by Zane Grey
The little hamlet, Glaze, a white-and-green patch in the vast waste of purple, lay miles down a slope much like the Cottonwoods slope, only this descended to the west, and miles farther west a faint green spot marked the location of Stone Bridge. All the rest of that world was seemingly smooth, undulating sage with no ragged lines of canons to accentuate its wildness.
"Bess, we're safe... we're free!" said Venters. "We're alone on the sage. We're halfway to Sterling."
"Ah, I wonder how it is with Lassiter and Miss Withersteen."
"Never fear, Bess. He'll outwit Tull. He'll get away and hide her safely. He might climb into Surprise Valley, but I don't think he'll go so far."
"Bern, will we ever find any place like our beautiful valley?"
"No. But, dear, listen, we'll go back someday, after years... ten years. Then we'll be forgotten. And our valley will be just as we left it."
"What if Balancing Rock falls and closes the outlet to the pass?"
"I've thought of that. I'll pack in ropes and ropes. And if the outlet's closed, we'll climb up the cliffs and over them to the valley and go down on rope ladders. It could be done. I know just where to make the climb, and I'll never forget."
"Oh, yes, let us go back!"
"It's something sweet to look forward to. Bess, it's like all the future looks to me."
"Call me... Elizabeth," she said shyly.
"Elizabeth Erne! It's a beautiful name. But I'll never forget Bess.... Do you know... have you thought that very soon... by this time tomorrow... you will be Elizabeth Venters?"
So they rode on down the old trail, and the sun sloped to the west and a golden sheen lay on the sage. The hours sped now; the afternoon waned. Often they rested the horses. The glisten of a pool of water in a hollow caught Venters's eye, and here he unsaddled the blacks and let them roll and drink and browse. When he and Bess rode up out of the hollow, the sun was low, a crimson ball, and the valley seemed veiled in purple fire and smoke. It was that short time when the sun ap peared to rest before setting, and silence, like a cloak of invisible life, lay heavily on all that shimmering world of sage.
They watched the sun begin to bury its red curve under the dark horizon.
"We'll ride on till late," he said. "Then you can sleep a little while I watch and graze the horses. And we'll ride into Sterling early tomorrow. We'll be married! We'll be in time to catch the stage. We'll tie Black Star and Night behind... and then... for a country not wild and terrible like this!"
"Oh, Bern! But, look, the sun is setting on the sage... the last time for us till we dare come again to the Utah border. Ten years! Oh! Bern, look, so you will never forget!"
Slumbering, fading purple fire burned over the undulating sage ridges. Long streaks and bars and shafts and spears fringed the far western slope. Drifting golden veils mingled with low, purple shadows. Colors and shades changed in slow, wondrous transformation.
Suddenly Venters was startled by a low, rumbling roar-so low that it was like the roar in a seashell.
"Bess, did you hear anything?" he whispered.
"No."
"Listen! Maybe I only imagined... ah!"
Out of the east or north, from remote distance, breathed an infinitely low, continuously long sounddeep, weird, detonating, thundering, deadening-dying.
Through tear-blurred sight Jane Withersteen watched Venters and Elizabeth Erne and the black racers disappear over the ridge of sage.
"They're gone!" said Lassiter. "An' they're safe now. An' there'll never be a day of their comin' happy lives but what they'll remember Jane Withersteen an'... an' Uncle Jim. I reckon, Jane, we'd better be on our way."
The burros obediently wheeled and started down the break with little, cautious steps, but Lassiter had to leash the whining dogs and lead them. Jane felt herself bound in a feeling that was neither listlessness nor indifference, yet which rendered her incapable of interest. She was still strong in body, but emotionally tired. That hour at the entrance to Deception Pass had been the climax of her suffering-the flood of her wrath at Venters-the last sacrifice for her half sister-the supremacy of her love-and the attainment of peace. She thought that, if she had little Fay, she would not ask any more of life.
