Riders of the Purple Sage

by Zane Grey

  CHAPTER XXI. BLACK STAR AND NIGHT

  The time had come for Venters and Bess to leave their retreat. They wereat great pains to choose the few things they would be able to carry withthem on the journey out of Utah.

  "Bern, whatever kind of a pack's this, anyhow?" questioned Bess, risingfrom her work with reddened face.

  Venters, absorbed in his own task, did not look up at all, and in replysaid he had brought so much from Cottonwoods that he did not recollectthe half of it.

  "A woman packed this!" Bess exclaimed.

  He scarcely caught her meaning, but the peculiar tone of her voicecaused him instantly to rise, and he saw Bess on her knees before anopen pack which he recognized as the one given him by Jane.

  "By George!" he ejaculated, guiltily, and then at sight of Bess's facehe laughed outright.

  "A woman packed this," she repeated, fixing woeful, tragic eyes on him.

  "Well, is that a crime?'

  "There--there is a woman, after all!"

  "Now Bess--"

  "You've lied to me!"

  Then and there Venters found it imperative to postpone work for thepresent. All her life Bess had been isolated, but she had inheritedcertain elements of the eternal feminine.

  "But there was a woman and you did lie to me," she kept repeating, afterhe had explained.

  "What of that? Bess, I'll get angry at you in a moment. Remember you'vebeen pent up all your life. I venture to say that if you'd been out inthe world you'd have had a dozen sweethearts and have told many a liebefore this."

  "I wouldn't anything of the kind," declared Bess, indignantly.

  "Well--perhaps not lie. But you'd have had the sweethearts--You couldn'thave helped that--being so pretty."

  This remark appeared to be a very clever and fortunate one; and thework of selecting and then of stowing all the packs in the cave went onwithout further interruption.

  Venters closed up the opening of the cave with a thatch of willows andaspens, so that not even a bird or a rat could get in to the sacksof grain. And this work was in order with the precaution habituallyobserved by him. He might not be able to get out of Utah, and have toreturn to the valley. But he owed it to Bess to make the attempt, and incase they were compelled to turn back he wanted to find that fine storeof food and grain intact. The outfit of implements and utensils hepacked away in another cave.

  "Bess, we have enough to live here all our lives," he said once,dreamily.

  "Shall I go roll Balancing Rock?" she asked, in light speech, but withdeep-blue fire in her eyes.

  "No--no."

  "Ah, you don't forget the gold and the world," she sighed.

  "Child, you forget the beautiful dresses and the travel--andeverything."

  "Oh, I want to go. But I want to stay!"

  "I feel the same way."

  They let the eight calves out of the corral, and kept only two of theburros Venters had brought from Cottonwoods. These they intended toride. Bess freed all her pets--the quail and rabbits and foxes.

  The last sunset and twilight and night were both the sweetest andsaddest they had ever spent in Surprise Valley. Morning brought keenexhilaration and excitement. When Venters had saddled the two burros,strapped on the light packs and the two canteens, the sunlight wasdispersing the lazy shadows from the valley. Taking a last look at thecaves and the silver spruces, Venters and Bess made a reluctant start,leading the burros. Ring and Whitie looked keen and knowing. Somethingseemed 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 andtake one last look at the valley. The tremendous arch of stone curvedclear and sharp in outline against the morning sky. And through itstreaked the golden shaft. The valley seemed an enchanted circle ofglorious veils of gold and wraiths of white and silver haze and dim,blue, moving shade--beautiful and wild and unreal as a dream.

  "We--we can--th--think of it--always--re--remember," sobbed Bess.

  "Hush! Don't cry. Our valley has only fitted us for a better lifesomewhere. Come!"

  They entered the gorge and he closed the willow gate. From rosy, goldenmorning light they passed into cool, dense gloom. The burros patteredup the trail with little hollow-cracking steps. And the gorge widened tonarrow outlet and the gloom lightened to gray. At the divide they haltedfor another rest. Venters's keen, remembering gaze searched BalancingRock, and the long incline, and the cracked toppling walls, but failedto note the slightest change.

