by Zane Grey
CHAPTER XV. SHADOWS ON THE SAGE-SLOPE
In the cloudy, threatening, waning summer days shadows lengtheneddown the sage-slope, and Jane Withersteen likened them to the shadowsgathering and closing in around her life.
Mrs. Larkin died, and little Fay was left an orphan with no knownrelative. Jane's love redoubled. It was the saving brightness of adarkening hour. Fay turned now to Jane in childish worship. And Janeat last found full expression for the mother-longing in her heart. UponLassiter, too, Mrs. Larkin's death had some subtle reaction. Before,he had often, without explanation, advised Jane to send Fay back to anyGentile family that would take her in. Passionately and reproachfullyand wonderingly Jane had refused even to entertain such an idea. Andnow Lassiter never advised it again, grew sadder and quieter in hiscontemplation of the child, and infinitely more gentle and loving.Sometimes Jane had a cold, inexplicable sensation of dread when she sawLassiter watching Fay. What did the rider see in the future? Why did he,day by day, grow more silent, calmer, cooler, yet sadder in propheticassurance of something to be?
No doubt, Jane thought, the rider, in his almost superhuman power offoresight, saw behind the horizon the dark, lengthening shadows thatwere soon to crowd and gloom over him and her and little Fay. JaneWithersteen awaited the long-deferred breaking of the storm with acourage and embittered calm that had come to her in her extremity. Hopehad not died. Doubt and fear, subservient to her will, no longer gaveher sleepless nights and tortured days. Love remained. All that she hadloved she now loved the more. She seemed to feel that she was defiantlyflinging the wealth of her love in the face of misfortune and ofhate. No day passed but she prayed for all--and most fervently for herenemies. It troubled her that she had lost, or had never gained,the whole control of her mind. In some measure reason and wisdom anddecision were locked in a chamber of her brain, awaiting a key. Powerto think of some things was taken from her. Meanwhile, abiding a day ofjudgment, she fought ceaselessly to deny the bitter drops in her cup,to tear back the slow, the intangibly slow growth of a hot, corrosivelichen eating into her heart.
On the morning of August 10th, Jane, while waiting in the court forLassiter, heard a clear, ringing report of a rifle. It came from thegrove, somewhere toward the corrals. Jane glanced out in alarm. The daywas dull, windless, soundless. The leaves of the cottonwoods drooped, asif they had foretold the doom of Withersteen House and were now ready todie and drop and decay. Never had Jane seen such shade. She ponderedon the meaning of the report. Revolver shots had of late cracked fromdifferent parts of the grove--spies taking snap-shots at Lassiter froma cowardly distance! But a rifle report meant more. Riders seldom usedrifles. Judkins and Venters were the exceptions she called to mind. Hadthe men who hounded her hidden in her grove, taken to the rifle to ridher of Lassiter, her last friend? It was probable--it was likely. Andshe did not share his cool assumption that his death would never come atthe hands of a Mormon. Long had she expected it. His constancy toher, his singular reluctance to use the fatal skill for which he wasfamed--both now plain to all Mormons--laid him open to inevitableassassination. Yet what charm against ambush and aim and enemy heseemed to bear about him! No, Jane reflected, it was not charm; onlya wonderful training of eye and ear, and sense of impending peril.Nevertheless that could not forever avail against secret attack.
That moment a rustling of leaves attracted her attention; then thefamiliar clinking accompaniment of a slow, soft, measured step, andLassiter walked into the court.
"Jane, there's a fellow 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 bebadly injured?"
"I reckon not. But mebbe it wasn't a close call!... I'll sit here in thiscorner where nobody can see me from the grove." He untied the scarf andremoved 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 overit just a moment till I come back."
She ran into the house and returned with bandages; and while she bathedand dressed the wound Lassiter talked.
"That fellow had a good chance to get me. But he must have flinched whenhe 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 nowI'll have to keep a little closer hid myself. These fellers all seem toget chilly or shaky when they draw a bead on me, but one of them mightjest 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 aqueer thing to stain your beautiful hands. But if you could only seedeeper 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 thanyou. 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 findhim--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 almostgave--all myself to soften you to Mormons. Thank God, and thank you, myfriend.... But, selfish woman that I am, this is no great test. What'sthe life of one of those sneaking cowards to such a man as you? I thinkof your great hate toward him who--I think of your life's implacablepurpose. Can it be--"
"Wait!... Listen!" he whispered. "I hear a hoss."
