Chapter VI. The Mill-Wheel of Steers

by Zane Grey

　　Meantime, at the ranch, when Judkins's news had sent Venters onthe trail of the rustlers, Jane Withersteen led the injured manto her house and with skilled fingers dressed the gunshot woundin his arm.

　　"Judkins, what do you think happened to my riders?"

　　"I--I d rather not say," he replied.

　　"Tell me. Whatever you'll tell me I'll keep to myself. I'mbeginning to worry about more than the loss of a herd of cattle.Venters hinted of-- but tell me, Judkins."

　　"Well, Miss Withersteen, I think as Venters thinks--your ridershave been called in."

　　"Judkins!...By whom?"

　　"You know who handles the reins of your Mormon riders."

　　"Do you dare insinuate that my churchmen have ordered in myriders?"

　　"I ain't insinuatin' nothin', Miss Withersteen," answeredJudkins, with spirit. "I know what I'm talking about. I didn'twant to tell you."

　　"Oh, I can't believe that! I'll not believe it! Would Tull leavemy herds at the mercy of rustlers and wolves justbecause--because--? No, no! It's unbelievable."

　　"Yes, thet particular thing's onheard of around Cottonwoods But,beggin' pardon, Miss Withersteen, there never was any other richMormon woman here on the border, let alone one thet's taken thebit between her teeth."

　　That was a bold thing for the reserved Judkins to say, but it didnot anger her. This rider's crude hint of her spirit gave her aglimpse of what others might think. Humility and obedience hadbeen hers always. But had she taken the bit between her teeth?Still she wavered. And then, with quick spurt of warm blood alongher veins, she thought of Black Star when he got the bit fastbetween his iron jaws and ran wild in the sage. If she everstarted to run! Jane smothered the glow and burn within her,ashamed of a passion for freedom that opposed her duty.

　　"Judkins, go to the village," she said, "and when you havelearned anything definite about my riders please come to me atonce."

　　When he had gone Jane resolutely applied her mind to a number oftasks that of late had been neglected. Her father had trained herin the management of a hundred employees and the working ofgardens and fields; and to keep record of the movements of cattleand riders. And beside the many duties she had added to this workwas one of extreme delicacy, such as required all her tact andingenuity. It was an unobtrusive, almost secret aid which sherendered to the Gentile families of the village. Though JaneWithersteen never admitted so to herself, it amounted to no lessthan a system of charity. But for her invention of numberlesskinds of employment, for which there was no actual need, thesefamilies of Gentiles, who had failed in a Mormon community, wouldhave starved.

　　In aiding these poor people Jane thought she deceived her keenchurchmen, but it was a kind of deceit for which she did not prayto be forgiven. Equally as difficult was the task of deceivingthe Gentiles, for they were as proud as they were poor. It hadbeen a great grief to her to discover how these people hated herpeople; and it had been a source of great joy that through herthey had come to soften in hatred. At any time this work calledfor a clearness of mind that precluded anxiety and worry; butunder the present circumstances it required all her vigor andobstinate tenacity to pin her attention upon her task.

　　Sunset came, bringing with the end of her labor a patientcalmness and power to wait that had not been hers earlier in theday. She expected Judkins, but he did not appear. Her house wasalways quiet; to-night, however, it seemed unusually so. Atsupper her women served her with a silent assiduity; it spokewhat their sealed lips could not utter--the sympathy of Mormonwomen. Jerd came to her with the key of the great door of thestone stable, and to make his daily report about the horses. Oneof his daily duties was to give Black Star and Night and theother racers a ten-mile run. This day it had been omitted, andthe boy grew confused in explanations that she had not asked for.She did inquire if he would return on the morrow, and Jerd, inmingled surprise and relief, assured her he would always work forher. Jane missed the rattle and trot, canter and gallop of theincoming riders on the hard trails. Dusk shaded the grove whereshe walked; the birds ceased singing; the wind sighed through theleaves of the cottonwoods, and the running water murmured downits stone-bedded channel. The glimmering of the first star waslike the peace and beauty of the night. Her faith welled up inher heart and said that all would soon be right in her littleworld. She pictured Venters about his lonely camp-fire sittingbetween his faithful dogs. She prayed for his safety, for thesuccess of his undertaking.