Like an automaton she followed Lassiter down the steep trail of dust and bits of weathered stone, and, when the little slides moved with her or piled around her knees, she experienced no alarm. Vague relief came to her in the sense of being enclosed between dark, stone walls, deeply hidden from the glare of sun, from the glistening sage. Lassiter lengthened the stirrup straps on one of the burros and bade her mount and ride close to him. She was to keep the burro from cracking his little, hard hoofs on stone. Then she was riding on between dark, gleaming walls. There were quiet and rest and coolness in this canon. She noted, although not markedly, that they passed closely under shady, bulging shelves of cliff, through patches of grass and sage and thicket, and groves of slender trees, and over white, pebbly washes, and around masses of broken rock. The burros trotted tirelessly, the dogs, once more free, pattered tirelessly, and Lassiter led on with never a stop. At every open place he looked back. The shade under the walls gave place to sunlight, and presently they came to the dense thicket of slender trees, through which they pressed to rich, green grass and water. Here Lassiter rested the burros for a little while, but he was restless, uneasy, silent, always listening, peering under the trees. She dully reflected that enemies were behind themand before them? Still the thought awakened no dread or concern or interest.
At his bidding, she mounted and rode on, close to the heels of his burro. The canon narrowed, the walls lifted their rugged rims higher, and the sun shone down hotly from the center of the blue stream of sky above. Lassiter traveled slower, with more exceeding care as to the ground he chose, and he kept speaking in a low voice to the dogs. They were now hunting dogs-keen, alert, suspicious, sniffing the warm breeze. The monotony of the yellow walls broke in change of color and smooth surface-and the rugged outline of rims grew craggy. Splits appeared and deep breaks, and gorges running at right angles, and there the pass opened wide at a junction of intersecting canons.
Lassiter dismounted, led his burro, called the dogs in, and proceeded at snail pace through dark masses of rock and dense thickets under the left wall. Long he watched and listened before venturing to cross the mouths of side canons. At length he halted, tied his burro, lifted a warning hand to Jane, and then slipped away among the boulders and, followed by the stealthy dogs, disappeared from sight. The time he remained absent was neither short nor long to Jane Withersteen.
When he reached her side again, he was pale, and his lips were set in a hard line, and his gray eyes glittered coldly. Bidding her dismount, he led the burros into a covert of stones and cedars, and tied them.
"Jane, I've run into the fellers I've been lookin' for, an' I'm goin' after them," he said.
"Why?" she asked.
"I reckon I won't take time to tell you."
"Couldn't we slip by without being seen?"
"Likely enough. But that ain't my game. An' I'd like to know, in case I don't come back, what you'll do."
"What can I do?"
"I reckon you can go back to Tull. Or stay in the pass an' be taken off by rustlers. Which'll you do?"
"I don't know. I can't think very well. But I believe I'd rather be taken off by rustlers."
Lassiter sat down, put his head in his hands, and remained for a few moments in what appeared to be deep and painful thought. When he lifted his face, it was haggard, lined, cold as sculptured marble. "I'll go. I only mentioned that chance of my not comin' back. I'm pretty sure to come."
"Need you risk so much? Must you fight more? Haven't you shed enough blood?"
"I'd like to tell you why I'm goin'," he continued in coldness he had seldom used to her. She remarked it, but it was the same to her as if he had spoken with his old, gentle warmth. "But I reckon I won't.... Only, I'll say that mercy an' goodness, such as is in you, though they're the gr
and things in human nature, can't be lived up to on this Utah border. Life's hell out here. You think... or you used to think... that your religion made this life heaven. Mebbe them scales on your eyes have dropped now. Jane, I wouldn't have you no different, an' that's why I'm goin' to try to hide you somewhere in this pass. I'd like to hide many more women, for I've come to see there are more like you among your people. An' I'd like you to see jest how hard an' cruel this border life is. It's bloody. You'd think churches an' churchmen would make it better. They make it worse. You give names to things... bishops, elders, ministers, Mormonism, duty, faith, glory. You dream... or you're driven mad. I'm a man, an' I know. I name fanatics, followers, blind women, oppressors, thieves, ranchers, rustlers, riders. An' we have... what you've lived through these last months. It can't be helped. But it can't last always. An' remember this... someday the border'll be better, cleaner, for the ways of men like Lassiter."