He rose noiselessly, with his ear to the breeze. Suddenly he pulled hissombrero down over his bandaged head and, swinging his gun-sheaths roundin 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 tounderstand. The sound rose stronger, louder. Then came a clear, sharpdifference when the horse passed from the sage trail to the hard-packedground of the grove. It became a ringing run--swift in its bell-likeclatterings, yet singular in longer pause than usual between thehoofbeats of a horse.
"It's Wrangle!... It's Wrangle!" cried Jane Withersteen. "I'd know himfrom a million horses!"
Excitement and thrilling expectancy flooded out all Jane Withersteen'scalm. A tight band closed round her breast as she saw the giant sorrelflit in reddish-brown flashes across the openings in the green. Thenhe was pounding down the lane--thundering into the court--crashing hisgreat iron-shod hoofs on the stone flags. Wrangle it was surely, butshaggy and wild-eyed, and sage-streaked, with dust-caked lather staininghis flanks. He reared and crashed down and plunged. The rider leapedoff, threw the bridle, and held hard on a lasso looped round Wrangle'shead and neck. Janet's heart sank as she tried to recognize Venters inthe rider. Something familiar struck her in the lofty stature in thesweep of powerful shoulders. But this bearded, longhaired, unkempt man,who wore ragged clothes patched with pieces of skin, and boots thatshowed bare legs and feet--this dusty, dark, and wild rider could notpossibly 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 thehitching-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 thedifference she saw in him. Wild, rugged, unshorn--yet how splendid! Hehad gone away a boy--he had returned a man. He appeared taller, wider ofshoulder, deeper-chested, more powerfully built. But was that only herfancy--he had a
lways been a young giant--was the change one of spirit?He might have been absent for years, proven by fire and steel, grownlike Lassiter, strong and cool and sure. His eyes--were they keener,more flashing than before?--met hers with clear, frank, warm regard, inwhich perplexity was not, nor discontent, nor pain.
"Look at me long as you like," he said, with a laugh. "I'm not much tolook at. And, Jane, neither you nor Lassiter, can brag. You're palerthan I ever saw you. Lassiter, here, he wears a bloody bandage underhis hat. That reminds me. Some one took a flying shot at me down in thesage. It made Wrangle run some.... Well, perhaps you've more to tell methan I've got to tell you."
Briefly, in few words, Jane outlined the circumstances of her undoing inthe 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 JaneWithersteen ever beheld Lassiter as calm and serene and cool as then.
"Jane had gloom enough without my addin' to it by shootin' up thevillage," he said.
As strange as Lassiter's coolness was Venters's curious, intent scrutinyof them both, and under it Jane felt a flaming tide wave from bosom totemples.
"Well--you're right," he said, with slow pause. "It surprises me alittle, that's all."
Jane sensed then a slight alteration in Venters, and what it was, in herown confusion, she could not tell. It had always been her intentionto acquaint him with the deceit she had fallen to in her zeal to moveLassiter. She did not mean to spare herself. Yet now, at the moment,before these riders, 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--Iknow--I'm sure there was a deal between Tull and Oldring." He pausedand shifted his position and his gaze. He looked as if he wanted to saysomething that he found beyond him. Sorrow and pity and shame seemedto contend for mastery over him. Then he raised himself and spoke witheffort. "Jane I've cost you too much. You've almost ruined yourselffor me. It was wrong, for I'm not worth it. I never deserved suchfriendship. Well, maybe it's not too late. You must give me up. Mind,I haven't changed. I am just the same as ever. I'll see Tull while I'mhere, and tell him to his face."
"Bern, it's too late," said Jane.
"I'll make him believe!" cried Venters, violently.
"You ask me to break our friendship?"
"Yes. If you don't, I shall."
"Forever?"
"Forever!"
Jane sighed. Another shadow had lengthened down the sage slope tocast further darkness upon her. A melancholy sweetness pervaded herresignation. The boy who had left her had returned a man, nobler,stronger, one in whom she divined something unbending as steel. Theremight come a moment later when she would wonder why she had not foughtagainst his will, but just now she yielded to it. She liked him aswell--nay, more, she thought, only her emotions were deadened by thelong, menacing wait for the bursting storm.
