and fears of the future.

  "I've dreamed," muttered Venters, as he rose. "Well, why not?... To dreamis happiness! But let me just once see this clearly wholly; then I cango 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 thisgirl. She's mine. I'll fight to keep her safe from that old life. I'vealready seen her forget it. I love her. And if a beast ever rises in meI'll burn my hand off before I lay it on her with shameful intent. And,by God! sooner or later I'll kill the man who hid her and kept her inDeception Pass!"

  As he spoke the west wind softly blew in his face. It seemed to soothehis passion. That west wind was fresh, cool, fragrant, and it carrieda sweet, strange burden of far-off things--tidings of life in otherclimes, of sunshine asleep on other walls--of other places where reignedpeace. It carried, too, sad truth of human hearts and mystery--ofpromise and hope unquenchable. Surprise Valley was only a little nichein the wide world whence blew that burdened wind. Bess was only one ofmillions at the mercy of unknown motive in nature and life. Content hadcome to Venters in the valley; happiness had breathed in the slow, warmair; love as bright as light had hovered over the walls and descended tohim; and now on the west wind came a whisper of the eternal triumph offaith over doubt.

  "How much better I am for what has come to me!" he exclaimed. "I'll letthe future take care of itself. Whatever falls, I'll be ready."

  Venters retraced his steps along the terrace back to camp, and foundBess in the old familiar seat, waiting and watching for his return.

  "I went off by myself to think a little," he explained.

  "You never looked that way before. What--what is it? Won't you tell me?"

  "Well, Bess, the fact is I've been dreaming a lot. This valley makes afellow dream. So I forced myself to think. We can't live this way muchlonger. Soon I'll simply have to go to Cottonwoods. We need a whole packtrain of supplies. I can get--"

  "Can you go safely?" she interrupted.

  "Why, I'm sure of it. I'll ride through the Pass at night. I haven't anyfear that Wrangle isn't where I left him. And once on him--Bess, justwait till you see that horse!"

  "Oh, I want to see him--to ride him. But--but, Bern, this is whattroubles me," she said. "Will--will you come back?"

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

  "Oh!"

  "Bess, I'll come back. There's danger--I wouldn't lie to you--but I cantake care of myself."

  "Bern, I'm sure--oh, I'm sure of it! All my life I've watched huntedmen. I can tell what's in them. And I believe you can ride and shoot andsee with any rider of the sage. It's not--not that I--fear."

  "Well, what is it, then?"

  "Why--why--why should you come back at all?"

  "I couldn't leave you here alone."

  "You might change your mind when you get to the village--among oldfriends--"

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

  "Then--there--there must be a--a woman!" Dark red mantled the clear
tanof temple and cheek and neck. Her eyes were eyes of shame, upheld a longmoment by intense, straining search for the verification of her fear.Suddenly they drooped, her head fell to her knees, her hands flew to herhot cheeks.

  "Bess--look here," said Venters, with a sharpness due to the violencewith which he checked his quick, surging emotion.

  As if compelled against her will--answering to an irresistiblevoice--Bess raised her head, looked at him with sad, dark eyes, andtried to whisper with tremulous lips.

  "There's no woman," went on Venters, deliberately holding her glancewith his. "Nothing on earth, barring the chances of life, can keep meaway."

  Her face flashed and flushed with the glow of a leaping joy; but likethe vanishing of a gleam it disappeared to leave her as he had neverbeheld her.

  "I am nothing--I am lost--I am nameless!"

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

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

  "Bess, I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have said that. But you angeredme. I intend to work--to make a home for you here--to be a--a brotherto you as long as ever you need me. And you must forget what youare--were--I mean, and be happy. When you remember that old life you arebitter, and it hurts me."

  "I was happy--I shall be very happy. Oh, you're so good that--that itkills me! If I think, I can't believe it. I grow sick with wonderingwhy. I'm only a let me say it--only a lost, nameless--girl of therustlers. Oldring's Girl, they called me. That you should save me--be sogood and kind--want to make me happy--why, it's beyond belief. No wonderI'm wretched at the thought of your leaving me. But I'll be wretchedand bitter no more. I promise you. If only I could repay you even alittle--"

  "You've repaid me a hundredfold. Will you believe me?"

  "Believe you! I couldn't do else."

  "Then listen!... Saving you, I saved myself. Living here in this valleywith 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 sayabout yourself. I can't explain it. There are things too deep to tell.Whatever the terrible wrongs you've suffered, God holds you blameless.I see that--feel that in you every moment you are near me. I've amother and a sister 'way back in Illinois. If I could I'd take you tothem--to-morrow."

  "If it were true! Oh, I might--I might lift my head!" she cried.

  "Lift it then--you child. For I swear it's true."

  She did lift her head with the singular wild grace always a part of heractions, with that old unconscious intimation of innocence which alwaystortured Venters, but now with something more--a spirit rising from thedepths that linked itself to his brave words.