　　Early the next morning one of Jane's women brought in word thatJudkins wished to speak to her. She hurried out, and in hersurprise to see him armed with rifle and revolver, she forgot herintention to inquire about his wound.

　　"Judkins! Those guns? You never carried guns."

　　"It's high time, Miss Withersteen," he replied. "Will you comeinto the grove? It ain't jest exactly safe for me to be seenhere."

　　She walked with him into the shade of the cottonwoods.

　　"What do you mean?"

　　"Miss Withersteen, I went to my mother's house last night. Whilethere, some one knocked, an' a man asked for me. I went to thedoor. He wore a mask. He said I'd better not ride any more forJane Withersteen. His voice was hoarse an' strange, disguised Ireckon, like his face. He said no more, an' ran off in thedark."

　　"Did you know who he was?" asked Jane, in a low voice.

　　"Yes."

　　Jane did not ask to know; she did not want to know; she feared toknow. All her calmness fled at a single thought

　　"Thet's why I'm packin' guns," went on Judkins. "For I'll neverquit ridin' for you, Miss Withersteen, till you let mego."

　　"Judkins, do you want to leave me?"

　　"Do I look thet way? Give me a hoss--a fast hoss, an' send me outon the sage."

　　"Oh, thank you, Judkins! You're more faithful than my own people.I ought not accept your loyalty--you might suffer more throughit. But what in the world can I do? My head whirls. The wrong toVenters--the stolen herd--these masks, threats, this coil in thedark! I can't understand! But I feel something dark and terribleclosing in around me."

　　"Miss Withersteen, it's all simple enough," said Judkins,earnestly. "Now please listen--an' beggin' your pardon--jest turnthet deaf Mormon ear aside, an' let me talk clear an' plain inthe other. I went around to the saloons an' the stores an' theloafin' places yesterday. All your riders are in. There's talk ofa vigilance band organized to hunt down rustlers. They callthemselves 'The Riders.' Thet's the report--thet's the reasongiven for your riders leavin' you. Strange thet only a few ridersof other ranchers joined the band! An' Tull's man, Jerry Card--he's the leader. I seen him en' his hoss. He 'ain't been toGlaze. I'm not easy to fool on the looks of a hoss thet'straveled the sage. Tull an' Jerry didn't ride to Glaze!...Well, Imet Blake en' Dorn, both good friends of mine, usually, as far astheir Mormon lights will let 'em go. But these fellers couldn'tfool me, an' they didn't try very hard. I asked them, straightout like a man, why they left you like thet. I didn't forget tomention how you nursed Blake's poor old mother when she was sick,an' how good you was to Dorn's kids. They looked ashamed, MissWithersteen. An' they jest froze up--thet dark set look thetmakes them strange an' different to me. But I could tell thedifference between thet first natural twinge of conscience an'the later look of some secret thing. An' the difference I caughtwas thet they couldn't help themselves. They hadn't no say in thematter. They looked as if their bein' unfaithful to you was bein'faithful to a higher duty. An' there's the secret. Why it's asplain as--as sight of my gun here."

　　"Plain!...My herds to wander in the sage--to be stolen! JaneWithersteen a poor woman! Her head to be brought low and herspirit broken!...Why, Judkins, it's plain enough."

　　"Miss Withersteen, let me get what boys I can gather, an' holdthe white herd. It's on the slope now, not ten miles out--threethousand head, an' all steers. They're wild, an' likely tostampede at the pop of a jack-rabbit's ears. We'll camp rightwith them, en' try to hold them."

　　"Judkins, I'll reward you some day for your service, unless allis taken from me. Get the boys and tell Jerd to give you pick ofmy horses, except Black Star and Night. But--do not shed bloodfor my cattle nor heedlessly risk your lives."