Once before she had held out her hand to him--when she gave it; now shestretched it tremblingly forth in acceptance of the decree circumstancehad 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 heraised his head tears glistened in his eyes.
"Some--women--have a hard lot," he said, huskily. Then he shook hispowerful form, and his rags lashed about him. "I'll say a few things toTull--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 thrilledwhile it terrorized her. "If you say one more word for that plotter I'llkill him as I would a mad coyote!"
Jane clasped her hands. Was this fire-eyed man the one whom she hadonce made as wax to her touch? Had Venters become Lassiter and LassiterVenters?
"I'll--say no more," she faltered.
"Jane, Lassiter once called you blind," said Venters. "It must be true.But I won't upbraid you. Only don't rouse the devil in me by praying forTull! I'll try to keep cool when I meet him. That's all. Now there's onemore thing I want to ask of you--the last. I've found a valley down inthe Pass. It's a wonderful place. I intend to stay there. It's so hiddenI 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 yougive them to me?"
"Assuredly. The more you take the better you'll please me--and perhapsthe less my--my enemies will get."
"Venters, I reckon you'll have trouble packin' anythin' away," put inLassiter.
"I'll go at night."
"Mebbe that wouldn't be best. You'd sure be stopped. You'd better goearly in the mornin'--say, just after dawn. That's the safest time tomove round 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 acomplete outfit. You're a--a sight. Then help yourself to whatever elseyou need--burros, packs, grain, dried fruits, and meat. You must takecoffee and sugar and flour--all kinds of supplies. Don't forget corn andseeds. I remember how you used to starve. Please--please take all youcan pack away from here. I'll make a bundle for you, which you mustn'topen till you're in your valley. How I'd like to see it! To judge by youand 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 hismatted mane. "Oh, he's wild, but he knows me! Bern, can he run as fastas ever?"
"Run? Jane, he's done sixty miles since last night at dark, and I couldmake him kill Black Star right now in a ten-mile race."
"He never could," protested Jane. "He couldn't even if he was 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 onWrangle."
"I'd like that, too," rejoined Venters. "But, Jane, maybe Lassiter'shint is extreme. Bad as your prospects are, you'll surely never come tothe 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 Tullthere'll be a change in your fortunes. I'll hurry down to thevillage.... Now don't worry."
Jane retired to the seclusion of her room. Lassiter's subtle forecastingof disaster, Venters's forced optimism, neither remained in mind.Material loss weighed nothing in the balance with other losses shewas sustaining. She wondered dully at her sitting there, hands foldedlistlessly, with a kind of numb deadness to the passing of time and thepassing of her riches. She thought of Venters's friendship. She had notlost that, but she had lost him. Lassiter's friendship--that was morethan love--it would endure, but soon he, too, would be gone. LittleFay slept dreamlessly upon the bed, her golden curls streaming over thepillow. Jane had the child's worship. Would she lose that, too? And ifshe did, what then would be left? Conscience thundered at her that therewas left her religion. Conscience thundered that she should be gratefulon 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 awoman--not a martyr. Like the saint of old who mortified his flesh,Jane Withersteen had in her the temper for heroic martyrdom, if bysacrificing herself she could save the souls of others. But here thedamnable verdict blistered her that the more she sacrificed herself theblacker grew the souls of her churchmen. There was something terriblywrong with her soul, something terribly wrong with her churchmen and herreligion. In the whirling gulf of her thought there was yet one shininglight to guide her, to sustain her in her hope; and it was that, despiteher errors and her frailties and her blindness, she had one absolute andunfaltering hold on ultimate and supreme justice. That was love. "Loveyour enemies as yourself!" was a divine word, entirely free from a
nychurch or creed.
Jane's meditations were disturbed by Lassiter's soft, tinkling step inthe court. Always he wore the clinking spurs. Always he was in readinessto ride. She passed out and called him into the huge, dim hall.
"I think you'll be safer here. The court is too open," she said.
"I reckon," replied Lassiter. "An' it's cooler here. The day's suremuggy. Well, I went down to the village with Venters."
