Riders of the Purple Sage Page 2

  CHAPTER II. COTTONWOODS

  Venters appeared too deeply moved to speak the gratitude his faceexpressed. And Jane turned upon the rescuer and gripped his hands.Her smiles and tears seemingly dazed him. Presently as something likecalmness returned, she went to Lassiter's weary horse.

  "I will water him myself," she said, and she led the horse to a troughunder a huge old cottonwood. With nimble fingers she loosened the bridleand removed the bit. The horse snorted and bent his head. The trough wasof solid stone, hollowed out, moss-covered and green and wet and cool,and the clear brown water that fed it spouted and splashed from a woodenpipe.

  "He has brought you far to-day?"

  "Yes, ma'am, a matter of over sixty miles, mebbe seventy."

  "A long ride--a ride that--Ah, he is blind!"

  "Yes, ma'am," replied Lassiter.

  "What blinded him?"

  "Some men once roped an' tied him, an' then held white-iron close to hiseyes."

  "Oh! Men? You mean devils.... Were they your enemies--Mormons?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "To take revenge on a horse! Lassiter, the men of my creed areunnaturally cruel. To my everlasting sorrow I confess it. They have beendriven, hated, scourged till their hearts have hardened. But we womenhope and pray for the time when our men will soften."

  "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am--that time will never come."

  "Oh, it will!... Lassiter, do you think Mormon women wicked? Has yourhand been against them, too?"

  "No. I believe Mormon women are the best and noblest, the mostlong-sufferin', and the blindest, unhappiest women on earth."

  "Ah!" She gave him a grave, thoughtful look. "Then you will break breadwith me?"

  Lassiter had no ready response, and he uneasily shifted his weightfrom one leg to another, and turned his sombrero round and round in hishands. "Ma'am," he began, presently, "I reckon your kindness of heartmakes you overlook things. Perhaps I ain't well known hereabouts, butback up North there's Mormons who'd rest uneasy in their graves at theidea of me sittin' to table with you."

  "I dare say. But--will you do it, anyway?" she asked.

  "Mebbe you have a brother or relative who might drop in an' be offended,an' I wouldn't want to--"

  "I've not a relative in Utah that I know of. There's no one with a rightto question my actions." She turned smilingly to Venters. "You will comein, Bern, and Lassiter will come in. We'll eat and be merry while wemay."

  "I'm only wonderin' if Tull an' his men'll raise a storm down in thevillage," said Lassiter, in his last weakening stand.

  "Yes, he'll raise the storm--after he has prayed," replied Jane. "Come."

  She led the way, with the bridle of Lassiter's horse over her arm.They entered a grove and walked down a wide path shaded by greatlow-branching cottonwoods. The last rays of the setting sun sent goldenbars through the leaves. The grass was deep and rich, welcome contrastto sage-tired eyes. Twittering quail darted across the path, and from atree-top somewhere a robin sang its evening song, and on the still airfloated the freshness and murmur of flowing water.

  The home of Jane Withersteen stood in a circle of cottonwoods, and wasa flat, long, red-stone structure with a covered court in the centerthrough which flowed a lively stream of amber-colored water. In themassive blocks of stone and heavy timbers and solid doors and shuttersshowed the hand of a man who had builded against pillage and time; andin the flowers and mosses lining the stone-bedded stream, in the brightcolors of rugs and blankets on the court floor, and the cozy corner withhammock and books and the clean-linened table, showed the grace of adaughter who lived for happiness and the day at hand.

  Jane turned Lassiter's horse loose in the thick grass. "You will wanthim to be near you," she said, "or I'd have him taken to the alfalfafields." At her call appeared women who began at once to bustle about,hurrying to and fro, setting the table. Then Jane, excusing herself,went within.

  She passed through a huge low ceiled chamber, like the inside of a fort,and into a smaller one where a bright wood-fire blazed in an old openfireplace, and from this into her own room. It had the same comfort aswas manifested in the home-like outer court; moreover, it was warm andrich in soft hues.

  Seldom did Jane Withersteen enter her room without looking into hermirror. She knew she loved the reflection of that beauty which sinceearly childhood she had never been allowed to forget. Her relatives andfriends, and later a horde of Mormon and Gentile suitors, had fannedthe flame of natural vanity in her. So that at twenty-eight she scarcelythought at all of her wonderful influence for good in the littlecommunity where her father had left her practically its beneficentlandlord, but cared most for the dream and the assurance and theallurement of her beauty. This time, however, she gazed into herglass with more than the usual happy motive, without the usual slightconscious smile. For she was thinking of more than the desire to be fairin her own eyes, in those of her friend; she wondered if she were toseem fair in the eyes of this Lassiter, this man whose name had crossedthe long, wild brakes of stone and plains of sage, this gentle-voiced,sad-faced man who was a hater and a killer of Mormons. It was notnow her usual half-conscious vain obsession that actuated her as shehurriedly changed her riding-dress to one of white, and then looked longat the stately form with its gracious contours, at the fair facewith its strong chin and full firm lips, at the dark-blue, proud, andpassionate eyes.