She saw him shake his tall form erect, look at her strangely and steadfastly, and then, noiselessly, stealthily slip away amid the rocks and trees. Ring and Whitie, not being bidden to follow, remained with Jane. She felt extreme lassitude, yet somehow it did not seem to be of her body. She sat down in the shade and tried to think. She saw a creeping lizard, cactus flowers, the drooping burros, the resting dogs, an eagle high over a yellow crag. Once the meanest flower, a color, the flight of a bee, or any living thing had given her deepest joy. Lassiter had gone off, yielding to his incurable blood lust, probably to his own death, and she was sorry, but there was no feeling in her sorrow.
Suddenly from the mouth of the canon just beyond her rang out a clear, sharp report of a rifle. Echoes clapped. Then followed a piercingly high yell of anguish, quickly breaking. Again echoes clapped in grim imitation. Dull revolver shots-hoarse yells-pounding of hoofs-shrill neighs of horses-commingling of echoes-and again silence! Lassiter must be busily engaged, thought Jane, and no chill trembled over her, no blanching tightened her skin. Yes, the border was a bloody place. But life had always been bloody. Men were blood spillers. Phases of the history of the world flashed through her mind-Greek and Roman wars-dark medieval times-the crimes in the name of religions. On sea, on land, everywhere-shooting, stabbing, cursing, clashing, fighting men! Greed-power-oppressionfanaticism-love-hate-revenge-justice-freedomfor these men killed one another.
She lay there under the cedars, gazing up through the delicate, lacy-like foliage at the blue sky, and she thought and wondered, and did not care. More rattling shots disturbed the noonday quiet. She heard a sliding of weathered rock-a hoarse shout of warning-a yell of alarm-again the clear, sharp crack of the rifle-and another cry that was a cry of death. Then rifle reports pierced a dull volley of revolver shots. Bullets whizzed over Jane's hiding place; one struck a stone, and whined away in the air. After that, for a time, succeeded desultory shots, and then they ceased under long, thundering fire from heavier guns.
Sooner or later, then, Jane heard the cracking of horses' hoofs on the stones, and the sound came nearer and nearer. Silence intervened until Lassiter's soft, jingling step assured her of his approach. When he appeared, he was covered with blood.
"All right, Jane," he said. "I came back. An' don't worry."
With water from a canteen he washed the blood from his face and hands.
"Jane... hurry now. Tear my scarf in two, an' tie up these places. That hole through my hand is some inconvenient, worse'n this cut over my ear. There! You're doin' fine. Not a bit nervous... no tremblin'. I reckon I ain't done your courage justice. I'm glad you're brave jest now... you'll need to be. Well, I was hid pretty good, enough to keep them from shootin' me deep, but they was slingin' lead close all the time. I used up all the rifle shells, an' then I went after them. Mebbe you heard. It was then I got hit. I had to use up every shell in my own guns, an' they did, too, as I seen. Rustlers an' Mormons, Jane! An' now I'm packin' five bullet holes in my carcass, an' guns without shells. Hurry... now."
He unstrapped the saddlebags from the burros, slipped the saddles, and let them lie, turned the burros loose, and, calling the dogs, led the way through stones and cedars to an opening where two horses stood.
"Jane, are you strong?" he asked.
"I think so. I'm not tired," Jane replied.
"I don't mean that way. Can you bear up?"
"I think I can bear anything."
"I reckon you look a little cold an' thick. So I'm preparin' you."
"For what?"
"I didn't tell you why I jest had to go after them fellers. I couldn't tell you. I believe you'd have died. But I can tell you now... if you'll bear up under a shock."
"Go on, my friend."
"I've got little Fay! Alive... bad hurt... but she'll live!"
Jane Withersteen's deadlocked feeling, rent by Las liter's deep, quivering voice, leaped into an agony of sensitive life.
"Here," he added, and showed her where little Fay lay on the grass. Unable to speak, unable to stand, Jane dropped on her knees. By that long, beautiful golden hair Jane recognized the beloved Fay. But Fay's loveliness was gone. Her face was drawn and looked old with grief. Yet her heart beat-she was not dead-and Jane Withersteen gathered strength and lived again.