　　Jane Withersteen rushed to the silence and seclusion of her room,and there could not longer hold back the bursting of her wrath.She went stone-blind in the fury of a passion that had neverbefore showed its power. Lying upon her bed, sightless,voiceless, she was a writhing, living flame. And she tossed therewhile her fury burned and burned, and finally burned itself out.

　　Then, weak and spent, she lay thinking, not of the oppressionthat would break her, but of this new revelation of self. Untilthe last few days there had been little in her life to rousepassions. Her forefathers had been Vikings, savage chieftains whobore no cross and brooked no hindrance to their will. Her fatherhad inherited that temper; and at times, like antelope fleeingbefore fire on the slope, his people fled from his red rages.Jane Withersteen realized that the spirit of wrath and war hadlain dormant in her. She shrank from black depths hithertounsuspected. The one thing in man or woman that she scorned aboveall scorn, and which she could not forgive, was hate. Hate headeda flaming pathway straight to hell. All in a flash, beyond hercontrol there had been in her a birth of fiery hate. And the manwho had dragged her peaceful and loving spirit to thisdegradation was a minister of God's word, an Elder of her church,the counselor of her beloved Bishop.

　　The loss of herds and ranges, even of Amber Spring and the OldStone House, no longer concerned Jane Withersteen, she faced theforemost thought of her life, what she now considered themightiest problem--the salvation of her soul.

　　She knelt by her bedside and prayed; she prayed as she had neverprayed in all her life--prayed to be forgiven for her sin to beimmune from that dark, hot hate; to love Tull as her minister,though she could not love him as a man; to do her duty by herchurch and people and those dependent upon her bounty; to holdreverence of God and womanhood inviolate.

　　When Jane Withersteen rose from that storm of wrath and prayerfor help she was serene, calm, sure--a changed woman. She woulddo her duty as she saw it, live her life as her own truth guidedher. She might never be able to marry a man of her choice, butshe certainly never would become the wife of Tull. Her churchmenmight take her cattle and horses, ranges and fields, her corralsand stables, the house of Withersteen and the water thatnourished the village of Cottonwoods; but they could not forceher to marry Tull, they could not change her decision or breakher spirit. Once resigned to further loss, and sure of herself,Jane Withersteen attained a peace of mind that had not been hersfor a year. She forgave Tull, and felt a melancholy regret overwhat she knew he considered duty, irrespective of his personalfeeling for her. First of all, Tull, as he was a man, wanted herfor himself; and secondly, he hoped to save her and her richesfor his church. She did not believe that Tull had been actuatedsolely by his minister's zeal to save her soul. She doubted herinterpretation of one of his dark sayings--that if she were lostto him she might as well be lost to heaven. Jane Withersteen'scommon sense took arms against the binding limits of herreligion; and she doubted that her Bishop, whom she had beentaught had direct communication with God--would damn her soul forrefusing to marry a Mormon. As for Tull and his churchmen, whenthey had harassed her, perhaps made her poor, they would find herunchangeable, and then she would get back most of what she hadlost. So she reasoned, true at last to her faith in all men, andin their ultimate goodness.

　　The clank of iron hoofs upon the stone courtyard drew herhurriedly from her retirement. There, beside his horse, stoodLassiter, his dark apparel and the great black gun-sheathscontrasting singularly with his gentle smile. Jane's active mindtook up her interest in him and her half-determined desire to usewhat charm she had to foil his evident design in visitingCottonwoods. If she could mitigate his hatred of Mormons, or atleast keep him from killing more of them, not only would she besaving her people, but also be leading back this bloodspiller tosome semblance of the human.

　　"Mornin', ma'am," he said, black sombrero in hand.

　　"Lassiter I'm not an old woman, or even a madam," she replied,with her bright smile. "If you can't say Miss Withersteen--callme Jane."

　　"I reckon Jane would be easier. First names are always handy forme."

　　"Well, use mine, then. Lassiter, I'm glad to see you. I'm introuble."