  "If by some means I can keep him here a few days, a week--he will neverkill another Mormon," she mused. "Lassiter!... I shudder when I thinkof that name, of him. But when I look at the man I forget who he is--Ialmost like him. I remember only that he saved Bern. He has suffered. Iwonder what it was--did he love a Mormon woman once? How splendidly hechampioned us poor misunderstood souls! Somehow he knows--much."

  Jane Withersteen joined her guests and bade them to her board.Dismissing her woman, she waited upon them with her own hands. It was abountiful supper and a strange company. On her right sat the raggedand half-starved Venters; and though blind eyes could have seen whathe counted for in the sum of her happiness, yet he looked the gloomyoutcast his allegiance had made him, and about him there was the shadowof the ruin presaged by Tull. On her left sat black-leather-garbedLassiter looking like a man in a dream. Hunger was not with him, norcomposure, nor speech, and when he twisted in frequent unquiet movementsthe heavy guns that he had not removed knocked against the table-legs.If it had been otherwise possible to forget the presence of Lassiterthose telling little jars would have rendered it unlikely. And JaneWithersteen talked and smiled and laughed with all the dazzling playof lips and eyes that a beautiful, daring woman could summon to herpurpose.

  When the meal ended, and the men pushed back their chairs, she leanedcloser to Lassiter and looked square into his eyes.

  "Why did you come to Cottonwoods?"

  Her question seemed to break a spell. The rider arose as if he had justremembered himself and had tarried longer than his wont.

  "Ma'am, I have hunted all over the southern Utah and Nevadafor--somethin'. An' through your name I learned where to find it--herein Cottonwoods."

  "My name! Oh, I remember. You did know my name when you spoke first.Well, tell me where you heard it and from whom?"

  "At the little village--Glaze, I think it's called--some fifty miles ormore west of here. An' I heard it from a Gentile, a rider who said you'dknow where to tell me to find--"

  "What?" she demanded, imperiously, as Lassiter broke off.

  "Milly Erne's grave," he answered low, and the words came with a wrench.

  Venters wheeled in his chair to regard Lassiter in amazement, and Janeslowly raised herself in white, still wonder.

  "Milly Erne's grave?" she echoed, in a whisper. "What do you know ofMilly Erne, my best-beloved friend--who died in my arms? What were youto her?"

  "Did I claim to be anythin'?" he inquired. "I knowpeople--relatives--who have long wanted to know where she's buried,that's all."

  "Relatives? She never spoke of relatives, except a brother who was shot
in Texas. Lassiter, Milly Erne's grave is in a secret burying-ground onmy property."

  "Will you take me there?... You'll be offendin' Mormons worse than bybreakin' bread with me."

  "Indeed yes, but I'll do it. Only we must go unseen. To-morrow,perhaps."

  "Thank you, Jane Withersteen," replied the rider, and he bowed to herand stepped backward out of the court.

  "Will you not stay--sleep under my roof?" she asked.

  "No, ma'am, an' thanks again. I never sleep indoors. An' even if I didthere's that gatherin' storm in the village below. No, no. I'll go tothe sage. I hope you won't suffer none for your kindness to me."

  "Lassiter," said Venters, with a half-bitter laugh, "my bed too, is thesage. Perhaps we may meet out there."

  "Mebbe so. But the sage is wide an' I won't be near. Good night."

  At Lassiter's low whistle the black horse whinnied, and carefully pickedhis blind way out of the grove. The rider did not bridle him, but walkedbeside him, leading him by touch of hand and together they passed slowlyinto the shade of the cottonwoods.

  "Jane, I must be off soon," said Venters. "Give me my guns. If I'd hadmy guns--"

  "Either my friend or the Elder of my church would be lying dead," sheinterposed.

  "Tull would be--surely."

  "Oh, you fierce-blooded, savage youth! Can't I teach you forebearance,mercy? Bern, it's divine to forgive your enemies. 'Let not the sun godown upon thy wrath.'"

  "Hush! Talk to me no more of mercy or religion--after to-day. To-daythis strange coming of Lassiter left me still a man, and now I'll die aman!... Give me my guns."