"Already! Where is he?" queried Jane, in quick amaze.
"He's at the corrals. Blake's helpin' him get the burros an' packsready. That Blake is a good fellow."
"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'ssake, 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. Mean' Venters walkin' down the road! It was funny. I ain't sayin' anybodywas 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, therewas some runnin' of folks before we got to the stores. Then everybodyvamoosed except some surprised rustlers in front of a saloon. Venterswent right in the stores an' saloons, an' of course I went along. Idon't know which tickled me the most--the actions of many fellers wemet, or Venters's nerve. Jane, I was downright glad to be along. Yousee that sort of thing is my element, an' I've been away from it fora spell. But we didn't find Tull in one of them places. Some Gentilefeller at last told Venters he'd find Tull in that long buildin' next toParsons's store. It's a kind of meetin'-room; and sure enough, when wepeeped in, it was half full of men.
"Venters yelled: 'Don't anybody pull guns! We ain't come for that!' Thenhe tramped in, an' I was some put to keep alongside him. There was ahard, 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' otherimportant-lookin' men, en' that little frog-legged feller who was withTull 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 metryin' to tell you how they looked.
"Well, Venters an' I stood there in the middle of the room with thatbatch of men all in front of us, en' not a blamed one of them winked aneyelash or moved a finger. It was natural, of course, for me to noticemany of them packed guns. That's a way of mine, first noticin' themthings. Venters spoke up, an' his voice sort of chilled an' cut, en' hetold Tull he had a few things to say."
Here Lassiter paused while he turned his sombrero round and round, inhis familiar habit, and his eyes had the look of a man seeing over againsome thrilling spectacle, and under his red bronze there was strangeanimation.
"Like a shot, then, Venters told Tull that the friendship between youan' him was all over, an' he was leaving your place. He said you'dboth of you broken off in the hope of propitiatin' your people, but youhadn'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--no other woman who ever lived ever had such tribute! You had achampion, Jane, an' never fear that those thick-skulled men don't knowyou now. It couldn't be otherwise. He spoke the ringin', lightnin'truth.... Then he accused Tull of the underhand, miserable robbery of ahelpless woman. He told Tull where the red herd was, of a deal made withOldrin', that Jerry Card had made the deal. I thought Tull was goin' todrop, an' that little frog-legged cuss, he looked some limp an' white.But Venters's voice would have kept anybody's legs from bucklin'. I wasstiff myself. He went on an' called Tull--called him every bad name everknown to a rider, an' then some. He cursed Tull. I never hear a manget such a cursin'. He laughed in scorn at the idea of Tull bein' aminister. He said Tull an' a few more dogs of hell builded theirempire out of the hearts of such innocent an' God-fearin' women as JaneWithersteen. He called Tull a binder of women, a callous beast who hidbehind a mock mantle of righteousness--an' the last an' lowest cowardon the face of the earth. To prey on weak women through theirreligion--that was the last unspeakable crime!
"Then he finished, an' by this time he'd almost lost his voice. But hiswhisper was enough. 'Tull,' he said, 'she begged me not to draw on youto-day. She would pray for you if you burned her at the stake.... Butlisten!... I swear if you and I ever come face to face again, I'll killyou!'
"We backed out of the door then, an' up the road. But nobody folleredus."
Jane found herself weeping passionately. She had not been conscious ofit till Lassiter ended his story, and she experienced exquisite pain andrelief in shedding tears. Long had her eyes been dry, her grief deep;long had her emotions been dumb. Lassiter's story put her on the rack;the appalling nature of Venters's act and speech had no parallel as anoutrage; it was worse than bloodshed. Men like Tull had been shot, buthad one ever been so terribly denounced in public? Over-mounting herhorror, an uncontrollable, quivering passion shook her very soul. It wassheer human glory in the deed of a fearless man. It was hot, primitiveinstinct to live--to fight. It was a kind of mad joy in Venters'schivalry. It was close to the wrath that had first shaken her in thebeginning of this war waged upon her.
"Well, well, Jane, don't take it that way," said Lassiter, in evidentdistress. "I had to tell you. There's some things a feller jest can'tkeep. It's strange you give up on hearin' that, when all this long timeyou've been the gamest woman I ever seen. But I don't know women. Mebbethere's reason for you to cry. I know this--nothin' ever rang in my soulan' so filled it as what Venters did. I'd like to have done it, but--I'monly good for throwin' a gun, en' it seems you hate that.... Well, I'llbe goin' now."