  The dogs led the descent; then came Bess leading her burro; then Ventersleading his. Bess kept her eyes bent downward. Venters, however, hadan irresistible desire to look upward at Balancing Rock. It had alwayshaunted him, and now he wondered if he were really to get through theoutlet before the huge stone thundered down. He fancied that would bea miracle. Every few steps he answered to the strange, nervous fear andturned to make sure the rock still stood like a giant statue. And, ashe descended, it grew dimmer in his sight. It changed form; it swayed itnodded darkly; and at last, in his heightened fancy, he saw it heave androll. As in a dream when he felt himself falling yet knew he would neverfall, so he saw this long-standing thunderbolt of the little stone-menplunge down to close forever the outlet to Deception Pass.

  And while he was giving way to unaccountable dread imaginations thedescent was accomplished without mishap.

  "I'm glad that's over," he said, breathing more freely. "I hope I'm bythat hanging rock for good and all. Since almost the moment I first sawit I've had an idea that it was waiting for me. Now, when it does fall,if I'm thousands of miles away, I'll hear it."

  With the first glimpses of the smooth slope leading down to thegrotesque cedars and out to the Pass, Venters's cool nerve returned. Onelong survey to the left, then one to the right, satisfied his caution.Leading the burros down to the spur of rock, he halted at the steepincline.

  "Bess, here's the bad place, the place I told you about, with the cutsteps. You start down, leading your burro. Take your time and hold on tohim if you slip. I've got a rope on him and a half-hitch on this pointof 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 cliff-dwellers,and did it without a misstep. After that the descent down the slope andover the mile of scrawled, ripped, and ridged rock required only carefulguidance, and Venters got the burros to level ground in a condition thatcaused 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 weget 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 byall the canyons and gullies opening into the Pass they went faster andwith fewer halts. Venters did not confide in Bess the alarming fact thathe had seen horses and smoke less than a mile up one of the intersectingcanyons. He did not talk at all. And long after he had passed thiscanyon and felt secure once more in the certainty that they had beenunobserved he never relaxed his watchfulness. But he did not walk anymore, and he kept the burros at a steady trot. Night fell before theyreached 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 longhalters in the grass near the spring. Bess, tired out and silent, laidher head in a saddle and went to sleep between the two dogs. Ventersdid 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. Hewatched the stars and the moving shadows, and always his glance returnedto the girl's dimly pale face. And he remembered how white and stillit had once looked in the starlight. And again stern thought fought hisstrange fancies. Would all his labor and his love be for naught? Wouldhe lose her, after all? What did the dark shad
ow around her portend? Didcalamity lurk on that long upland trail through the sage? Why should hisheart swell and throb with nameless fear? He listened to the silenceand told himself that in the broad light of day he could dispel thisleaden-weighted dread.

  At the first hint of gray over the eastern rim he awoke Bess, saddledthe burros, and began the day's travel. He wanted to get out of the Passbefore there was any chance of riders coming down. They gained the breakas the first red rays of the rising sun colored the rim.

  For once, so eager was he to get up to level ground, he did not sendRing or Whitie in advance. Encouraging Bess to hurry pulling at hispatient, plodding burro, he climbed the soft, steep trail.

  Brighter and brighter grew the light. He mounted the last broken edge ofrim to have the sun-fired, purple sage-slope burst upon him as a glory.Bess panted up to his side, tugging on the halter of her burro.

  "We're up!" he cried, joyously. "There's not a dot on the sage. We'resafe. We'll not be seen! Oh, Bess--"

  Ring growled and sniffed the keen air and bristled. Venters clutchedat his rifle. Whitie sometimes made a mistake, but Ring never. The dullthud of hoofs almost deprived Venters of power to turn and see fromwhere disaster threatened. He felt his eyes dilate as he stared atLassiter leading Black Star and Night out of the sage, with JaneWithersteen, in rider's costume, close beside them.

