Riders of the Purple Sage (Leisure Historical Fiction)

by Zane Grey

  "I'm glad that's over," he said, breathing more freely. "I hope I'm past that hanging rock for good and all. Since almost the moment I first saw it, 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 glimpse of the smooth slope leading down to the grotesque cedars and out to the pass, Venters's cool nerve returned. One long 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 steep incline.

  "Bess, here's the bad place, the place I told you about with the cut steps. You start down, leading your burro. Take your time and hold onto him if you slip. I've got a rope on him and a half-hitch on this point of 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 and over the mile of scrawled, ribbed, and ridged rock required only careful guidance, and Venters got the burro to level ground in a condition that caused him to congratulate himself.

  "Oh, if we only had Wrangle!" exclaimed Venters. "But we're lucky. That's the worst of our trail past. We've only men to fear now. If we get up in the sage, we can hide and slip along like coyotes."

  They mounted and rode west through the valley and entered the canon. From time to time Venters walked, leading his burro. When they got by all the canons and gullies opening into the pass, they went faster with fewer halts. Venters did not confide in Bess the alarming fact that he had seen horses and smoke less than a mile up one of the intersecting canons. He did not talk at all. Long after he had passed this canon and felt secure once more in the certainty that they had been unobserved, he never relaxed his watchfulness, but he did not walk any more and kept the burros at a steady trot. Night fell before they reached 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 long halters in the grass near the spring. Bess, tired out and silent, laid her head in a saddle, and went to sleep between the two dogs. Venters did not close his eyes. The canon silence appeared full of the low, continuous hum of insects. He listened till the hum grew into a roar, and then, breaking the spell, once more he heard it become low and clear. He watched the stars and the morning shadows, and always his glance returned to the girl's dimly pale face, and he remembered how white and still it had once looked in the starlight. Again stern thought fought his strange fancies. Would all his labor and his love be for naught? Would he lose her, after all? What did the dark shadow around her portend? Did calamity lurk on that long, upland trail through the sage? Why should his heart swell and throb with nameless fear? He listened to the silence and told himself that in the broad light of day he could dispel this leaden-weighted dread.

  At the first hint of gray over the eastern rim he awoke Bess, saddled the burros, and began the day's travel. He wanted to get out of the pass before there was any chance of riders coming down. They gained the break as 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 send Ring or Whitie in advance. Encouraging Bess to hurry, pulling at his patient, plodding burro, he climbed the soft, steep trail. Brighter and brighter grew the light. He mounted the last broken edge of rim 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're safe. We'll not be seen! Oh, Bess...

  Ring growled and sniffed the keen air, and bristled. Venters clutched at his rifle. Whitie sometimes made a mistake, Ring never. The dull thud of hoofs almost deprived Venters of power to turn and see from where disaster threatened. He felt his eyes stretch and fix at the sight of Lassiter, leading Black Star and Night out of the sage, with Jane Withersteen, in rider's costume, close beside them.

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

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

  Venters, unable to speak for consternation and bewildered out of all sense of what he might or ought not 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," he found 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 scarlet face, at her slender shapely form. "Bern, is this a girl... a woman?" she questioned in a voice that stung.

  "Yes.

  "Did you have her in that wonderful valley?"

  "Yes, but Jane...."

  "All the time you were gone?"

  "Yes, Jane, please l isten...

  "Was that why you broke our engagement?"

  "Yes, but I couldn't tell...

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

  "Oh, Jane...."

  "Answer me."

  "Yes."

  "Oh, you liar! You coward! You traitor!" And with those passionate words Jane Withersteen succumbed to fury. For the second time in her life she fell into the ungovernable red rage that had been her father's weakness, and it was worse than his, for she was a jealous woman. It came when treachery lashed fourfold. It was the bitterest of wrath, for she had fought bitterness as no other woman ever had. It was terrible because she had loved and trusted with a generous heart-terrible in that hour because it was the hour of her downfall. Venters realized that fate had made of him the unfortunate object on which she had raved out her rage at the world that had failed her. As best he could, he stood the brunt of her passion, knowing how she had long restrained herself under circumstances where any other woman would have gone mad, feeling himself indeed guilty. What words and meanings she poured out in a torrent he did not wholly understand. But facing her was enough. White as chalk, with eyes like lightning, she rolled out on his head her terrible wrath and scathing scorn. It was not only his betrayal of her that she visited upon him, but her betrayal by other men, by religion, by life itself.