"Where?"
"Venters took Wrangle to the stable. The sorrel's shy a shoe, an' I'vegot to help hold the big devil an' put on another."
"Tell Bern to come for the pack I want to give him--and--and to saygood-by," called Jane, as Lassiter went out.
Jane passed the rest of that day in a vain endeavor to decide what andwhat not to put in the pack for Venters. This task was the last shewould ever perform for him, and the gifts were the last she would evermake him. So she picked and chose and rejected, and chose again, andoften paused in sad revery, and began again, till at length she filledthe pack.
It was about sunset, and she and Fay had finished supper and weresitting in the court, when Venters's quick steps rang on the stones.She scarcely knew him, for he had changed the tattered garments, andshe missed the dark beard and long hair. Still he was not the Venters ofold. As he came up the steps she felt herself pointing to the pack,and heard herself speaking words that were meaningless to her. He saidgood-by; he kissed her, released her, and turned away. His tall figureblurred in her sight, grew dim through dark, streaked vision, and thenhe vanished.
Twilight fell around Withersteen House, and dusk and night. LittleFay slept; but Jane lay with strained, aching eyes. She heard the windmoaning in the cottonwoods and mice squeaking in the walls. The nightwas interminably long, yet she prayed to hold back the dawn. What wouldanother day bring forth? The blackness of her room seemed blackerfor the sad, entering gray of morning light. She heard the chirp ofawakening birds, and fancied she caught a faint clatter of hoofs. Thenlow, dull distant, throbbed a heavy gunshot. She had expected it, waswaiting for it; nevertheless, an electric shock checked her heart, frozethe very living fiber of her bones. That vise-like hold on her facultiesapparently did not relax for a long time, and it was a voice under herwindow that released her.
"Jane!... Jane!" softly called Lassiter.
She answered somehow.
"It's all right. Venters got away. I thought mebbe you'd heard thatshot, en' I was worried some."
"What was it--who fired?"
"Well--some fool feller tried to stop Venters out there in the sage--an'he only stopped lead!... I think it'll be all right. I haven't seen orheard of any other fellers round. Venters'll go through safe. An', Jane,I've got B
ells saddled, an' I'm going to trail Venters. Mind, I won'tshow myself unless he falls foul of somebody an' needs me. I want to seeif this place where he's goin' is safe for him. He says nobody can trackhim there. I never seen the place yet I couldn't track a man to. Now,Jane, you stay indoors while I'm gone, an' keep close watch on Fay. Willyou?"
"Yes! Oh yes!"
"An' another thing, Jane," he continued, then paused for long--"anotherthing--if you ain't here when I come back--if you're gone--don't fear,I'll trail you--I'll find you out."
"My dear Lassiter, where could I be gone--as you put it?" asked Jane, incurious surprise.
"I reckon you might be somewhere. Mebbe tied in an old barn--orcorralled in some gulch--or chained in a cave! Milly Erne was--till shegive in! Mebbe that's news to you.... Well, if you're gone I'll hunt foryou."
"No, Lassiter," she replied, sadly and low. "If I'm gone just forget theunhappy woman whose blinded selfish deceit you repaid with kindness andlove."
She heard a deep, muttering curse, under his breath, and then thesilvery tinkling of his spurs as he moved away.
Jane entered upon the duties of that day with a settled, gloomy calm.Disaster hung in the dark clouds, in the shade, in the humid west wind.Blake, when he reported, appeared without his usual cheer; and Jerdwore a harassed look of a worn and worried man. And when Judkins putin appearance, riding a lame horse, and dismounted with the cramp ofa rider, his dust-covered figure and his darkly grim, almost dazedexpression told Jane of dire calamity. She had no need of words.
"Miss Withersteen, I have to report--loss of the--white herd," saidJudkins, hoarsely.
"Come, sit down, you look played out," replied Jane, solicitously. Shebrought him brandy and food, and while he partook of refreshments, ofwhich he appeared badly in need, she asked no questions.
"No one rider--could hev done more--Miss Withersteen," he went on,presently.