  For an instant Venters felt himself whirl dizzily in the center of vastcircles of sage. He recovered partially, enough to see Lassiter standingwith a glad smile and Jane riveted in astonishment.

  "Why, Bern!" she exclaimed. "How good it is to see you! We're ridingaway, you see. The storm burst--and I'm a ruined woman!... I thought youwere alone."

  Venters, unable to speak for consternation, and bewildered out of allsense of what he ought or ought not to do, simply stared at Jane.

  "Son, where are you bound for?" asked Lassiter.

  "Not safe--where I was. I'm--we're going out of Utah--back East," hefound tongue to say.

  "I reckon this meetin's the luckiest thing that ever happened to you an'to me--an' to Jane--an' to Bess," said Lassiter, coolly.

  "Bess!" cried Jane, with a sudden leap of blood to her pale cheek.

  It was entirely beyond Venters to see any luck in that meeting.

  Jane Withersteen took one flashing, woman's glance at Bess's scarletface, at her slender, shapely form.

  "Venters! is this a girl--a woman?" she questioned, in a voice thatstung.

  "Yes."

  "Did you have her in that wonderful valley?"

  "Yes, but Jane--"

  "All the time you were gone?"

  "Yes, but I couldn't tell--"

  "Was it for her you asked me to give you supplies? Was it for her thatyou wanted to make your valley a paradise?"

  "Oh--Jane--"

  "Answer me."

  "Yes."

  "Oh, you liar!" And with these passionate words Jane Withersteensuccumbed to fury. For the second time in her life she fell into theungovernable rage that had been her father's weakness. And it was worsethan his, for she was a jealous woman--jealous even of her friends.

  As best he could, he bore the brunt of her anger. It was not only hisdeceit to her that she visited upon him, but her betrayal by religion,by life itself.

  Her passion, like fire at white heat, consumed itself in little time.Her physical strength failed, and still her spirit attempted to go on inmagnificent denunciation of those who had wronged her. Like a treecut deep into its roots, she began to quiver and shake, and her angerweakened into despair. And her ringing voice sank into a broken, huskywhisper. Then, spent and pitiable, upheld by Lassiter's arm, she turnedand hid her face in Black Star's mane.

  Numb as Venters was when at length Jane Withersteen lifted her head andlooked at him, he yet suffered a pang.

  "Jane, the girl is innocent!" he cried.

  "Can you expect me to believe that?" she asked, with weary, bitter eyes.

  "I'm not that kind of a liar. And you know it. If I lied--if I keptsilent when honor should have made me speak, it was to spare you. I cameto Cottonwoods to tell you. But I couldn't add to your pain. I intendedto tell you I had come to love this girl. But, Jane I hadn't forgottenhow good you were to me. I haven't changed at all toward you. I prizeyour friendship as I always have. But, however it may look to you--don'tbe unjust. The girl is innocent. Ask Lassiter."

  "Jane, she's jest as sweet an' innocent as little Fay," said Lassiter.There was a faint smile upon his face and a beautiful light.

  Venters saw, and knew that Lassiter saw, how Jane Withersteen's torturedsoul wrestled with hate and threw it--with scorn doubt, suspicion, andovercame all.

  "Bern, if in my misery I accused you unjustly, I crave forgiveness," shesaid. "I'm not what I once was. Tell me--who is this girl?"

  "Jane, she is Oldring's daughter, and his Masked Rider. Lassiter willtell you how I shot her for a rustler, saved her life--all the story.It's a strange story, Jane, as wild as the sage. But it's true--true asher innocence. That you must believe."

  "Oldring's Masked Rider! Oldring's daughter!" exclaimed Jane "And she'sinnocent! You ask me to believe much. If this girl is--is what you say,how could she be going away with the man who killed her father?"