　　Then she told him of Judkins's return, of the driving of the redherd, of Venters's departure on Wrangle, and the calling-in ofher riders.

　　"'Pears to me you're some smilin' an' pretty for a woman with somuch trouble," he remarked.

　　"Lassiter! Are you paying me compliments? But, seriously I'vemade up my mind not to be miserable. I've lost much, and I'lllose more. Nevertheless, I won't be sour, and I hope I'll neverbe unhappy--again."

　　Lassiter twisted his hat round and round, as was his way, andtook his time in replying.

　　"Women are strange to me. I got to back-trailin' myself from themlong ago. But I'd like a game woman. Might I ask, seein' as howyou take this trouble, if you're goin' to fight?"

　　"Fight! How? Even if I would, I haven't a friend except that boywho doesn't dare stay in the village."

　　"I make bold to say, ma'am--Jane--that there's another, if youwant him."

　　"Lassiter!...Thank you. But how can I accept you as a friend?Think! Why, you'd ride down into the village with those terribleguns and kill my enemies--who are also my churchmen."

　　"I reckon I might be riled up to jest about that," he replied,dryly.

　　She held out both hands to him.

　　"Lassiter! I'll accept your friendship--be proud of it--returnit--if I may keep you from killing another Mormon."

　　"I'll tell you one thing," he said, bluntly, as the graylightning formed in his eyes. "You're too good a woman to besacrificed as you're goin' to be....No, I reckon you an' me can'tbe friends on such terms."

　　In her earnestness she stepped closer to him, repelled yetfascinated by the sudden transition of his moods. That he wouldfight for her was at once horrible and wonderful.

　　"You came here to kill a man--the man whom Milly Erne--"

　　"The man who dragged Milly Erne to hell--put it that way!...JaneWithersteen, yes, that's why I came here. I'd tell so much to noother livin' soul....There're things such a woman as you'd neverdream of-- so don't mention her again. Not till you tell me thename of the man!"

　　"Tell you! I? Never!"

　　"I reckon you will. An' I'll never ask you. I'm a man of strangebeliefs an' ways of thinkin', an' I seem to see into the futurean' feel things hard to explain. The trail I've been followin'for so many years was twisted en' tangled, but it's straightenin'out now. An', Jane Withersteen, you crossed it long ago to easepoor Milly's agony. That, whether you want or not, makes Lassiteryour friend. But you cross it now strangely to mean somethin tome--God knows what!--unless by your noble blindness to incite meto greater hatred of Mormon men."

　　Jane felt swayed by a strength that far exceeded her own. In aclash of wills with this man she would go to the wall. If shewere to influence him it must be wholly through womanlyallurement. There was that about Lassiter which commanded herrespect. She had abhorred his name; face to face with him, shefound she feared only his deeds. His mystic suggestion, hisforeshadowing of something that she was to mean to him, pierceddeep into her mind. She believed fate had thrown in her way thelover or husband of Milly Erne. She believed that through her anevil man might be reclaimed. His allusion to what he called herblindness terrified her. Such a mistaken idea of his mightunleash the bitter, fatal mood she sensed in him. At any cost shemust placate this man; she knew the die was cast, and that ifLassiter did not soften to a woman's grace and beauty and wiles,then it would be because she could not make him.

　　"I reckon you'll hear no more such talk from me," Lassiter wenton, presently. "Now, Miss Jane, I rode in to tell you that yourherd of white steers is down on the slope behind them big ridges.An' I seen somethin' goin' on that'd be mighty interestin' toyou, if you could see it. Have you a field-glass?"

　　"Yes, I have two glasses. I'll get them and ride out with you.Wait, Lassiter, please," she said, and hurried within. Sendingword to Jerd to saddle Black Star and fetch him to the court, shethen went to her room and changed to the riding-clothes shealways donned when going into the sage. In this male attire hermirror showed her a jaunty, handsome rider. If she expected somelittle need of admiration from Lassiter, she had no cause fordisappointment. The gentle smile that she liked, which made ofhim another person, slowly overspread his face.

