by Zane Grey
"'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 forgotten time... place... danger. Lassiter, you're riding away. Jane's leaving Withersteen 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 trail with his riders."
"Lassiter, you're going into the pass to hide till all this storm blows over?"
"I reckon that's Jane's idea. I'm thinkin' the storm'll be a powerful long 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 the valley. We've a saddlebag full of gold. If we can reach Sterling...
"Man! How're you ever goin' to do that? Sterlin' is a hundred miles even by short cut."
"My plan is to ride on, keeping sharp lookout. Somewhere up the trail we'll take to the sage and go 'round Cottonwoods, and then hit the trail again."
"It's a bad plan. You'll kill the burros in two days."
"Then well 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 there any 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... see cities and people. We've gold... we'll be rich. Why, life opens sweet for both of us. And, by heaven, I'll get her out or lose my life in the attempt!"
"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 them burros. It's a fool idea. That's not doin' best by the girl. Come with me an' take chances on the rustlers."
Lassiter's cool argument made Venters waver, not 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 get through. 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 hand on his arm. She was smiling. Something radiated from her, and like an electric current accelerated the motion of his blood.
"Bern, you'd be right to die rather than not take Elizabeth out of Utah... out of this wild country. You must do it. You'll show her the great, busy world, with all its wonders. Think what little she has seen! Think what delight is in store for her! You have gold, you will be free, you will make her happy. What a glorious prospect! I share it with you. I'll think of you... dream of you... pray for you."
"Thank you, Jane," replied Venters, trying to steady his voice. "It does look 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 a glorious 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 around with hands that actually shook.
"You are a rider. She's a rider. This will be the ride of your lives," added Jane in that same soft undertone, almost as if she were musing to herself.
"Jane!" he cried.
"I give you Black Star and Night!"
"Black Star and Night?" he echoed in stupid reiteration.
"It's done. Lassiter, put our saddlebags on the burros."
Only when Lassiter moved swiftly to execute his bidding did Venters's clogged brain grasp at literal meanings. He leaped to catch Lassiter's busy hands.
"No... no... what are you doing?" he demanded in a kind of fury. "I won't take 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 that saddlebag!"
"Son... cool down," returned Lassiter in a voice he might have used to a child. But the grip with which he tore away Venters's grasping hands was that 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 dogs an' your rifle. Why, it's the trick. The blacks are yours, an', sure as I can throw a gun, you're goin' to ride safe out of the sage."
"Jane... stop him... please stop him," gasped Venters. "I've lost my strength. I can't do... anything. This's hell for me! Can't you see that? I wasn't true to you. I've ruined you... it was through me you lost all. You've only Black Star and Night left. You love these horses. Oh, I know how you must love them now! And... you're trying to give them to me. To help me out of Utah! To save the girl I love!"
"That will be my glory."
Then in the white rapt face, in the unfathomable eyes, Venters saw Jane Withersteen in the supreme moment of her sacrifice. This moment was one wherein she reached up to the height for which her noble soul had ever yearned. He, after disrupting the calm tenor of her peace, after bringing down on her head the implacable hostility of her churchmen, after teaching her the last bitter lesson of life-infidelity-he was to be her salvation. He turned away again, this time shaken to the very core of his soul. What was life? Jane Withersteen's was the incarnation of selflessness. He experienced wonder and terror alike, exquisite pain and rapture. What were all the shocks life had dealt him compared to the thought that he had been loved by the noblest of women, and in her desperate extremity that love had saved her?
Instantly, as if by some divine insight, he knew himself in the remaking-tried-found wanting-but stronger, better, surer-and he wheeled 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... I understand. And I'll take the blacks."
"Don't be losin' no more time," put in Lassiter. "I ain't certain but I 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 Black Star. 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 Bess clasped to Jane Withersteen's breast!
Then he leaped astride Night.
"Venters, ride straight on up the slope," Lassiter was saying, "an', if you don't meet any riders, keep on till you're a few miles from the village, then cut off in the sage an' go 'round to the trace. But you'll most likely meet riders with Tull. Jest keep right on till you're jest out of gunshot an' then make your cutoff into the sage. They'll ride after 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 trail somewhere. Save the hosses all you can, but don't be afraid. Black Star an' Night are good for a hundred miles before sundown, if you have to push them. You can get to Sterlin' by night if you want. But better make it along about tomorrow mornin'. When you get through The Notch on the Glaze 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 of meetin' any of Oldrin's rustlers from Sterlin' on. You'll find water in them deep hollows north of The Notch. There's an old trail there, not much used, an' it leads to Sterlin'. That's your trail. An' one thing more. If Tull pushes you... or keeps on persistent-like, for a few miles... jest let the blacks out an' lose him an' his riders."