  "Why did you tell that?" cried Venters, passionately.

  Jane's question had roused Bess out of stupefaction. Her eyes suddenlydarkened and dilated. She stepped toward Venters and held up both handsas if to ward off a blow.

  "Did--did you kill Oldring?"

  "I did, Bess, and I hate myself for it. But you know I never dreamedhe was your father. I thought he'd wronged you. I killed him when I wasmadly jealous."

  For a moment Bess was shocked into silence.

  "But he was my father!" she broke out, at last. "And now I must goback--I can't go with you. It's all over--that beautiful dream. Oh, Iknew it couldn't come true. You can't take me now."

  "If you forgive me, Bess, it'll all come right in the end!" imploredVenters.

  "It can't be right. I'll go back. After all, I loved him. He was good tome. I can't forget that."

  "If you go back to Oldring's men I'll follow you, and then they'll killme," said Venters, hoarsely.

  "Oh no, Bern, you'll not come. Let me go. It's best for you to forgetme. I've brought you only pain and dishonor."

  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 droppedlistlessly; and her head drooped in slow, final acceptance of a hopelessfate.

  "Jane, look there!" cried Venters, in despairing grief. "Need you havetold her? Where was all your kindness of heart? This girl has had awretched, lonely life. And I'd found a way to make her happy. You'vekilled it. You've killed something sweet and pure and hopeful, just assure as you breathe."

  "Oh, Bern! It was a slip. I never thought--I never thought!" repliedJane. "How could I tell she didn't know?"

  Lassiter suddenly moved forward, and with the beautiful light on hisface now strangely luminous, he looked at Jane and Venters and then lethis soft, bright gaze rest on Bess.

  "Well, I reckon you've all had your say, an' now it's Lassiter's turn.Why, I was jest praying for this meetin'. Bess, jest look here."

  Gently he touched her arm and turned her to face the others, and thenoutspread his great hand to disclose a shiny, battered gold locket.

  "Open it," he said, with a singularly rich voice.

  Bess complied, but listlessly.

  "Jane--Venters--come closer," went on Lassiter. "Take a look at thepicture. Don't you know the woman?"

  Jane, after one glance, drew back.

  "Milly Erne!" she cried, wonderingly.

  Venters, with tingling pulse, with something growing on him, recognizedin the faded miniature portrait the eyes of Milly Erne.

  "Yes, that's Milly," said Lassiter, softly. "Bess, did you ever see herface--look hard--with all your heart an' soul?"

  "The eyes seem to haunt me," whispered Bess. "Oh, I can't
remember--they're eyes of my dreams--but--but--"

  Lassiter's strong arm went round her and he bent his head.

  "Child, I thought you'd remember her eyes. They're the same beautifuleyes you'd see if you looked in a mirror or a clear spring. They're yourmother'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 manonce my best friend. Look! Here's his picture beside Milly's. He washandsome, 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, andblood tells."

  Bess slipped through his arm to her knees and hugged the locket to herbosom, and lifted wonderful, yearning eyes.

  "It--can't--be--true!"

  "Thank God, lass, it is true," replied Lassiter. "Jane an' Bernhere--they both recognize Milly. They see Milly in you. They're soknocked out they can't tell you, that's all."

  "Who are you?" whispered Bess.

  "I reckon I'm Milly's brother an' your uncle!... Uncle Jim! Ain't thatfine?"

  "Oh, I can't believe--Don't raise me! Bern, let me kneel. I see truthin your face--in Miss Withersteen's. But let me hear it all--all on myknees. Tell me how it's true!"