　　"If I didn't take you for a boy!" he exclaimed. "It's powerfulqueer what difference clothes make. Now I've been some scared ofyour dignity, like when the other night you was all in white butin this rig--"

　　Black Star came pounding into the court, dragging Jerd half offhis feet, and he whistled at Lassiter's black. But at sight ofJane all his defiant lines seemed to soften, and with tosses ofhis beautiful head he whipped his bridle.

　　"Down, Black Star, down," said Jane.

　　He dropped his head, and, slowly lengthening, he bent oneforeleg, then the other, and sank to his knees. Jane slipped herleft foot in the stirrup, swung lightly into the saddle, andBlack Star rose with a ringing stamp. It was not easy for Jane tohold him to a canter through the grove. and like the wind hebroke when he saw the sage. Jane let him have a couple of milesof free running on the open trail, and then she coaxed him in andwaited for her companion. Lassiter was not long in catching up,and presently they were riding side by side. It reminded her howshe used to ride with Venters. Where was he now? She gazed fardown the slope to the curved purple lines of Deception Pass andinvoluntarily shut her eyes with a trembling stir of namelessfear.

　　"We'll turn off here," Lassiter said, "en' take to the sage amile or so. The white herd is behind them big ridges."

　　"What are you going to show me?" asked Jane. "I'm prepared--don'tbe afraid."

　　He smiled as if he meant that bad news came swiftly enoughwithout being presaged by speech.

　　When they reached the lee of a rolling ridge Lassiter dismounted,motioning to her to do likewise. They left the horses standing,bridles down. Then Lassiter, carrying the field-glasses began tolead the way up the slow rise of ground. Upon nearing the summithe halted her with a gesture.

　　"I reckon we'd see more if we didn't show ourselves against thesky," he said. "I was here less than an hour ago. Then the herdwas seven or eight miles south, an' if they ain't bolted yet--"

　　"Lassiter!...Bolted?"

　　"That's what I said. Now let's see."

　　Jane climbed a few more paces behind him and then peeped over theridge. Just beyond began a shallow swale that deepened andwidened into a valley and then swung to the left. Following theundulating sweep of sage, Jane saw the straggling lines and thenthe great body of the white herd. She knew enough about steers,even at a distance of four or five miles, to realize thatsomething was in the wind. Bringing her field-glass into use, shemoved it slowly from left to right, which action swept the wholeherd into range. The stragglers were restless; the more compactlymassed steers were browsing. Jane brought the glass back to thebig sentinels of the herd, and she saw them trot with quicksteps, stop short and toss wide horns, look everywhere, and thentrot in another direction.

　　"Judkins hasn't been able to get his boys together yet," saidJane. "But he'll be there soon. I hope not too late. Lassiter,what's frightening those big leaders?"

　　"Nothin' jest on the minute," replied Lassiter. "Them steers arequietin' down. They've been scared, but not bad yet. I reckon thewhole herd has moved a few miles this way since I was here."

　　"They didn't browse that distance--not in less than an hour.Cattle aren't sheep."

　　"No, they jest run it, en' that looks bad."

　　"Lassiter, what frightened them?" repeated Jane, impatiently.

　　"Put down your glass. You'll see at first better with a nakedeye. Now look along them ridges on the other side of the herd,the ridges where the sun shines bright on the sage....That'sright. Now look en' look hard en' wait."

　　Long-drawn moments of straining sight rewarded Jane with nothingsave the low, purple rim of ridge and the shimmering sage.

　　"It's begun again!" whispered Lassiter, and he gripped her arm."Watch....There, did you see that?"

　　"No, no. Tell me what to look for?"

　　"A white flash--a kind of pin-point of quick light--a gleam asfrom sun shinin' on somethin' white."