"Lassiter, may we meet again," said Venters in deep voice.
"Son, it ain't likely. Well, Bess Oldrin'... Masked Rider... Elizabeth Erne... now you climb on Black Star. I've heard you could ride. Well, every rider loves a good hoss. An', lass, there never was but 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 back the blacks. Son, was Wrangle the best hoss?"
"No, Lassiter," replied Venters. For the lie he had his reward in Jane's quick smile.
"Well, well, my hoss sense ain't always right. An' here I am talkin' a lot, wastin' time. It ain't so easy to find an' lose a pretty niece all in one hour! Elizabeth... good-bye!"
"Ah... Uncle Jim.... Good... bye."
"Elizabeth Erne, be happy! Good-bye," said Jane.
"Good-bye. Oh, good-bye!"
In lithe, supple action Bess swung up to Black Star's saddle.
"Jane Withersteen! Good-bye!" called Venters hoarsely.
"Bern... Bess... riders of the purple sage... good-bye!" called Jane, waving to the man she once had loved and to the woman who would never know that she was actually her half sister.
Black Star and Night, answering to spur, swept swiftly westward along the white, slow-rising, sage-bordered trail. Venters heard a mournful howl from Ring, but Whitie was silent. The blacks settled into their fleet, long-striding gallop. The wind sweetly fanned Venters's hot face. From the summit of the first low-swelling ridge he looked back. Lassiter waved his hand, Jane her scarf. Venters replied by standing in his stirrups and holding high his sombrero. Then the dip of the ridge hid them. From the height of the next he turned once more. Lassiter, Jane, the burros, and dogs had disappeared. They had gone down into the pass. Venters felt a sensation of irreparable loss.
"Bern... look!" called Bess, pointing up the long slope.
A small, dark, moving dot split the line where purple sage met blue sky. That dot was a band of riders.
"Pull the black, Bess."
They slowed from gallop to canter, then to trot. The fresh and eager horses did not like the check.
"Bern, Black Star has great eyesight."
"I wonder if they're Tull's riders. They might be rustlers. But it's all the same to us."
The black dot grew to be a dark patch, moving under low dust clouds. It grew all the time, although very slowly. There were long periods when it was in plain sight, and intervals when it dropped behind the sage. The blacks trotted for half an hour, for another half hour, and still the moving patch appeared to stay on the horizon line. Gradually, however, as time passed, it began to enlarge, to creep down the slope, to encroach upon the intervening distance.
"Bess, what do you make them out to be?" asked Venters. "I don't think they're rustlers."
"They're sage riders," replied Bess. "I see a white horse and several grays. Rustlers seldom ride any horses but bays and blacks."
"That white horse is Tull's. Pull the black, Bess. I'll get down and cinch up. We're in for some riding. Are you afraid?"
"Not now," answered the girl, smiling.
"You needn't be. Bess, you don't weigh enough to make Black Star know you're on him. I won't be able to stay with you. You'll leave Tull and his riders as if they were standing still."
"How about you?"
"Never fear. If I can't stay with you, I can still laugh at Tull."
"Look, Bern! They've stopped on that ridge. They see us."
"Yes. But we're too far yet for them to make out who we are. They'll recognize the blacks first. Bess, we're in a good position. We've passed most of the ridges and the thickest sage. Now, when I give the word, let Black Star go and ride!"
Venters calculated that a mile or more still intervened between them and the riders. They were approaching at a swift canter. Soon Venters recognized Tull's white horse and concluded that the riders had likewise recognized Black Star and Night. But it would be impossible for Tull yet to see that the blacks were not ridden by Lassiter and Jane. Venters noted that Tull and the line of horsemen, perhaps ten or twelve in number, stopped several times and evidently looked hard down the slope. It must have been a puzzling circumstance for Tull. Venters laughed grimly at the thought of what Tull's rage would be, when he finally discovered the trick. Venters meant to shear out into the sage before Tull could possibly be sure who rode the blacks.
The gap closed to a distance of half a mile. Tull halted. His riders came up and formed a dark group around him. Venters thought he saw him wave his arms, and was certain of it when the riders dashed into the sage to right and left of the trail. Tull had anticipated just the move held in mind by Venters.
"Now, Bess!" shouted Venters. "Strike north. Go 'round those riders and turn west."
