Chapter I. Lassiter

by Zane Grey

　　A sharp clip-crop of iron-shod hoofs deadened and died away, andclouds of yellow dust drifted from under the cottonwoods out overthe sage.

　　Jane Withersteen gazed down the wide purple slope with dreamy andtroubled eyes. A rider had just left her and it was his messagethat held her thoughtful and almost sad, awaiting the churchmenwho were coming to resent and attack her right to befriend aGentile.

　　She wondered if the unrest and strife that had lately come to thelittle village of Cottonwoods was to involve her. And then shesighed, remembering that her father had founded this remotestborder settlement of southern Utah and that he had left it toher. She owned all the ground and many of the cottages.Withersteen House was hers, and the great ranch, with itsthousands of cattle, and the swiftest horses of the sage. To herbelonged Amber Spring, the water which gave verdure and beauty tothe village and made living possible on that wild purple uplandwaste. She could not escape being involved by whatever befellCottonwoods.

　　That year, 1871, had marked a change which had been graduallycoming in the lives of the peace-loving Mormons of the border.Glaze--Stone Bridge--Sterling, villages to the north, had risenagainst the invasion of Gentile settlers and the forays ofrustlers. There had been opposition to the one and fighting withthe other. And now Cottonwoods had begun to wake and bestiritself and grown hard.

　　Jane prayed that the tranquillity and sweetness of her life wouldnot be permanently disrupted. She meant to do so much more forher people than she had done. She wanted the sleepy quietpastoral days to last always. Trouble between the Mormons and theGentiles of the community would make her unhappy. She wasMormon-born, and she was a friend to poor and unfortunateGentiles. She wished only to go on doing good and being happy.And she thought of what that great ranch meant to her. She lovedit all--the grove of cottonwoods, the old stone house, theamber-tinted water, and the droves of shaggy, dusty horses andmustangs, the sleek, clean-limbed, blooded racers, and thebrowsing herds of cattle and the lean, sun-browned riders of thesage.

　　While she waited there she forgot the prospect of untowardchange. The bray of a lazy burro broke the afternoon quiet, andit was comfortingly suggestive of the drowsy farmyard, and theopen corrals, and the green alfalfa fields. Her clear sightintensified the purple sage-slope as it rolled before her. Lowswells of prairie-like ground sloped up to the west. Dark, lonelycedar-trees, few and far between, stood out strikingly, and atlong distances ruins of red rocks. Farther on, up the gradualslope, rose a broken wall, a huge monument, looming dark purpleand stretching its solitary, mystic way, a wavering line thatfaded in the north. Here to the westward was the light and colorand beauty. Northward the slope descended to a dim line ofcanyons from which rose an up-Hinging of the earth, notmountainous, but a vast heave of purple uplands, with ribbed andfan-shaped walls, castle-crowned cliffs, and gray escarpments.Over it all crept the lengthening, waning afternoon shadows.

　　The rapid beat of hoofs recalled Jane Withersteen to the questionat hand. A group of riders cantered up the lane, dismounted, andthrew their bridles. They were seven in number, and Tull, theleader, a tall, dark man, was an elder of Jane's church.

　　"Did you get my message?" he asked, curtly.

　　"Yes," replied Jane.

　　"I sent word I'd give that rider Venters half an hour to comedown to the village. He didn't come."

　　"He knows nothing of it;" said Jane. "I didn't tell him. I'vebeen waiting here for you."

　　"Where is Venters?"

　　"I left him in the courtyard."

　　"Here, Jerry," called Tull, turning to his men, "take the gangand fetch Venters out here if you have to rope him."

　　The dusty-booted and long-spurred riders clanked noisily into thegrove of cottonwoods and disappeared in the shade.

　　"Elder Tull, what do you mean by this?" demanded Jane. "If youmust arrest Venters you might have the courtesy to wait till heleaves my home. And if you do arrest him it will be adding insultto injury. It's absurd to accuse Venters of being mixed up inthat shooting fray in the village last night. He was with me atthe time. Besides, he let me take charge of his guns. You're onlyusing this as a pretext. What do you mean to do toVenters?"

　　"I'll tell you presently," replied Tull. "But first tell me whyyou defend this worthless rider?"

　　"Worthless!" exclaimed Jane, indignantly. "He's nothing of thekind. He was the best rider I ever had. There's not a reason whyI shouldn't champion him and every reason why I should. It's nolittle shame to me, Elder Tull, that through my friendship he hasroused the enmity of my people and become an outcast. Besides Iowe him eternal gratitude for saving the life of little Fay."