  "Well, Elizabeth, listen," said Lassiter. "Before you was born yourfather made a mortal enemy of a Mormon named Dyer. They was bothministers an' come to be rivals. Dyer stole your mother away from herhome. She gave birth to you in Texas eighteen years ago. Then she wastaken to Utah, from place to place, an' finally to the last bordersettlement--Cottonwoods. You was about three years old when you wastaken away from Milly. She never knew what had become of you. But shelived a good while hopin' and prayin' to have you again. Then she gaveup an' died. An' I may as well put in here your father died ten yearsago. Well, I spent my time tracin' Milly, an' some months back I landedin Cottonwoods. An' jest lately I learned all about you. I had a talkwith Oldrin' an' told him you was dead, an' he told me what I had solong been wantin' to know. It was Dyer, of course, who stole you fromMilly. Part reason he was sore because Milly refused to give you Mormonteachin', but mostly he still hated Frank Erne so infernally that hemade a deal with Oldrin' to take you an' bring you up as an infamousrustler an' rustler's girl. The idea was to break Frank Erne's heartif he ever came to Utah--to show him his daughter with a band of lowrustlers. Well--Oldrin' took you, brought you up from childhood, an'then made you his Masked Rider. He made you infamous. He kept that partof the contract, but he learned to love you as a daughter an' never letany but his own men know you was a girl. I heard him say that with myown ears, an' I saw his big eyes grow dim. He told me how he had guardedyou always, kept you locked up in his absence, was always at your sideor near you on those rides that made you famous on the sage. He said hean' 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 thevilest of the vile! An' Oldrin' brought you up the innocentest of theinnocent. He said you didn't know what vileness was. I can hear his bigvoice tremble now as he said it. He told me how the men--rustlers an'outlaws--who from time to time tried to approach you familiarly--he toldme how he shot them dead. I'm tellin' you this 'specially because you'veshowed such shame--sayin' you was nameless an' all that. Nothin' onearth can be wronger than that idea of yours. An' the truth of it ishere. 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 seemsOldrin' wasn't all bad, en' he sure loved you."

  Venters leaned forward in passionate remorse.

  "Oh, Bess! I know Lassiter speaks the truth. For when I shot Oldring hedropped to his knees and fought with unearthly power to speak. And hesaid: 'Man--why--didn't--you--wait? Bess was--' Then he fell dead.And I've been haunted by his look and words. Oh, Bess, what a strange,splendid thing for Oldring to do! It all seems impossible. But, dear,you really are not what you thought."

  "Elizabeth Erne!" cried Jane Withersteen. "I loved your mother and I seeher 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 littletremblings 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 thoughtwas slow, so were the variations of her expression. Her eyes reflectedthe transformation of her soul. Dark, brooding, hopeless belief--cloudsof gloom--drifted, paled, vanished in glorious light. An exquisite roseflush--a glow--shone from her face as she slowly began to rise from herknees. A spirit uplifted her. All that she had held as base dropped fromher.

  Venters watched her in joy too deep for words. By it he divinedsomething of what Lassiter's revelation meant to Bess, but he knew hecould only faintly understand. That moment when she seemed to be liftedby some spiritual transfiguration was the most beautiful moment of hislife. She stood with parted, quivering lips, with hands tightly claspingthe locket to her heaving breast. A new conscious pride of worthdignified the old wild, free grace and poise.

  "Uncle Jim!" she said, tremulously, with a different smile from anyVenters had ever seen on her face.

  Lassiter took her into his arms.

  "I reckon. It's powerful fine to hear that," replied Lassiter,unsteadily.

  Venters, feeling his eyes grow hot and wet, turned away, and foundhimself looking at Jane Withersteen. He had almost forgotten herpresence. Tenderness and sympathy were fast hiding traces of heragitation. Venters read her mind--felt the reaction of her nobleheart--saw the joy she was beginning to feel at the happiness of others.And suddenly blinded, choked by his emotions, he turned from her also.He knew what she would do presently; she would make some magnificentamend 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 loveElizabeth 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 forgottentime--place--danger. Lassiter, you're riding away. Jane's leavingWithersteen House?"

  "Forever," replied Jane.

