by Zane Grey
On the morning of the 10th of August, Jane, while waiting in the court for Lassiter, heard a clear, ringing report of a rifle. It came from the grove, somewhere out toward the corrals. Jane glanced out in alarm. The day was dull, windless, soundless. The leaves of the cottonwoods drooped, as if they had foretold the doom of Withersteen House and were now ready to die and drop and decay. Never had Jane seen such shade. She pondered on the meaning of the report. Revolver shots had of late cracked from different parts of the grove-spies taking snap shots at Lassiter from a cowardly distance! But a rifle report meant more. Riders seldom used rifles. Judkins and Venters were the exceptions she called to mind. Had the men who hounded her, hidden in her grove, taken to the rifle to rid her of Lassiter, her last friend? It was probable-it was likely-and she did not share his cool assumption that his death would never come at the hands of a Mormon. Long had she expected it. His constancy to her, his singular reluctance to use the fatal skill for which he was famed-both now plain to all Mormons-laid him open to inevitable assassination. Yet what charm against ambush and aim and enemy he seemed to bear about him! No, Jane reflected, it was not charm, only a wonderful training of eye and ear, and sense of impending peril. Nevertheless, they could not forever avail against secret attack.
That moment a rustling of leaves attracted her attention, then the familiar clinking accompaniment of a slow, soft, measured step, and Lassiter walked into the court.
"Jane, there's a feller 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... you can't be badly injured?"
"I reckon not. But mebbe it wasn't a close call! I'll sit here in this corner where nobody can see me from the grove." He untied the scarf and removed it to show a long, bleeding furrow above his left temple.
"It's only a cut," said Jane. "But how it bleeds! Hold your scarf over it just a moment till I come back."
She ran into the house and returned with bandages, and, while she bathed and dressed the wound, Lassiter talked.
"That feller had a good chance to get me. But he must have flinched when he pulled the trigger. As I dodged down, I saw him run through the trees. He had a rifle. I've been expectin' that kind of gun play. I reckon now I'll have to keep a little closer hid myself. These fellers all seem to get chilly or shaky when they draw a bead on me, but one of them might jest happen to hit me."
"Won't you go away... leave Cottonwoods as I've begged you to... before someone 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 they fine, firm, white hands? Aren't they bloody now? Lassiter's blood! That's a queer thing to stain your beautiful hands. But if you could only see deeper, 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 more than you. This game, though, is new to me, an' I don't know the moves yet, else I wouldn't have stepped in front of that bullet."
"Have you no desire to hunt the man who fired at you... to find him... 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, I almost gave... all myself to soften you to Mormons. Thank God and thank you, my friend... but, selfish woman that I am, this is no great test. What's the life of one of those sneaking cowards to such a man as you? I think of your great hate toward him who... I think of your life's implacable purpose. Can it be...?"
"Wait... listen," he whispered. "I hear a hoss."
He rose noiselessly, with his ear to the breeze. Suddenly he pulled his sombrero down over his bandaged head, and, swinging his gun sheaths around 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 of hoofs. It came from the sage. It gave her a thrill that she was at a loss to understand. The sound rose stronger, louder. Then came a clear, sharp difference when the horse passed from sage trail to the hardpacked ground of the grove. It became a ringing run, swift in its bell-like clatterings, yet singular in longer pause than usual between the hoof beats of a horse.
"It's Wrangle! It's Wrangle!" cried Jane Withersteen. "I'd know him from a million horses!"
Excitement and thrilling expectancy and a painful awakening of numbed and stifled feeling flooded out all Jane Withersteen's calm. A tight band closed around her breast as she saw the giant sorrel flit in reddish-brown flashes across the openings in the green. Then he was pounding down the lane-thundering into the court crashing his great, iron-shod hoofs on the stone flags. Wrangle it was surely, but shaggy and wild-eyed and sage-streaked, with dust-caked lather staining his flanks. He reared and crashed down and plunged. The rider leaped off, throwing the bridle, and held hard on a lasso looped around Wrangle's head and neck. Jane's heart sank as she tried to recognize Venters in the rider. Something familiar struck her in the lofty stature, in the sweep of powerful shoulders, but this bearded, longhaired, unkempt man, who wore ragged clothes patched with pieces of skin, and boots that showed bare legs and feet, this dusty, dark, and wild rider could not possibly be Venters.