  Silently she went into the house, to return with a heavy cartridge-beltand gun-filled sheath and a long rifle; these she handed to him, and ashe buckled on the belt she stood before him in silent eloquence.

  "Jane," he said, in gentler voice, "don't look so. I'm not going out tomurder your churchman. I'll try to avoid him and all his men. But can'tyou see I've reached the end of my rope? Jane, you're a wonderful woman.Never was there a woman so unselfish and good. Only you're blind in oneway.... Listen!"

  From behind the grove came the clicking sound of horses in a rapid trot.

  "Some of your riders," he continued. "It's getting time for the nightshift. Let us go out to the bench in the grove and talk there."

  It was still daylight in the open, but under the spreading cottonwoodsshadows were obscuring the lanes. Venters drew Jane off from one ofthese into a shrub-lined trail, just wide enough for the two to walkabreast, and in a roundabout way led her far from the house to a knollon the edge of the grove. Here in a secluded nook was a bench fromwhich, through an opening in the tree-tops, could be seen the sage-slopeand the wall of rock and the dim lines of canyons. Jane had not spokensince Venters had shocked her with his first harsh speech; but all theway she had clung to his arm, and now, as he stopped and laid his rifleagainst the bench, she still clung to him.

  "Jane, I'm afraid I must leave you."

  "Bern!" she cried.

  "Yes, it looks that way. My position is not a happy one--I can't feelright--I've lost all--"

  "I'll give you anything you--"

  "Listen, please. When I say loss I don't mean what you think. I meanloss of good-will, good name--that which would have enabled me to standup in this village without bitterness. Well, it's too late.... Now, as tothe future, I think you'd do best to give me up. Tull is implacable.You ought to see from his intention to-day that--But you can't see. Yourblindness--your damned religion!... Jane, forgive me--I'm sore within andsomething rankles. Well, I fear that invisible hand will turn its hiddenwork to your ruin."

  "Invisible hand? Bern!"

  "I mean your Bishop." Venters said it deliberately and would not releaseher as she started back. "He's the law. The edict went forth to ruin me.Well, look at me! It'll now go forth to compel you to the will of theChurch."

  "You wrong Bishop Dyer. Tull is hard, I know. But then he has been inlove with me for years."

  "Oh, your faith and your excuses! You can't see what I know--and if youdid see it you'd not admit it to save your life. That's the Mormonof you. These elders and bishops will do absolutely any deed to go onbuilding up the power and wealth of their church, their empire. Thinkof what they've done to the Gentiles here, to me--think of Milly Erne'sfate!"

  "What do you know of her story?"

  "I know enough--all, perhaps, except the name of the Mormon who broughther here. But I must stop this kind of talk."

  She pressed his hand in response. He helped her to a seat beside himon the bench. And he respected a silence that he divined was full ofwoman's deep emotion beyond his understanding.

  It was the moment when the last ruddy rays of the sunset brightenedmomentarily before yielding to twilight. And for Venters the outlookbefore him was in some sense similar to a feeling of his future, andwith searching eyes he studied the beautiful purple, barren waste ofsage. Here was the unknown and the perilous. The whole scene impressedVenters as a wild, austere, and mighty manifestation of nature. Andas it somehow reminded him of his prospect in life, so it suddenlyresembled the woman near him, only in her there were greater beauty andperil, a mystery more unsolvable, and something nameless that numbed hisheart and dimmed his eye.

  "Look! A rider!" exclaimed Jane, breaking the silence. "Can that beLassiter?"

  Venters moved his glance once more to the west. A horseman showed darkon the sky-line, then merged into the color of the sage.

  "It might be. But I think not--that fellow was coming in. One of yourriders, more likely. Yes, I see him clearly now. And there's another."

  "I see them, too."

  "Jane, your riders seem as many as the bunches of sage. I ran into fiveyesterday 'way down near the trail to Deception Pass. They were with thewhite herd."

  "You still go to that canyon? Bern, I wish you wouldn't. Oldring and hisrustlers live somewhere down there."

  "Well, what of that?"

  "Tull has already hinted to your frequent trips into Deception Pass."

  "I know." Venters uttered a short laugh. "He'll make a rustler of menext. But, Jane, there's no water for fifty miles after I leave here,and the nearest is in the canyon. I must drink and water my horse.There! I see more riders. They are going out."

  "The red herd is on the slope, toward the Pass."

  Twilight was fast falling. A group of horsemen crossed the dark lineof low ground to become more distinct as they climbed the slope. Thesilence broke to a clear call from an incoming rider, and, almost likethe peal of a hunting-horn, floated back the answer. The outgoing ridersmoved swiftly, came sharply into sight as they topped a ridge to showwild and black above the horizon, and then passed down, dimming into thepurple of the sage.