"Judkins, don't be distressed. You've done more than any other rider.I've long expected to lose the white herd. It's no surprise. It'sin line with other things that are happening. I'm grateful for yourservice."
"Miss Withersteen, I knew how you'd take it. But if anythin', that makesit harder to tell. You see, a feller wants to do so much fer you, an'I'd got fond of my job. We led the herd a ways off to the north ofthe break in the valley. There was a big level an' pools of water an'tip-top browse. But the cattle was in a high nervous condition. Wild--aswild as antelope! You see, they'd been so scared they never slept. Iain't a-goin' to tell you of the many tricks that were pulled off outthere in the sage. But there wasn't a day for weeks thet the herd didn'tget started to run. We allus managed to ride 'em close an' drive 'emback an' keep 'em bunched. Honest, Miss Withersteen, them steers wasthin. They was thin when water and grass was everywhere. Thin at thisseason--thet'll tell you how your steers was pestered. Fer instance, onenight a strange runnin' streak of fire run right through the herd. Thatstreak was a coyote--with an oiled an' blazin' tail! Fer I shot it an'found out. We had hell with the herd that night, an' if the sage an'grass hadn't been wet--we, hosses, steers, an' all would hev burned up.But I said I wasn't goin' to tell you any of the tricks.... Strangenow, Miss Withersteen, when the stampede did come it was from naturalcause--jest a whirlin' devil of dust. You've seen the like often. An'this wasn't no big whirl, fer the dust was mostly settled. It had driedout in a little swale, an' ordinarily no steer would ever hev run ferit. But the herd was nervous en' wild. An' jest as Lassiter said, whenthat bunch of white steers got to movin' they was as bad as buffalo.I've seen some buffalo stampedes back in Nebraska, an' this bolt of thesteers was the same kind.
"I tried to mill the herd jest as Lassiter did. But I wasn't equal toit, Miss Withersteen. I don't believe the rider lives who could hevturned thet herd. We kept along of the herd fer miles, an' more 'n oneof my boys tried to get the steers a-millin'. It wasn't no use. We gotoff level ground, goin' down, an' then the steers ran somethin' fierce.We left the little gullies an' washes level-full of dead steers. FinallyI saw the herd was makin' to pass a kind of low pocket between ridges.There was a hog-back--as we used to call 'em--a pile of rocks stickin'up, and I saw the herd was goin' to split round it, or swing out to theleft. An' I wanted 'em to go to the right so mebbe we'd be able to drive'em into the pocket. So, with all my boys except three, I rode hard toturn the herd a little to the right. We couldn't budge 'em. They went onen' split round the rocks, en' the most of 'em was turned sharp to theleft by a deep wash we hedn't seen--hed no chance to see.
"The other three boys--Jimmy Vail, Joe Willis, an' thet little Cairnsboy--a nervy kid! they, with Cairns leadin', tried to buck thet herdround to the pocket. It was a wild, fool idee. I couldn't do nothin'.The boys got hemmed in between the steers an' the wash--thet they hedn'tno chance to see, either. Vail an' Willis was run down right before oureyes. An' Cairns, who rode a fine hoss, he did some ridin'. I never seenequaled, en' would hev beat the steers if there'd been any room to runin. I was high up an' could see how the steers kept spillin' by twos an'threes over into the wash. Cairns put his hoss to a place thet was toowide fer any hoss, an' broke his neck an' the hoss's too. We found thatout after, an' as fer Vail an' Willis--two thousand steers ran over thepoor boys. There wasn't much left to pack home fer burying!... An', MissWithersteen, thet all happened yesterday, en' I believe, if the whiteherd didn't run over the wall of the Pass, it's runnin' yet."
On the morning of the second day after Judkins's recital, during whichtime Jane remained indoors a prey to regret and sorrow for the boyriders, and a new and now strangely insistent fear for her own person,she again heard what she had missed more than she dared honestlyconfess--the soft, jingling step of Lassiter. Almost overwhelming reliefsurged through her, a feeling as akin to joy as any she could havebeen capable of in those gloomy hours of shadow, and one that suddenlystunned her with the significance of what Lassiter had come to mean toher. She had begged him, for his own sake, to leave Cottonwoods. Shemight yet beg that, if her weakening courage permitted her to dareabsolute loneliness and helplessness, but she realized now that if shewere left alone her life would become one long, hideous nightmare.