　　"I've heard of your love for Fay Larkin and that you intend toadopt her. But--Jane Withersteen, the child is a Gentile!"

　　"Yes. But, Elder, I don't love the Mormon children any lessbecause I love a Gentile child. I shall adopt Fay if her motherwill give her to me."

　　"I'm not so much against that. You can give the child Mormonteaching," said Tull. "But I'm sick of seeing this fellow Ventershang around you. I'm going to put a stop to it. You've so muchlove to throw away on these beggars of Gentiles that I've an ideayou might love Venters."

　　Tull spoke with the arrogance of a Mormon whose power could notbe brooked and with the passion of a man in whom jealousy hadkindled a consuming fire.

　　"Maybe I do love him," said Jane. She felt both fear and angerstir her heart. "I'd never thought of that. Poor fellow! hecertainly needs some one to love him."

　　"This'll be a bad day for Venters unless you deny that," returnedTull, grimly.

　　Tull's men appeared under the cottonwoods and led a young man outinto the lane. His ragged clothes were those of an outcast. Buthe stood tall and straight, his wide shoulders flung back, withthe muscles of his bound arms rippling and a blue flame ofdefiance in the gaze he bent on Tull.

　　For the first time Jane Withersteen felt Venters's real spirit.She wondered if she would love this splendid youth. Then heremotion cooled to the sobering sense of the issue at stake.

　　"Venters, will you leave Cottonwoods at once and forever?" askedTull, tensely.

　　"Why?" rejoined the rider.

　　"Because I order it."

　　Venters laughed in cool disdain.

　　The red leaped to Tull's dark cheek.

　　"If you don't go it means your ruin," he said, sharply.

　　"Ruin!" exclaimed Venters, passionately. "Haven't you alreadyruined me? What do you call ruin? A year ago I was a rider. I hadhorses and cattle of my own. I had a good name in Cottonwoods.And now when I come into the village to see this woman you setyour men on me. You hound me. You trail me as if I were arustler. I've no more to lose--except my life."

　　"Will you leave Utah?"

　　"Oh! I know," went on Venters, tauntingly, "it galls you, theidea of beautiful Jane Withersteen being friendly to a poorGentile. You want her all yourself. You're a wiving Mormon. Youhave use for her--and Withersteen House and Amber Spring andseven thousand head of cattle!"

　　Tull's hard jaw protruded, and rioting blood corded the veins ofhis neck.

　　"Once more. Will you go?"

　　"No!"

　　"Then I'll have you whipped within an inch of your life," repliedTull, harshly. "I'll turn you out in the sage. And if you evercome back you'll get worse."

　　Venters's agitated face grew coldly set and the bronze changed

　　Jane impulsively stepped forward. "Oh! Elder Tull!" she cried."You won't do that!"

　　Tull lifted a shaking finger toward her.

　　"That'll do from you. Understand, you'll not be allowed to holdthis boy to a friendship that's offensive to your Bishop. JaneWithersteen, your father left you wealth and power. It has turnedyour head. You haven't yet come to see the place of Mormon women.We've reasoned with you, borne with you. We've patiently waited.We've let you have your fling, which is more than I ever sawgranted to a Mormon woman. But you haven't come to your senses.Now, once for all, you can't have any further friendship withVenters. He's going to be whipped, and he's got to leave Utah!"

　　"Oh! Don't whip him! It would be dastardly!" implored Jane, withslow certainty of her failing courage.

　　Tull always blunted her spirit, and she grew conscious that shehad feigned a boldness which she did not possess. He loomed upnow in different guise, not as a jealous suitor, but embodyingthe mysterious despotism she had known from childhood--the powerof her creed.

　　"Venters, will you take your whipping here or would you rather goout in the sage?" asked Tull. He smiled a flinty smile that wasmore than inhuman, yet seemed to give out of its dark aloofness agleam of righteousness.

　　"I'll take it here--if I must," said Venters. "But by God!--Tullyou'd better kill me outright. That'll be a dear whipping for youand your praying Mormons. You'll make me another Lassiter!"

　　The strange glow, the austere light which radiated from Tull'sface, might have been a holy joy at the spiritual conception ofexalted duty. But there was something more in him, barely hidden,a something personal and sinister, a deep of himself, anengulfing abyss. As his religious mood was fanatical andinexorable, so would his physical hate be merciless.