  "I fired Withersteen House," said Lassiter.

  "Dyer?" questioned Venters, sharply.

  "I reckon where Dyer's gone there won't be any kidnappin' of girls."

  "Ah! I knew it. I told Judkins--And Tull?" went on Venters,passionately.

  "Tull wasn't around when I broke loose. By now he's likely on our trailwith his riders."

  "Lassiter, you're going into the Pass to hide till all this storm blowsover?"

  "I reckon that's Jane's idea. I'm thinkin' the storm'll be a powerfullong time blowin' over. I was comin' to join you in Surprise Valley.You'll go back now with me?"

  "No. I want to take Bess out of Utah. Lassiter, Bess found gold in thevalley. We've a saddle-bag full of gold. If we can reach Sterling--"

  "Man! how're you ever goin' to do that? Sterlin' is a hundred miles."

  "My plan is to ride on, keeping sharp lookout. Somewhere up the trailwe'll take to the sage and go round Cottonwoods and then hit the trailagain."

  "It's a bad plan. You'll kill the burros in two days."

  "Then we'll walk."

  "That's more bad an' worse. Better go back down the Pass with me."

  "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 thereany longer. Even if we would be I'd take this chance to get her out.I want to marry her. She shall have some of the pleasures of life--seecities and people. We've gold--we'll be rich. Why, life opens sweetfor both of us. And, by Heaven! I'll get her out or lose my life in theattempt!"

  "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 themburros. It's a fool idea. That's not doin' best by the girl. Come withme en' take chances on the rustlers."

  Lassiter's cool argument made Venters waver, n
ot 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 one chance in a hundred to gothrough. Shall we take it? Shall we go on?"

  "We'll go on," replied Bess.

  "That settles it, Lassiter."

  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 handon his arm. She was smiling. Something radiated from her, and like anelectric current accelerated the motion of his blood.

  "Bern, you'd be right to die rather than not take Elizabeth out ofUtah--out of this wild country. You must do it. You'll show her thegreat world, with all its wonders. Think how little she has seen! Thinkwhat delight is in store for her! You have gold, You will be free; youwill make her happy. What a glorious prospect! I share it with you. I'llthink of you--dream of you--pray for you."

  "Thank you, Jane," replied Venters, trying to steady his voice. "It doeslook bright. Oh, if we were only across that wide, open waste of sage!"

  "Bern, the trip's as good as made. It'll be safe--easy. It'll be aglorious ride," she said, softly.

  Venters stared. Had Jane's troubles made her insane? Lassiter, too,acted queerly, all at once beginning to turn his sombrero round in handsthat actually shook.

  "You are a rider. She is a rider. This will be the ride of your lives,"added Jane, in that same soft undertone, almost as if she were musing toherself.

  "Jane!" he cried.

  "I give you Black Star and Night!"

  "Black Star and Night!" he echoed.

  "It's done. Lassiter, put our saddle-bags on the burros."

  Only when Lassiter moved swiftly to execute her bidding did Venters'sclogged brain grasp at literal meanings. He leaped to catch Lassiter'sbusy hands.

  "No, no! What are you doing?" he demanded, in a kind of fury. "I won'ttake her racers. What do you think I am? It'd be monstrous. Lassiter!stop it, I say!... You've got her to save. You've miles and miles to go.Tull is trailing you. There are rustlers in the Pass. Give me back thatsaddle-bag!"

  "Son--cool down," returned Lassiter, in a voice he might have used to achild. But the grip with which he tore away Venters's grasping hands wasthat of a giant. "Listen--you fool boy! Jane's sized up the situation.The burros'll do for us. We'll sneak along an' hide. I'll take your dogsan' your rifle. Why, it's the trick. The blacks are yours, an' sure as Ican throw a gun you're goin' to ride safe out of the sage."