"Whoa, Wrangle, old boy. Come down. Easy now. So... so... so... you're home, old boy, and presently you can have a drink of water you'll remember."
In the voice Jane knew the rider to be Venters. He tied Wrangle to 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's Venters."
Like rough iron his hard hand crushed Jane's. In it she felt the difference she saw in him. Wild, rugged, unshorn, yet how splendid-he had gone away a boy-he had returned a man. He appeared taller, wider of shoulder, deeper-chested, more powerfully built. But was that only her fancy-he had always been a young giant-was the change one of spirit? He might have been absent for years, proven by fire and steel, grown, like Lassiter, strong and cool and sure. His eyes-were they keener, more flashing than before?-met hers with clear, frank, warm regard in which perplexity was not, nor discontent, nor pain.
"Look at me long as you like," he said with a laugh. "I'm not much to look at. And Jane, neither you nor Lassiter can brag. You're paler than I ever saw you. Lassiter, here, he wears a bloody bandage under his hat. That reminds me. Someone took a flying shot at me down in the sage. It made Wrangle run some. Well, perhaps you've more to tell me than I've got to tell you."
Briefly, in few words, Jane outlined the circumstances of her undoing in the weeks of his absence. Under his beard and bronze she saw his face whiten in terrible wrath.
"Lassiter... what held you back?"
No time in the long period of fiery moments and sudden shocks had Jane Withersteen beheld Lassiter as calm and serene and cool as then.
"Jane had gloom enough without my addin' to it by shootin' up the village," he said.
As strong as Lassiter's coolness was Venters's curious, intent scrutiny of them both, and under it Jane felt a guilty, flaming tide wave from bosom to temples.
"Well, you're right," he said with slow pause. "It surprises me a little, that's all."
Jane sensed then a slight alteration in Venters, and what it was, in her own confusion, she could not tell. It had always been her intention to acquaint him with the deceit she had fallen to in her zeal to move Lassiter. She did not mean to spare herself. Yet now, at the moment, before these riders who in a measure she had betrayed, it was an impossibility to explain.
Venters was speaking, somewhat haltingly, without his former frankness. "I found Oldring's hiding place and your red herd. I learned... I know... I'm sure there was a deal between Tull and Oldring." He paused, and shifted his position and his gaze. He looked as if he wanted to say so
mething that he found beyond him. Sorrow and pity and shame seemed to contend for mastery over him. Then he raised himself, and spoke with effort. "Jane, I've cost you more than any man ever cost a woman. You've almost ruined yourself for me. It was wrong, for I'm not worth it. I never deserved... what you gave. You must give me up. Mind... I haven't changed... I love you just the same as ever. It was never such love as you were worthy of, but that's nothing to speak of now. I'll see Tull while I'm here, and tell him to his face. When he knows you're free, perhaps he'll...."
"Bern, it's too late," said Jane. "He'd never believe you now."
"I'll make him believe!" cried Venters violently.
"You... you ask me to break our vow?"
"Yes. If you don't... I shall!"
"Forever?"
"Forever!"
Jane sighed. Another shadow had lengthened down the sage slope to cast further darkness upon her. A melancholy sweetness pervaded her resignation. The boy who had left her had returned a man, nobler, stronger, one in whom she divined something unbending as steel. There might come a moment later when she would wonder passionately why she had not fought against his will, but just now she yielded to it. She loved him as well-nay, more she thought, only her emotions were deadened by the long, menacing wait for the bursting storm. This perhaps was the first thunderbolt heralding her doom.
"Then... Bern... it's never to be?"
"Never... Jane. It never should have been thought of at all."
Once before she had held out her hand to him-when she gave it-now she stretched it tremblingly forth in acceptance of the decree cruel circumstances had laid upon them. Venters bowed over it-kissed it-pressed it hard-and half stifled a sound very like a sob. Certain it was that, when he raised his head, tears glistened in his eyes.