　　"Elder, I--I repent my words," Jane faltered. The religion inher, the long habit of obedience, of humility, as well as agonyof fear, spoke in her voice. "Spare the boy!" shewhispered.

　　"You can't save him now," replied Tull stridently.

　　Her head was bowing to the inevitable. She was grasping thetruth, when suddenly there came, in inward constriction, ahardening of gentle forces within her breast. Like a steel bar itwas stiffening all that had been soft and weak in her. She felt abirth in her of something new and unintelligible. Once more herstrained gaze sought the sage-slopes. Jane Withersteen loved thatwild and purple wilderness. In times of sorrow it had been herstrength, in happiness its beauty was her continual delight. Inher extremity she found herself murmuring, "Whence cometh myhelp!" It was a prayer, as if forth from those lonely purplereaches and walls of red and clefts of blue might ride a fearlessman, neither creed-bound nor creed-mad, who would hold up arestraining hand in the faces of her ruthless people.

　　The restless movements of Tull's men suddenly quieted down. Thenfollowed a low whisper, a rustle, a sharp exclamation.

　　"Look!" said one, pointing to the west.

　　"A rider!"

　　Jane Withersteen wheeled and saw a horseman, silhouetted againstthe western sky, coming riding out of the sage. He had riddendown from the left, in the golden glare of the sun, and had beenunobserved till close at hand. An answer to her prayer!

　　"Do you know him? Does any one know him?" questioned Tull,hurriedly.

　　His men looked and looked, and one by one shook their heads.

　　"He's come from far," said one.

　　"Thet's a fine hoss," said another.

　　"A strange rider."

　　"Huh! he wears black leather," added a fourth.

　　With a wave of his hand, enjoining silence, Tull stepped forwardin such a way that he concealed Venters.

　　The rider reined in his mount, and with a lithe forward-slippingaction appeared to reach the ground in one long step. It was apeculiar movement in its quickness and inasmuch that whileperforming it the rider did not swerve in the slightest from asquare front to the group before him.

　　"Look!" hoarsely whispered one of Tull's companions. "He packstwo black-butted guns--low down--they're hard to see--black akinthem black chaps."

　　"A gun-man!" whispered another. "Fellers, careful now aboutmovin' your hands."

　　The stranger's slow approach might have been a mere leisurelymanner of gait or the cramped short steps of a rider unused towalking; yet, as well, it could have been the guarded advance ofone who took no chances with men.

　　"Hello, stranger!" called Tull. No welcome was in this greetingonly a gruff curiosity.

　　The rider responded with a curt nod. The wide brim of a blacksombrero cast a dark shade over his face. For a moment he closelyregarded Tull and his comrades, and then, halting in his slowwalk, he seemed to relax.

　　"Evenin', ma'am," he said to Jane, and removed his sombrero withquaint grace.

　　Jane, greeting him, looked up into a face that she trustedinstinctively and which riveted her attention. It had all thecharacteristics of the range rider's--the leanness, the red burnof the sun, and the set changelessness that came from years ofsilence and solitude. But it was not these which held her, ratherthe intensity of his gaze, a strained weariness, a piercingwistfulness of keen, gray sight, as if the man was foreverlooking for that which he never found. Jane's subtle woman'sintuition, even in that brief instant, felt a sadness, ahungering, a secret.

　　"Jane Withersteen, ma'am?" he inquired.

　　"Yes," she replied.

　　"The water here is yours?"

　　"Yes."

　　"May I water my horse?"

　　"Certainly. There's the trough."

　　"But mebbe if you knew who I was--" He hesitated, with his glanceon the listening men. "Mebbe you wouldn't let me waterhim--though I ain't askin' none for myself."

　　"Stranger, it doesn't matter who you are. Water your horse. Andif you are thirsty and hungry come into my house."

　　"Thanks, ma'am. I can't accept for myself--but for my tiredhorse--"

　　Trampling of hoofs interrupted the rider. More restless movementson the part of Tull's men broke up the little circle, exposingthe prisoner Venters.

　　"Mebbe I've kind of hindered somethin'--for a few moments,perhaps?" inquired the rider.

　　"Yes," replied Jane Withersteen, with a throb in her voice.

　　She felt the drawing power of his eyes; and then she saw him lookat the bound Venters, and at the men who held him, and theirleader.

　　"In this here country all the rustlers an' thieves an'cut-throats an' gun-throwers an' all-round no-good men jesthappen to be Gentiles. Ma'am, which of the no-good class doesthat young feller belong to?"