"You see, I jest had to go after Fay," Lassiter was saying, as he knelt to bathe the little, pale face. "But I reckon I don't want no more choices like the one I had to make. There was a crippled feller in that bunch, Jane. Mebbe Venters crippled him. Anyway, that's why they were holdin' up here. I seen little Fay first thing, an' was hard put to it to figure out a way to get her. An' I wanted hosses, too. I had to take chances. So I crawled close to their camp. One feller jumped a hoss with little Fay, an', when I shot him, of course, she dropped. She's stunned an' bruised... she fell right on her head. Jane! She's comin' to! She ain't bad hurt."
Fay's long lashes fluttered; her eyes opened. At first they seemed glazed over. They looked dazed by pain. Then they quickened, darkened to shine with intelligence-bewilderment-memory-and sudden, wonderful joy.
"Muvver... Jane," she whispered.
"Oh, little Fay! Little Fay!" cried Jane, lifting, clasping the child to her.
"Now we've got to rustle!" said Lassiter in grim coolness. "Jane, look down the pass!"
Across the mounds of rock and sage Jane caught sight of a band of riders filing out of the narrow neck of the pass, and in the lead was a white horse, which even at distance of a mile or more she knew.
"Tull!" she almost screamed.
"I reckon. But Jane, we've still got the game in our hands. They're riding tired hosses. Venters likely give them a chase. He wouldn't forget that. An' we've fresh hosses."
Hurriedly he strapped on the saddlebags, gave quick glance to girths and cinches and stirrups, then leaped astride.
"Lift little Fay up," he said.
With shaking arms, Jane complied.
"Get back your nerve, woman! This's life or death now. Mind that. Climb up! Keep your wits. Stick close to me. Watch where your hoss's goin', an' ride!"
Somehow Jane mounted, somehow found strength to hold the reins, to spur, to cling on, to ride. A horrible, quaking, craven fear possessed her soul. Lassiter led the swift flight across the wide space, over washes, through sage, into a narrow canon where the rapid clatter of hoofs rapped sharply from the walls. The wind roared in her ears; the gleaming cliffs swept by; trail and sage and grass moved under her. Lassiter's bandaged, bloodstained face turned to her; he shouted encouragement; he looked back down the pass; he spurred his horse. Jane clung on, spurring likewise. The horses settled from hard, furious gallop into long-striding, driving run. She had never ridden at anything like that pace; desperately she tried to get the swing of the horse; to be of some help to him in that race; to see the best of the ground and guide him into it. But she failed of everything except to keep her seat in the saddle, and to spur and spur. At times she closed her eyes, unable to bear sight of Fay's golden curls streaming in the wind. She could not pray; she could not rail; she no longer cared for hers
elf. All of life-of good-of use in the worldof life in heaven centered on Lassiter's ride with little Fay to safety. She would have tried to turn the ironjawed brute she rode; she would have given herself to that relentless, dark-browed Tull, but she knew Lassiter would turn with her, so she rode on and on.
Whether that run was of moments or hours Jane Withersteen could not tell. Lassiter's horse covered her with froth that blew back in white streams. Both horses ran their limit, were allowed to slow down in time to save them, and went on, dripping, heaving, staggering.
"Oh! Lassiter, we must run... we must run!"
He looked back, saying nothing. The bandage had blown from his head, and blood trickled down his face. He was bowing under the strain of injuries, of the ride, of his burden. Yet how cool and gray he looked-how intrepid!
The horses walked-trotted-galloped-ran-to fall again to walk. Hours sped or dragged. Time was an instant-an eternity. Jane Withersteen felt hell pursuing her and dared not look back for fear she would fall from her horse.
"Oh, Lassiter! Is he coming?"
The grim rider looked over his shoulder, but said no word. Little Fay's golden hair floated on the breeze. The sun shone, the walls gleamed, the sage glistened, and then it seemed the sun vanished, the walls shaded, the sage paled. Shadows gathered under shelving cliffs. The canon turned, brightened, opened into long, wide, wall-enclosed valley. Again the sun, now lowering in the west, reddened the sage. Far ahead round, scrawled stones appeared to block the pass.
"Bear up, Jane, bear up!" called Lassiter. "It's our game, if you don't weaken."
"Lassiter! Go on... alone. Save little Fay!"
"Only with you!"