When his soft steps clinked into the hall, in answer to her greeting,and his tall, black-garbed form filled the door, she felt aninexpressible sense of immediate safety. In his presence she lost herfear of the dim passageways of Withersteen House and of every sound.Always it had been that, when he entered the court or the hall, shehad experienced a distinctly sickening but gradually lessening shockat sight of the huge black guns swinging at his sides. This time thesickening shock again visited her, it was, however, because a revealingflash of thought told her that it was not alone Lassiter who wasthrillingly welcome, but also his fatal weapons. They meant so much. Howshe had fallen--how broken and spiritless must she be--to have stillthe same old horror of Lassiter's guns and his name, yet feel somehow acold, shrinking protection in their law and might and use.
"Did you trail Venters--find his wonderful valley?" she asked, eagerly.
"Yes, an' I reckon it's sure a wonderful place."
"Is he safe there?"
"That's been botherin' me some. I tracked him an' part of the trail wasthe hardest I ever tackled. Mebbe there's a rustler or somebody in thiscountry who's as good at trackin' as I am. If that's so Venters ain'tsafe."
"Well--tell me all about Bern and his valley."
To Jane's surprise Lassiter showed disinclination for further talk abouthis trip. He appeared to be extremely fatigued. Jane reflected thatone hundred and twenty miles, with probably a great deal of climbingon foot, all in three days, was enough to tire any rider. Moreover, itpresently developed that Lassiter had returned in a mood of singularsadness and preoccupation. She put it down to a moodiness over the lossof her white herd and the now precarious condition of her fortune.
Several days passed, and as nothing happened, Jane's spirits began tobrighten. Once in her musings she thought that this tendency of hersto rebound was as sad as it was futile. Meanwhile
, she had resumed herwalks through the grove with little Fay.
One morning she went as far as the sage. She had not seen the slopesince the beginning of the rains, and now it bloomed a rich deep purple.There was a high wind blowing, and the sage tossed and waved and coloredbeautifully from light to dark. Clouds scudded across the sky and theirshadows sailed darkly down the sunny slope.
Upon her return toward the house she went by the lane to the stables,and she had scarcely entered the great open space with its corrals andsheds when she saw Lassiter hurriedly approaching. Fay broke from herand, running to a corral fence, began to pat and pull the long, hangingears of a drowsy burro.
One look at Lassiter armed her for a blow.
Without a word he led her across the wide yard to the rise of the groundupon which the stable stood.
"Jane--look!" he said, and pointed to the ground.
Jane glanced down, and again, and upon steadier vision made outsplotches of blood on the stones, and broad, smooth marks in the dust,leading out toward the sage.
"What made these?" she asked.
"I reckon somebody has dragged dead or wounded men out to where therewas hosses in the sage."
"Dead--or--wounded--men!"
"I reckon--Jane, are you strong? Can you bear up?"
His hands were gently holding hers, and his eyes--suddenly she could nolonger look into them. "Strong?" she echoed, trembling. "I--I will be."
Up on the stone-flag drive, nicked with the marks made by the iron-shodhoofs of her racers, Lassiter led her, his grasp ever growing firmer.
"Where's Blake--and--and Jerb?" she asked, haltingly.
"I don't know where Jerb is. Bolted, most likely," replied Lassiter, ashe took her through the stone door. "But Blake--poor Blake! He's goneforever!... Be prepared, Jane."
With a cold prickling of her skin, with a queer thrumming in her ears,with fixed and staring eyes, Jane saw a gun lying at her feet withchamber swung and empty, and discharged shells scattered near.
Outstretched upon the stable floor lay Blake, ghastly white--dead--onehand clutching a gun and the other twisted in his bloody blouse.
"Whoever the thieves were, whether your people or rustlers--Blake killedsome of them!" said Lassiter.
"Thieves?" whispered Jane.
"I reckon. Hoss-thieves!... Look!" Lassiter waved his hand toward thestalls.
The first stall--Bells's stall--was empty. All the stalls were empty. Noracer whinnied and stamped greeting to her. Night was gone! Black Starwas gone!