  "I hope they don't meet Lassiter," said Jane.

  "So do I," replied Venters. "By this time the riders of the night shiftknow what happened to-day. But Lassiter will likely keep out of theirway."

  "Bern, who is Lassiter? He's only a name to me--a terrible name."

  "Who is he? I don't know, Jane. Nobody I ever met knows him. He talks alittle like a Texan, like Milly Erne. Did you note that?"

  "Yes. How strange of him to know of her! And she lived here ten yearsand has been dead two. Bern, what do you know of Lassiter? Tell me whathe has done--why you spoke of him to Tull--threatening to become anotherLassiter yourself?"

  "Jane, I only heard things, rumors, stories, most of which Idisbelieved. At Glaze his name was known, but none of the riders orranchers I knew there ever met him. At Stone Bridge I never heard himmentioned. But at Sterling and villages north of there he was spoken ofoften. I've never been in a village which he had been known to visit.There were many conflicting stories about him and his doings. Some saidhe had shot up this and that Mormon village, and others denied it. I'minclined to believe he has, and you know how Mormons hide the truth. Butthere was one feature about Lassiter upon which all agree--that he waswhat riders in this country call a gun-man. He's a man with a marvelousquickness and a
ccuracy in the use of a Colt. And now that I've seen himI know more. Lassiter was born without fear. I watched him with eyeswhich saw him my friend. I'll never forget the moment I recognized himfrom what had been told me of his crouch before the draw. It was then Iyelled his name. I believe that yell saved Tull's life. At any rate, Iknow this, between Tull and death then there was not the breadth of thelittlest hair. If he or any of his men had moved a finger downward--"

  Venters left his meaning unspoken, but at the suggestion Jane shuddered.

  The pale afterglow in the west darkened with the merging of twilightinto night. The sage now spread out black and gloomy. One dim starglimmered in the southwest sky. The sound of trotting horses hadceased, and there was silence broken only by a faint, dry pattering ofcottonwood leaves in the soft night wind.

  Into this peace and calm suddenly broke the high-keyed yelp of a coyote,and from far off in the darkness came the faint answering note of atrailing mate.

  "Hello! the sage-dogs are barking," said Venters.

  "I don't like to hear them," replied Jane. "At night, sometimes when Ilie awake, listening to the long mourn or breaking bark or wild howl, Ithink of you asleep somewhere in the sage, and my heart aches."

  "Jane, you couldn't listen to sweeter music, nor could I have a betterbed."

  "Just think! Men like Lassiter and you have no home, no comfort, norest, no place to lay your weary heads. Well!... Let us be patient.Tull's anger may cool, and time may help us. You might do some serviceto the village--who can tell? Suppose you discovered the long-unknownhiding-place of Oldring and his band, and told it to my riders? Thatwould disarm Tull's ugly hints and put you in favor. For years my ridershave trailed the tracks of stolen cattle. You know as well as I howdearly we've paid for our ranges in this wild country. Oldring drivesour cattle down into the network of deceiving canyons, and somewhere farto the north or east he drives them up and out to Utah markets. If youwill spend time in Deception Pass try to find the trails."

  "Jane, I've thought of that. I'll try."

  "I must go now. And it hurts, for now I'll never be sure of seeing youagain. But to-morrow, Bern?"

  "To-morrow surely. I'll watch for Lassiter and ride in with him."

  "Good night."

  Then she left him and moved away, a white, gliding shape that soonvanished in the shadows.

  Venters waited until the faint slam of a door assured him she hadreached the house, and then, taking up his rifle, he noiselessly slippedthrough the bushes, down the knoll, and on under the dark trees to theedge of the grove. The sky was now turning from gray to blue; stars hadbegun to lighten the earlier blackness; and from the wide flat sweepbefore him blew a cool wind, fragrant with the breath of sage. Keepingclose to the edge of the cottonwoods, he went swiftly and silentlywestward. The grove was long, and he had not reached the end when heheard something that brought him to a halt. Low padded thuds toldhim horses were coming this way. He sank down in the gloom, waiting,listening. Much before he had expected, judging from sound, to hisamazement he descried horsemen near at hand. They were riding along theborder of the sage, and instantly he knew the hoofs of the horses weremuffled. Then the pale starlight afforded him indistinct sight of theriders. But his eyes were keen and used to the dark, and by peeringclosely he recognized the huge bulk and black-bearded visage of Oldringand the lithe, supple form of the rustler's lieutenant, a masked rider.They passed on; the darkness swallowed them. Then, farther out on thesage, a dark, compact body of horsemen went by, almost without sound,almost like specters, and they, too, melted into the night.