Black Star sailed over the low sage and in few leaps got into his stride and was running. Venters spurred Night after him. It was hard going in the sage. The horses could not run as well there, but keen eyesight and judgment must constantly be used by the riders in choosing ground. Continuous swerving from aisle to aisle between the brush, and leaping little washes and mounds of the pack rats, and breaking through sage made rough riding. When Venters had turned into a long aisle, he had time to look toward Tull's riders. They were now strung out in an extended line riding northeast. As Venters and Bess were holding due north, this meant, if the horses of Tull and his riders had the speed and the staying power, they would head the blacks and turn them back down the slope. Tull's men were not saving their mounts; they were driving them desperately. Venters feared only an accident to Black Star or Night, and skillful riding would mitigate possibility of that. One glance ahead served to show him that Bess could pick a course through the sage as well as he. She looked neither back nor at the running riders, and bent forward over Black Star's neck and studied the ground ahead.
It struck Venters presently, after he had glanced up from time to time, that Bess was drawing away from him as he had expected. He had, however, only thought of the light weight Black Star was carrying and of his superior speed; he saw now that the black was being ridden as never before, except when Jerry Card lost the race to Wrangle. How easily, gracefully, naturally Bess sat her saddle! She could ride! Suddenly Venters remembered she had said she could ride, but he had not dreamed she was capable of such superb horsemanship. Then, all at once, flashing over him, thrilling him, came the recollection that Bess was Oldring's Masked Rider.
He forgot Tull-the running riders-the race. He let Night have a free rein and felt him lengthen out to suit himself, knowing he would keep to Black Star's course, knowing that had been chosen by the best rider on the upland sage. For Jerry Card was dead, and fame had rivaled him with only one rider, and that was the slender girl who now swung so easily with Black Star's stride. Venters had abhorred her notoriety, but now he took passionate pride in her skill, her daring, her power over a horse. He delved into his memory, recalling famous rides that he had heard related in the villages and around the campfires. Oldring's Masked Rider! Many times this strange rider, at once well known and unknown, had escaped pursuers by matchless riding. He had run the gauntlet of vigilantes down the main street of Stone Bridge, leaving dead horses and dead rustlers behind. He had jumped his horse over the Gerber Wash, a deep, wide ravine separating the fields of Glaze from the wild sage. He had been surrounded north of Sterling, and he had broken through the line. How often had been told the story of day stampedes, of night raids, of pursuit-and then how the Masked Rider, swift as the wind, was gone in the sage! A fleet dark horse-a slender, dark form-a black mask-a driving run down the slope-a dot on the purple sage-a shadowy, muffled steed disappearing in the night. And this Masked Rider of the upland had been Elizabeth Erne!
The sweet sage wind rushed in Venters's face and sang a song in his ears. He heard the dull, rapid beat of Night's hoofs; he saw Black Star drawing away, farther and farther. He realized both horses were swinging to the west. Then gunshots in the rear reminded him of Tull. Venters looked back. Far to the
side, dropping behind, trooped the riders. They were shooting. Venters saw no puffs of dust, heard no whistling bullets. He was out of range. When he looked back again, Tull's riders had given up pursuit. The best they could do, no doubt, had been to get near enough to recognize who really rode the blacks. Venters saw Tull drooping in his saddle.
Then Venters pulled Night out of his running stride. Those few miles had scarcely warmed the black, but Venters wished to save him. Bess turned, and, although she was far away, Venters caught the white glint of her waving hand. He held Night to a trot and rode on, seeing Bess and Black Star, and the sloping upward stretch of sage, and from time to time the receding black riders behind. Soon they disappeared behind a ridge and he turned no more. They would go back to Lassiter's trail, and follow it, and follow in vain. So Venters rode on with the wind growing sweeter to taste and smell, and the purple sage richer and the sky bluer in his sight, and the song in his ears ringing. By and by Bess halted to wait for him, and he knew she had come to the trail. When he reached her, it was to smile at sight of her standing with arms around Black Star's neck.
"Oh! Bern! I love him!" she cried. "He's beautiful. He knows... and how he can run! I've had fast horses. But Black Star! Wrangle never beat him!"
"I'm wondering if I didn't dream that. Bess, the blacks are grand. What it must have cost Jane... ah... well, when we get out of this wild country with Star and Night... back to my old home in Illinois, we'll buy a beautiful farm with meadows and springs and cool shade. There we'll turn the horses free... free to roam and browse and drink... never to feel a spur again... never to be ridden!"
"I would like that," said Bess.
They rested. Then, mounting, they rode side-by-side up the white trail. The sun rose higher behind them. Far to the left a low line of green marked the site of Cottonwoods. Venters looked once and looked no more. Bess gazed only straight ahead. They put the blacks to the long, swinging rider's canter and at times pulled them to a trot, and occasionally to a walk. The hours passed, the miles slipped behind, and the wall of rock loomed in the foreground. The Notch opened wide. It was a rugged, stony pass, but with level and open trail, and Venters and Bess ran the blacks through it. An old trail led off to the right, taking the line of the wall, and this Venters knew to be the trail mentioned by Lassiter.