"Some... women... have a hard lot," he said huskily. Then he shook his powerful form, and his rage lashed about him. "I'll say a few things to Tull... when I meet him."
"Bern... you'll not draw on Tull? Oh, that must not be! Promise me...."
"I promise you this," he interrupted in stern passion that thrilled while it terrorized her. "If you say one more word for that damned plotter, I'll kill him as I would a mad coyote!"
Jane clasped her hands. Was this fire-eyed man the lover who she had made as soft wax to her touch? Had Venters become Lassiter and Lassiter, Venters?
"I'll say no more," she faltered.
"Jane, Lassiter called you blind," said Venters. "It must be true. But I won't upbraid you. Only for God's sake don't rouse the devil in me by praying for Tull! I'll try to keep cool when I meet him. That's all. Now there's one more thing I want to ask of you, the last. I've found a valley down in the pass. It's a wonderful place. I intend to stay there. It's so hidden I believe no one can find it. There's good water and browse, and game. I want to raise corn and stock. I need to take in supplies. Will you give them to me?"
"Assuredly. The more you take, the better you'll please me... and God only knows... perhaps 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 better go early in the mornin', say jest after dawn. That's the safest time to move around here."
"Lassiter, I'll be hard to stop," returned Venters darkly.
"I reckon so."
"Bern," said Jane, "go first to the riders' quarters and get yourself a complete outfit. You're a... a sight. Then help yourself to whatever else you need... burros, packs, grain, dried fruits, and meat. You must take coffee and sugar and flour... all kinds of supplies. Don't forget corn and seeds! I remember how you used to starve. Please... please take all you can pack away from here. I'll make a bundle myself for you, which you mustn't open till you're in your valley. How I'd like to see it! To judge by you and Wrangle how wild it must be."
Jane walked down into the outer court and approached the sorrel. Upstarting, he laid back his ears, and eyed her.
"Wrangle... dear, old Wrangle," she said, and put a caressing hand on his matted mane. "Ah, he's wild, but he knows me. Bern, can he run as fast as ever?"
"Run? Jane, he's done sixty miles since last night at dark, and I could make him kill Black Star right now in a ten-mile race."
"He never could," protested Jane. "He couldn't even if he were fresh."
"I reckon mebbe the best hoss'll prove himself yet," said Lassiter, "an' Jane, if it ever comes to that race, I'd like you to be on Wrangle."
"I'd like that, too," rejoined Venters. "But, Jane, maybe Lassiter's hint is extreme. Bad as your prospects are, you'll surely 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 Tull, there'll be a change in your fortunes. I'll hurry down to the village. Now, don't worry."
Jane retired to the seclusion of her room. Lassiter's subtle forecasting of disaster, Venters's forced optimismneither remained in mind. Material loss weighed nothing in the balance with other losses she was sustaining. She wondered dully at her sitting there, hands folded listlessly, with a kind of numb deadness to the passing of time, and the passing of her riches. She thought of Venters's love. She had not lost that, but she had lost him. Lassiter's friendship-that was more than love-it would endure, but soon he, too, would be gone. Little Fay slept dreamlessly upon the bed, her golden curls streaming over the pillow. Jane had the child's worship. Would she lose that, too, and, if she did, what would be left? Conscience thundered at her that there was left her religion. Conscience thundered that she should be grateful on her knees for this baptism of fire-that through misfortune, sacrifice, and suffering her soul might be fused pure gold. But the old, spontaneous, rapturous spirit no more exalted her. She wanted to be a woman-not a martyr. Like the saint of old who mortified his flesh, Jane Withersteen had in her the temper to heroic martyrdom, if by sacrificing herself she could save the souls of others. But here the damnable verdict blistered her, that the more she sacrificed herself, the blacker grew the souls of her churchmen. There was something terribly wrong with her soul-something wrong with her churchmen-and her religion. In the whirling gulf of her thought there was yet one shining light to guide her, to sustain her in her hope, and it was that, despite her errors and her frailties and her blindness, she had one absolute and unfaltering hold on ultimate and supreme justice. That was love. Love your enemies as yourself.' was a divine word, entirely free from any church or creed.