  "Jane--stop him--please stop him," gasped Venters. "I've lost mystrength. I can't do--anything. This is hell for me! Can't you see that?I've ruined you--it was through me you lost all. You've only Black Starand Night left. You love these horses. Oh! I know how you must love themnow! And--you're trying to give them to me. To help me out of Utah! Tosave the girl I love!"

  "That will be my glory."

  Then in the white, rapt face, in the unfathomable eyes, Venters saw JaneWithersteen in a supreme moment. This moment was one wherein she reachedup to the height for which her noble soul had ever yearned. He, afterdisrupting the calm tenor of her peace, after bringing down on her headthe implacable hostility of her churchmen, after teaching her a bitterlesson of life--he was to be her salvation. And he turned away again,this time shaken to the core of his soul. Jane Withersteen was theincarnation of selflessness. He experienced wonder and terror, exquisitepain and rapture. What were all the shocks life had dealt him comparedto the thought of such loyal and generous friendship?

  And instantly, as if by some divine insight, he knew himself in theremaking--tried, found wanting; but stronger, better, surer--and hewheeled to Jane Withersteen, eager, joyous, passionate, wild, exalted.He bent to her; he left tears and kisses on her hands.

  "Jane, I--I can't find words--now," he said. "I'm beyond words. Only--Iunderstand. And I'll take the blacks."

  "Don't be losin' no more time," cut in Lassiter. "I ain't certain, butI think I seen a speck up the sage-slope. Mebbe I was mistaken. But,anyway, we must all be movin'. I've shortened the stirrups on BlackStar. Put Bess on him."

  Jane Withersteen held out her arms.

  "Elizabeth Erne!" she cried, and Bess flew to her.

  How inconceivably strange and beautiful it was for Venters to see Bessclasped to Jane Withersteen's breast!

  Then he leaped astride Night.

  "Venters, ride straight on up the slope," Lassiter was saying, "'anif you don't meet any riders keep on till you're a few miles from thevillage, then cut off in the sage an' go round to the trail. But you'llmost likely meet riders with Tull. Jest keep right on till you're jestout of gunshot an' then make your cut-off into the sage. They'll rideafter 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 trailsomewhere. Save the hosses all you can, but don't be afraid. Black Starand Night are good for a hundred miles before sundown, if you have topush them. You can get to Sterlin' by night if you want. But better makeit along about to-morrow mornin'. When you get through the notch on theGlaze 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 ofmeetin' any of Oldrin's rustlers from Sterlin' on. You'll find water inthem deep hollows north of the Notch. There's an old trail there, notmuch used, en' it leads to Sterlin'. That's your trail. An' one thingmore. If Tull pushes you--or keeps on persistent-like, for a fewmiles--jest let the blacks out an' lose him an' his riders."

  "Lassiter, may we meet again!" said Venters, in a deep voice.

  "Son, it ain't likely--it ain't likely. Well, Bess Oldrin'--MaskedRider--Elizabeth Erne--now you climb on Black Star. I've heard you couldride. Well, every rider loves a good horse. An', lass, there never wasbut one that could beat Black Star."

  "Ah, Lassiter, there never was any horse that could beat Black Star,"said Jane, with the old pride.

  "I often wondered--mebbe Venters rode out that race when he brought backthe blacks. Son, was Wrangle the best hoss?"

  "No, Lassiter," replied Venters. For this lie he had his reward inJane's quick smile.

  "Well, well, my hoss-sense ain't always right. An' here I'm talkin' alot, wastin' time. It ain't so easy to find an' lose a pretty niece allin one hour! Elizabeth--good-by!"

  "Oh, Uncle Jim!... Good-by!"

  "Elizabeth Erne, be happy! Good-by," said Jane.

  "Good-by--oh--good-by!" In lithe, supple action Bess swung up to BlackStar's saddle.

  "Jane Withersteen!... Good-by!" called Venters hoarsely.

  "Bern--Bess--riders of the purple sage--good-by!"