  "I've been thinking--too," she cried, with quivering smile and swellingbreast. "I've discovered myself--too. I'm young--I'm alive--I'm sofull--oh! I'm a woman!"

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

  "Oh, there's more--there's something I must tell you."

  "Tell it, then."

  "When will you go to Cottonwoods?"

  "As soon as the storms are past, or the worst of them."

  "I'll tell you before you go. I can't now. I don't know how I shallthen. 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 theclouds clustered gray and purple and black. The cliffs sang and thecaves rang with Oldring's knell, and the lightning flashed, the thunderrolled, the echoes crashed and crashed, and the rains flooded thevalley. Wild flowers sprang up everywhere, swaying with the lengtheninggrass on the terraces, smiling wanly from shady nooks, peepingwondrously from year-dry crevices of the walls. The valley bloomedinto a paradise. Every single moment, from the breaking of the gold barthrough the bridge at dawn on to the reddening of rays over the westernwall, was one of colorful change. The valley swam in thick, transparenthaze, golden at dawn, warm and white at noon, purple in the twilight. Atthe end of every storm a rainbow curved down into the leaf-bright forestto shine and fade and leave lingeringly some faint essence of its rosyiris in the air.

  Venters walked with Bess, once more in a dream, and watched the lightschange on the walls, and faced the wind from out of the west.

  Always it brought softly to him strange, sweet tidings of far-offthings. It blew from a place that was old and whispered of youth. Itblew 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 thesong of love. That ever was the burden of its tidings--youth in theshady woods, waders through the wet meadows, boy and girl at thehedgerow stile, bathers in the booming surf, sweet, idle hours ongrassy, windy hills, long strolls down moonlit lanes--everywhere infar-off lands, fingers locked and bursting hearts and longing lips--fromall the world tidings of unquenchable love.

  Often, in these hours of dreams he watched the girl, and asked himselfof what was she dreaming? For the changing light of the valley reflectedits gleam and its color and its meaning in the changing light of hereyes. He saw in them infinitely more than he saw in his dreams. He sawthought and soul and nature--strong vision of life. All tidings the westwind blew from distance and age he found deep in those dark-blue depths,and found them mysteries solved. Under their wistful shadow he softened,and in the softening felt himself grow a sadder, a wiser, and a betterman.

  While the west wind blew its tidings, filling his heart full, teachinghim a man's part, the days passed, the purple clouds changed to white,and the storms were over for that summer.

  "I must go now," he said.

  "When?" she asked.

  "At once--to-night."

  "I'm glad the time has come. It dragged at me. Go--for you'll come backthe sooner."

  Late in the afternoon, as the ruddy sun split its last flame in theragged notch of the western wall, Bess walked with Venters along theeastern terrace, up the long, weathered slope, under the great stonebridge. They entered the narrow gorge to climb around the fence longbefore built there by Venters. Farther than this she had never been.Twilight had already fallen in the gorge. It brightened to waning shadowin the wider ascent. He showed her Balancing Rock, of which he hadoften told her, and explained its sinister leaning over the outlet.Shuddering, she looked down the long, pale incline with its closed-in,toppling walls.

  "What an awful trail! Did you carry me up here?"

  "I did, surely," replied he.

  "It frightens me, somehow. Yet I never was afraid of trails. I'd rideanywhere a horse could go, and climb where he couldn't. But there'ssomething fearful here. I feel as--as if the place was watching me."

  "Look at this rock. It's balanced here--balanced perfectly. You know Itold you the cliff-dwellers cut the rock, and why. But they're gone andthe rock waits. Can't you see--feel how it waits here? I moved it once,and I'll never dare again. A strong heave would start it. Then it wouldfall and bang, and smash that crag, and jar the walls, and close foreverthe outlet to Deception Pass!"

  "Ah! When you come back I'll steal up here and push and push with allmy 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 heaviernote, a ring deeper than any ever given mere play of words.

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

  "I--was--in--fun." Her voice now throbbed low. "Always you must be freeto go when you will. Go now... this place presses on me--stifles me."

  "I'm going--but you had something to tell me?"

  "Yes.... Will you--come back?"

  "I'll come if I live."

  "But--but you mightn't come?"

  "That's possible, of course. It'll take a good deal to kill me. A mancouldn't have a faster horse or keener
dog. And, Bess, I've guns, andI'll use them if I'm pushed. But don't worry."

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

  She lost her voice. Her pale face, her great, glowing, earnest eyes,seemed to stand alone out of the gloom of the gorge. The dog whined,breaking the silence.

  "I must tell you--because you mightn't come back," she whispered. "Youmust know what--what I think of your goodness--of you. Always I've beentongue-tied. I seemed not to be grateful. It was deep in my heart.Even now--if I were other than I am--I couldn't tell you. But I'mnothing--only a rustler's girl--nameless--infamous. You've saved me--andI'm--I'm yours to do with as you like.... With all my heart and soul--Ilove you!"