Riders of the Purple Sage. Zane Grey
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him there was the shadow of the ruin presaged by Tull. On her left sat black-leather-garbed Lassiter looking like a man in a dream. Hunger was not with him, nor composure, nor speech, and when he twisted in frequent unquiet movements, the heavy guns that he had not removed knocked against the table-legs. If it had been otherwise possible to forget the presence of Lassiter, those telling little jars would have rendered it unlikely. And Jane Withersteen talked and smiled and laughed with all the dazzling play of lips and eyes that a beautiful, daring woman could summon to her purpose.
When the meal ended, and the men pushed back their chairs, she leaned closer 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 just remembered himself and had tarried longer than his wont.
“Ma’am, I have hunted all over southern Utah and Nevada for—somethin’. An’ through your name I learned where to find it—here in 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 or more west of here. An’ I heard it from a Gentile, a rider who said you’d know 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 Jane slowly raised herself in white, still wonder.
“Milly Erne’s grave?” she echoed, in a whisper. “What do you know of Milly Erne, my best-beloved friend—who died in my arms? What were you to her?”
“Did I claim to be anythin’?” he inquired. “I know people—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 on my property.”
“Will you take me there?... You’ll be offendin’ Mormons worse than by breakin’ bread with me.”
“Indeed yes, but I’ll do it. Only we must go unseen. Tomorrow, perhaps.”
“Thank you, Jane Withersteen,” replied the rider, and he bowed to her and 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 did there’s that gatherin’ storm in the village below. No, no. I’ll go to the 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 the sage. 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 picked his blind way out of the grove. The rider did not bridle him, but walked beside him, leading him by touch of hand and together they passed slowly into the shade of the cottonwoods.
“Jane, I must be off soon,” said Venters. “Give me my guns. If I’d had my guns—”
“Either my friend or the Elder of my church would be lying dead,” she interposed.
“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 go down upon thy wrath.’”
“Hush! Talk to me no more of mercy or religion—after today. Today this strange coming of Lassiter left me still a man, and now I’ll die a man!... Give me my guns.”
Silently she went into the house, to return with a heavy cartridge-belt and gun-filled sheath and a long rifle; these she handed to him, and as he 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 to murder your churchman. I’ll try to avoid him and all his men. But can’t you 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 one way.... 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 night shift. Let us go out to the bench in the grove and talk there.”
It was still daylight in the open, but under the spreading cottonwoods shadows were obscuring the lanes. Venters drew Jane off from one of these into a shrub-lined trail, just wide enough for the two to walk abreast, and in a roundabout way led her far from the house to a knoll on the edge of the grove. Here in a secluded nook was a bench from which, through an opening in the tree-tops, could be seen the sage-slope and the wall of rock and the dim lines of canyons. Jane had not spoken since Venters had shocked her with his first harsh speech; but all the way she had clung to his arm, and now, as he stopped and laid his rifle against 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 feel right—I’ve lost all—”
“I’ll give you anything you—”
“Listen, please. When I say loss I don’t mean what you think. I mean loss of good-will, good name—that which would have enabled me to stand up in this village without bitterness. Well, it’s too late.... Now, as to the future, I think you’d do best to give me up. Tull is implacable. You ought to see from his intention today that—But you can’t see. Your blindness—your damned religion!... Jane, forgive me—I’m sore within and something rankles. Well, I fear that invisible hand will turn its hidden work to your ruin.”
“Invisible hand? Bern!”
“I mean your Bishop.” Venters said it deliberately and would not release her 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 the Church.”
“You wrong Bishop Dyer. Tull is hard, I know. But then he has been in love with me for years.”
“Oh, your faith and your excuses! You can’t see what I know—and if you did see it you’d not admit it to save your life. That’s the Mormon of you. These elders and bishops will do absolutely any deed to go on building up the power and wealth of their church, their empire. Think of what they’ve done to the Gentiles here, to me—think of Milly Erne’s fate!”
“What do you know of her story?”
“I know enough—all, perhaps, except the name of the Mormon who brought her here. But I must stop this kind of talk.”
She pressed his hand in response. He helped her to a seat beside him on the bench. And he respected a silence that he divined was full of woman’s deep emotion beyond his understanding.
It was the moment when the last ruddy rays of the sunset brightened momentarily before yielding to twilight. And for Venters the outlook before him was in some sense similar to a feeling of his future, and with searching eyes he studied the beautiful purple, barren waste of sage. Here was the unknown and the perilous. The whole scene impressed Venters as a wild, austere, and mighty manifestation of nature. And as it somehow reminded him of his prospect in life, so it suddenly resembled the woman near him, only in her there were greater beauty and peril, a mystery more unsolvable, and something nameless that numbed his heart and dimmed his eye.
“Look! A rider!” exclaimed