Jane's meditations were disturbed by Lassiter's soft, tinkling step in the court. Always he wore the clinking spurs! Always he was in readiness to ride! She passed out, and called him into the huge dim hall.
"I think you will be safer here. The court is too open," she said.
"I reckon," replied Lassiter. "An' it's cooler here. The day's sure muggy. Well, I went down to the valley with Venters."
"Already! Where is he?" queried Jane in quick amazement.
"He's at the corrals. Blake's helpin' him get the burros an' packs ready. That Blake is a good feller."
"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! For heaven's sake, tell me what happened!"
"First time I've been in the village for weeks," went on Lassiter mildly. "I reckon there ain't been more of a show for a long time. Me an' Venters walkin' down the road! It was funny. I ain't sayin' anybody was particular glad to see us. I'm not much thought of hereabouts, an' Venters, he sure looks like what you called him, a wild man. Well, there was some runnin' of folks before we got to the stores. Then, everybody vamoosed, except some surprised rustlers in front of a saloon. Venters went right in the stores an' saloons an', of course, I went along. I don't know which tickled me the most... the actions of many fellers we met, or Venters's nerve. Jane, I was downright glad to be along. You see that sort
of thing is my element, an' I've been away from it for a spell. But we didn't find Tull in none of them places. Some Gentile feller at last told Venters he'd find Tull in that long buildin' next to Parson's store. It's a kind of mneetin' room, an', sure enough, when we peeped in, it was half full of men.
"Venters yelled... `Don't anybody pull guns! We ain't come for that!' Then he tramped in, an' I was some put to keep alongside of him. There was a hard, scrapin' sound of feet, a loud cry, an' then some whisperin', an' after that stillness you could cut with a knife. Tull was there, an' that fat party who once tried to throw a gun on me, an' other important-lookin' men, an' that froglegged little feller who was with Tull the day I rode in here. I wish you could have seen their faces, 'specially Tull's an' the fat party's. But there ain't no use of me tryin' to tell you how they looked.
'Well, Venters an' I stood there in the middle of the room, with that batch of men all in front of us, an' not a blamed one of them winked an eyelash or moved a finger. It was natural, of course, for me to notice many of them packed guns. That's a way of mine, first noticin' them things. Venters spoke up, an' his voice sort of chilled an' cut, an' he told Tull he had a few things to say."
Here Lassiter paused while he turned his sombrero around and around in his familiar habit and his eyes had the look of a man seeing over again some thrilling spec tacle, and under his red bronze there was strange animation and play of feature.
"Like a shot, then, Venters told Tull that you had at last broken your engagement. That it was all over between you an' him, an' there never would be anythin' again. He said you'd, both of you, broken it in the hope of propitiatin' your people, but you hadn't changed your mind otherwise, an' never would.
"Next he spoke up for you. I ain't goin' to tell you what he said. Only, by God, no other woman who ever lived had such tribute! You had a champion, Jane, an' never fear that those thick-skulled men don't know you now. It couldn't be otherwise. He spoke the ringin', lightnin' truth. Then he accused Tull of the underhand, miserable robbery of a helpless woman. He told Tull where the red herd was... of a deal made with Oldrin'... that Jerry Card had made the deal. I thought Tull was goin' to drop, an' that little froglegged cuss, he looked some limp an' white. But Venters's voice would have kept anybody's legs from bucklin'. I was stiff myself. He went on, an' called Tull... called him every bad name ever known to a rider, and then some. He cursed Tull. I never heard a man get such a cursin'. He laughed in white, terrible scorn at the idea of Tull bein' a minister. He said Tull an' a few more dogs of hell built their campfire out of the hearts of such innocent an' God-fearin' women as Jane Withersteen. He called Tull a binder of women... a callous beast who hid behind a mock mantle of righteousness... an' the last an' lowest coward on the face of the earth. To prey on weak women through their religion... that was the last, unspeakable crime!