　　Suddenly Jane's concentrated gaze caught a fleeting glint.Quickly she brought her glass to bear on the spot. Again thepurple sage, magnified in color and size and wave, for longmoments irritated her with its monotony. Then from out of thesage on the ridge flew up a broad, white object, flashed in thesunlight and vanished. Like magic it was, and bewilderedJane.

　　"What on earth is that?"

　　"I reckon there's some one behind that ridge throwin' up a sheetor a white blanket to reflect the sunshine."

　　"Why?" queried Jane, more bewildered than ever.

　　"To stampede the herd," replied Lassiter, and his teethclicked.

　　"Ah!" She made a fierce, passionate movement, clutched the glasstightly, shook as with the passing of a spasm, and then droppedher head. Presently she raised it to greet Lassiter withsomething like a smile. "My righteous brethren are at workagain," she said, in scorn. She had stifled the leap of herwrath, but for perhaps the first time in her life a bitterderision curled her lips. Lassiter's cool gray eyes seemed topierce her. "I said I was prepared for anything; but that washardly true. But why would they--anybody stampede mycattle?"

　　"That's a Mormon's godly way of bringin' a woman to herknees."

　　"Lassiter, I'll die before I ever bend my knees. I might be led Iwon't be driven. Do you expect the herd to bolt?"

　　"I don't like the looks of them big steers. But you can nevertell. Cattle sometimes stampede as easily as buffalo. Any littleflash or move will start them. A rider gettin' down an' walkin'toward them sometimes will make them jump an' fly. Then againnothin' seems to scare them. But I reckon that white flare willdo the biz. It's a new one on me, an' I've seen some ridin' an'rustlin'. It jest takes one of them God-fearin' Mormons to thinkof devilish tricks."

　　"Lassiter, might not this trick be done by Oldring's men?" askedJane, ever grasping at straws.

　　"It might be, but it ain't," replied Lassiter. "Oldring's anhonest thief. He don't skulk behind ridges to scatter your cattleto the four winds. He rides down on you, an' if you don't like ityou can throw a gun."

　　Jane bit her tongue to refrain from championing men who at thevery moment were proving to her that they were little and meancompared even with rustlers.

　　"Look!...Jane, them leadin' steers have bolted. They're drawin'the stragglers, an' that'll pull the whole herd."

　　Jane was not quick enough to catch the details called out byLassiter, but she saw the line of cattle lengthening. Then, likea stream of white bees pouring from a huge swarm, the steersstretched out from the main body. In a few moments, withastonishing rapidity, the whole herd got into motion. A faintroar of trampling hoofs came to Jane's ears, and graduallyswelled; low, rolling clouds of dust began to rise above thesage.

　　"It's a stampede, an' a hummer," said Lassiter.

　　"Oh, Lassiter! The herd's running with the valley! It leads intothe canyon! There's a straight jump-off!"

　　"I reckon they'll run into it, too. But that's a good many milesyet. An', Jane, this valley swings round almost north before itgoes east. That stampede will pass within a mile of us."

　　The long, white, bobbing line of steers streaked swiftly throughthe sage, and a funnel-shaped dust-cloud arose at a low angle. Adull rumbling filled Jane's ears.

　　"I'm thinkin' of millin' that herd," said Lassiter. His grayglance swept up the slope to the west. "There's some specks an'dust way off toward the village. Mebbe that's Judkins an' hisboys. It ain't likely he'll get here in time to help. You'dbetter hold Black Star here on this high ridge."

　　He ran to his horse and, throwing off saddle-bags and tighteningthe cinches, he leaped astride and galloped straight down acrossthe valley.

　　Jane went for Black Star and, leading him to the summit of theridge, she mounted and faced the valley with excitement andexpectancy. She had heard of milling stampeded cattle, and knewit was a feat accomplished by only the most daring riders.