  This blasting passion, like fire at white heat, consumed itself in little time. Her physical strength failed, and still her spirit attempted to go on in magnificent denunciation of those who had wronged her. Like a tree once cut deeply in its roots, she began to quiver and shake, and her anger weakened into despair. Her ringing voice sank into a broken, husky whisper. Then, spent and pitiable, upheld by Lassiter's arm, she turned and hid her face in Black Star's mane.

  Numb as Venters was when at length Jane Withersteen lifted her head and looked at him, he yet suffered a pang. "Jane, the girl is innocent!" he cried.

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

  "I'm not that kind of a liar. And you know it. If I lied... if I kept silent when honor should have made me speak, it was to spare you. I came to Cottonwoods to tell you. But I couldn't add to your pain. I intended to tell you. I had come to love this girl. But Jane, I hadn't changed toward you. I haven't changed at all toward you. I love you just as I always loved you. But this new love is different, and however heinous it may seem to you... don't be 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 Witherst
een's tortured soul wrestled with hate and threw it aside-with scorn, doubt, suspicion-to overcome all.

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

  "Jane, she is Oldring's daughter, and his Masked Rider. Lassiter will tell 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 as her innocence. That you must believe!"

  "Oldring's Masked Rider! Oldring's daughter!" exclaimed Jane. "And she's innocent? 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 have to say that?" cried Venters passionately.

  Jane's question had roused Bess out of stupefaction. Her eyes suddenly darkened and dilated. She stepped toward Venters but held up both hands as 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 dreamed he was your father. I thought he'd wronged you. I killed him when I was madly jealous."

  For a moment Bess appeared to be overwhelmed by this shocking intelligence.

  "But he was my father! And now I must go back.... I can't go with you. It's all over... that beautiful dream. Oh, I knew it couldn't be true. You can't take me... marry me now. It wouldn't be right."

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

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

  "By God, if you go back to Oldring's now, I'll follow you, and then they'll kill me," said Venters hoarsely.

  "Oh, no, Bern, you'll not come. Let me go. It's best for you to forget me. 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 dropped listlessly and her head drooped in slow, final acceptance of a hopeless fate.

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

  "Oh, Bern, it was a slip. I never thought...," replied Jane. "How could I tell she didn't know?"

  Lassiter suddenly moved forward, and with that beautiful light in his face now strangely luminous he looked at Jane and Venters, and then let his 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 prayin' for this meetin'. Bess, jest look here!"

  Gently he touched her arm and turned her to face the others, and then outspread 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 the pictures. Don't you know the woman?"

  Jane, after one glance, drew back. "Milly Erne!" she cried wonderingly.

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

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

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

  Lassiter's strong arm went around her, and he bent his head. "Lass, I thought you'd remember her eyes. They're the same beautiful eyes you'd see if you looked in a mirror or a clear spring. They're your mother's eyes. You are Milly Erne's child. Your name is Elizabeth Erne. You're not Oldrin's daughter. You're the daughter of Frank Erne, a man once my best friend. Look! Here's his picture beside Milly's. He was handsome an' as fine an' gallant a Southern gentleman as I ever seen. Frank come of an old family. You come of the best of blood, lass, an' blood tells."

  Bess slipped through his arm to her knees and hugged the locket to her bosom and lifted wonderful, yearning eyes. "It... can't... be... true!"

  "Thank God, lass, it is true," replied Lassiter. "Jane an' Bern here... they both recognize Milly. They see Milly in you. They're so knocked 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 that fine?"