　　"He belongs to none of them. He's an honest boy."

　　"You know that, ma'am?"

　　"Yes--yes."

　　"Then what has he done to get tied up that way?"

　　His clear and distinct question, meant for Tull as well as forJane Withersteen, stilled the restlessness and brought amomentary silence.

　　"Ask him," replied Jane, her voice rising high.

　　The rider stepped away from her, moving out with the same slow,measured stride in which he had approached, and the fact that hisaction placed her wholly to one side, and him no nearer to Tulland his men, had a penetrating significance.

　　"Young feller, speak up," he said to Venters.

　　"Here stranger, this's none of your mix," began Tull. "Don't tryany interference. You've been asked to drink and eat. That's morethan you'd have got in any other village of the Utah border.Water your horse and be on your way."

　　"Easy--easy--I ain't interferin' yet," replied the rider. Thetone of his voice had undergone a change. A different man hadspoken. Where, in addressing Jane, he had been mild and gentle,now, with his first speech to Tull, he was dry, cool, biting."I've lest stumbled onto a queer deal. Seven Mormons all packin'guns, an' a Gentile tied with a rope, an' a woman who swears byhis honesty! Queer, ain't that?"

　　"Queer or not, it's none of your business," retorted Tull.

　　"Where I was raised a woman's word was law. I ain't quiteoutgrowed that yet."

　　Tull fumed between amaze and anger.

　　"Meddler, we have a law here something different from woman'swhim-- Mormon law!...Take care you don't transgress it."

　　"To hell with your Mormon law!"

　　The deliberate speech marked the rider's further change, thistime from kindly interest to an awakening menace. It produced atransformation in Tull and his companions. The leader gasped andstaggered backward at a blasphemous affront to an institution heheld most sacred. The man Jerry, holding the horses, dropped thebridles and froze in his tracks. Like posts the other men stoodwatchful-eyed, arms hanging rigid, all waiting.

　　"Speak up now, young man. What have you done to be roped thatway?"

　　"It's a damned outrage!" burst out Venters. "I've done no wrong.I've offended this Mormon Elder by being a friend to that woman."

　　"Ma'am, is it true--what he says?" asked the rider of Jane, buthis quiveringly alert eyes never left the little knot of quietmen.

　　"True? Yes, perfectly true," she answered.

　　"Well, young man, it seems to me that bein' a friend to such awoman would be what you wouldn't want to help an' couldn'thelp....What's to be done to you for it?"

　　"They intend to whip me. You know what that means--in Utah!"

　　"I reckon," replied the rider, slowly.

　　With his gray glance cold on the Mormons, with the restivebit-champing of the horses, with Jane failing to repress hermounting agitations, with Venters standing pale and still, thetension of the moment tightened. Tull broke the spell with alaugh, a laugh without mirth, a laugh that was only a soundbetraying fear.

　　"Come on, men!" he called.

　　Jane Withersteen turned again to the rider.

　　"Stranger, can you do nothing to save Venters?"

　　"Ma'am, you ask me to save him--from your own people?"

　　"Ask you? I beg of you!"

　　"But you don't dream who you're askin'."

　　"Oh, sir, I pray you--save him!"

　　These are Mormons, an' I..."

　　"At--at any cost--save him. For I--I care for him!"

　　Tull snarled. "You love-sick fool! Tell your secrets. There'll bea way to teach you what you've never learned....Come men out ofhere!"

　　"Mormon, the young man stays," said the rider.

　　Like a shot his voice halted Tull.

　　"What!"

　　"Who'll keep him? He's my prisoner!" cried Tull, hotly."Stranger, again I tell you--don't mix here. You've meddledenough. Go your way now or--"

　　"Listen!...He stays."

　　Absolute certainty, beyond any shadow of doubt, breathed in therider's low voice.

　　"Who are you? We are seven here."

　　The rider dropped his sombrero and made a rapid movement,singular in that it left him somewhat crouched, arms bent andstiff, with the big black gun-sheaths swung round to the fore.

　　"Lassiter!"

　　It was Venters's wondering, thrilling cry that bridged thefateful connection between the rider's singular position and thedreaded name.

　　Tull put out a groping hand. The life of his eyes dulled to thegloom with which men of his fear saw the approach of death. Butdeath, while it hovered over him, did not descend, for the riderwaited for the twitching fingers, the downward flash of hand thatdid not come. Tull, gathering himself together, turned to thehorses, attended by his pale comrades.