　　The white herd was now strung out in a line two miles long. Thedull rumble of thousands of hoofs deepened into continuous lowthunder, and as the steers swept swiftly closer the thunderbecame a heavy roll. Lassiter crossed in a few moments the levelof the valley to the eastern rise of ground and there waited thecoming of the herd. Presently, as the head of the white linereached a point opposite to where Jane stood, Lassiter spurredhis black into a run

　　Jane saw him take a position on the off side of the leaders ofthe stampede, and there he rode. It was like a race. They swepton down the valley, and when the end of the white line nearedLassiter's first stand the head had begun to swing round to thewest. It swung slowly and stubbornly, yet surely, and graduallyassumed a long, beautiful curve of moving white. To Jane's amazeshe saw the leaders swinging, turning till they headed backtoward her and up the valley. Out to the right of these wildplunging steers ran Lassiter's black, and Jane's keen eyeappreciated the fleet stride and sure-footedness of the blindhorse. Then it seemed that the herd moved in a great curve, ahuge half-moon with the points of head and tail almost opposite,and a mile apart But Lassiter relentlessly crowded the leaders,sheering them to the left, turning them little by little. And thedust-blinded wild followers plunged on madly in the tracks oftheir leaders. This ever-moving, ever-changing curve of steersrolled toward Jane and when below her, scarce half a mile, itbegan to narrow and close into a circle. Lassiter had riddenparallel with her position, turned toward her, then aside, andnow he was riding directly away from her, all the time pushingthe head of that bobbing line inward.

　　It was then that Jane, suddenly understanding Lassiter's featstared and gasped at the riding of this intrepid man. His horsewas fleet and tireless, but blind. He had pushed the leadersaround and around till they were about to turn in on the innerside of the end of that line of steers. The leaders were alreadyrunning in a circle; the end of the herd was still running almoststraight. But soon they would be wheeling. Then, when Lassiterhad the circle formed, how would he escape? With Jane Withersteenprayer was as ready as praise; and she prayed for this man'ssafety. A circle of dust began to collect. Dimly, as through ayellow veil, Jane saw Lassiter press the leaders inward to closethe gap in the sage. She lost sight of him in the dust, again shethought she saw the black, riderless now, rear and drag himselfand fall. Lassiter had been thrown--lost! Then he reappearedrunning out of the dust into the sage. He had escaped, and shebreathed again.

　　Spellbound, Jane Withersteen watched this stupendous millwheel ofsteers. Here was the milling of the herd. The white runningcircle closed in upon the open space of sage. And the dustcircles closed above into a pall. The ground quaked and theincessant thunder of pounding hoofs rolled on. Jane feltdeafened, yet she thrilled to a new sound. As the circle of sagelessened the steers began to bawl, and when it closed entirelythere came a great upheaval in the center, and a terriblethumping of heads and clicking of horns. Bawling, climbing,goring, the great mass of steers on the inside wrestled in acrashing din, heaved and groaned under the pressure. Then came adeadlock. The inner strife ceased, and the hideous roar andcrash. Movement went on in the outer circle, and that, too,gradually stilled. The white herd had come to a stop, and thepall of yellow dust began to drift away on the wind.

　　Jane Withersteen waited on the ridge with full and gratefulheart. Lassiter appeared, making his weary way toward her throughthe sage. And up on the slope Judkins rode into sight with histroop of boys. For the present, at least, the white herd would belooked after.

　　When Lassiter reached her and laid his hand on Black Star's mane,Jane could not find speech.

　　"Killed--my--hoss," he panted.

　　"Oh! I'm sorry," cried Jane. "Lassiter! I know you can't replacehim, but I'll give you any one of my racers--Bells, or Night,even Black Star."

　　"I'll take a fast hoss, Jane, but not one of your favorites," hereplied. "Only--will you let me have Black Star now an' ride himover there an' head off them fellers who stampeded the herd?"

　　He pointed to several moving specks of black and puffs of dust inthe purple sage.

　　"I can head them off with this hoss, an' then--"

　　"Then, Lassiter?"

　　"They'll never stampede no more cattle."

　　"Oh! No! No!...Lassiter, I won't let you go!"

　　But a flush of fire flamed in her cheeks, and her trembling handsshook Black Star's bridle, and her eyes fell before Lassiter's.