  "Oh, I can't believe... don't raise me! Bern, let me kneel. I see truth in your face... in Miss Withersteen's. But let me hear it all... all on my knees. Tell me how it's true!"

  "Well, Elizabeth, listen," said Lassiter. "Before you was born, your father made a mortal enemy of a Mormon named Dyer. They was both ministers an' come to be rivals. Dyer stole your mother away from her home. She gave birth to you in Texas eighteen years ago. Then she was taken to Utah, from place to place, an' finally to the last border settlement... Cottonwoods. You were about three years old when you was taken away from Milly. She never knew what had become of you. But she lived a good while hopin' an' prayin' to have you again. Then she gave up an' died. An' I may as well put in here your father died ten years ago. Well, I spent my time tracin' Milly, an' some months back I landed in Cottonwoods. An' jest lately I learned all about you. I had a talk with Oldrin' an' told him you was dead, an' he told me what I had so long been wantin' to know. It was Dyer, of course, who stole you from Milly. He was sore because Milly refused to give you Mormon teachin', and he wanted to punish her, so he made a deal with Oldrin' to take you an' bring you up as an infamous rustler an' rustler's girl. The idea was to break Milly's heart... to show what came of her sin, that had she given in, she would still have her daughter. Well, Oldrin' took you, brought you up from childhood, an' then made you his Masked Rider. He made you infamous. He kept that part of the contract, but he learned to love you, an' never let any but his own men know you was a girl. I heard him say that with my own ears an' I saw his big eyes grow dim. He told me how he had guarded you always, kept you locked up in his absence. He was always at your side or near you on those rides that made you famous on the sage. He said he 'n' an old rustler who he trusted had taught you how to read an' write. They selected the books for you. Dyer had wanted you brought up the vilest of the vile! An' Oldrin' brought you up the innocentest! He said you didn't know what vileness was. I can hear his big voice tremble now as he said it. He told me how the few men rustlers an' outlaws who from time to time tried to approach you familiarly... he told how he'd shot them dead.... I'm tellin' you this 'specially because you've showed such shame... sayin' you was nameless, an' all that. Nothin' on earth can be any wronger than that idea of yours. An' the truth of it is here. Oldrin' swore to me that, if Dyer died, releasin' the contract, he intended to let you go... back to Miss Jane, mebbe. Miss Jane was your mother's dearest friend. It seems Oldrin' wasn't all bad, an' he sure loved you."

  Venters leaned forward in passionate remorse.

  "Oh, Bess, I know Lassiter speaks the truth. For when I shot Oldring, he dropped to his knees and fought with unearthly power to speak. And he said... `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's all such a wild, sad story... but, dear, you really are not what you thought."

  "Elizabeth Erne!" cried Jane Withersteen. "I loved your mother and I see her 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 little tremblings 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. As the process of thought was slow, so were the variations of her expression. Her eyes reflected the transformation of her soul. Dark, brooding, hopeless beliefs-clouds of gloom-drifted, paled, vanis
hed in glorious light. An exquisite rose flush-a glow-shone from her face as she slowly began to rise from her knees. A spirit uplifted her. All that she had held as base dropped from her.

  Venters watched her in joy too deep for words. By it he divined something of what Lassiter's revelation meant to Bess, but he knew he could only faintly understand. That moment, when she seemed to be lifted by some spiritual transfiguration, was the most beautiful moment of his life. She stood with parted, quivering lips, with hands tightly clasping the locket to her heaving breast. A new, conscious pride of worth dignified the old, wild, free grace and poise.

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

  Lassiter took her into his arms. "I reckon. It's powerful fine to hear that," he replied unsteadily.

  Venters, feeling his eyes grow hot and wet, turned away, and found himself looking at Jane Withersteen. He had almost forgotten her presence. Tenderness and sympathy were fast hiding traces of her agitation. Venters read her mind-felt the reaction of her noble heart-saw the joy she was beginning to feel at the happiness of others. Suddenly blinded, choked by his emotions, he turned from her, also. He knew what she would do presently. She would make some magnificent amend 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 love Elizabeth Erne.