Chapter II. Cottonwoods

by Zane Grey

　　Venters appeared too deeply moved to speak the gratitude his faceexpressed. And Jane turned upon the rescuer and gripped hishands. Her smiles and tears seemingly dazed him. Presently assomething like calmness returned, she went to Lassiter's wearyhorse.

　　"I will water him myself," she said, and she led the horse to atrough under a huge old cottonwood. With nimble fingers sheloosened the bridle and removed the bit. The horse snorted andbent his head. The trough was of solid stone, hollowed out,moss-covered and green and wet and cool, and the clear brownwater that fed it spouted and splashed from a wooden pipe.

　　"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 closeto his eyes."

　　"Oh! Men? You mean devils....Were they yourenemies--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. Theyhave been driven, hated, scourged till their hearts havehardened. But we women hope and pray for the time when our menwill soften."

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

　　"Oh, it will!...Lassiter, do you think Mormon women wicked? Hasyour hand 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 breakbread with me?"

　　Lassiter had no ready response, and he uneasily shifted hisweight from one leg to another, and turned his sombrero round andround in his hands. "Ma'am," he began, presently, "I reckon yourkindness of heart makes you overlook things. Perhaps I ain't wellknown hereabouts, but back up North there's Mormons who'd restuneasy in their graves at the idea of me sittin' to table withyou."

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

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

　　"I've not a relative in Utah that I know of. There's no one witha right to question my actions." She turned smilingly to Venters."You will come in, Bern, and Lassiter will come in. We'll eat andbe merry while we may."

　　"I'm only wonderin' if Tull an' his men'll raise a storm down inthe village," 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 herarm. They entered a grove and walked down a wide path shaded bygreat low-branching cottonwoods. The last rays of the setting sunsent golden bars through the leaves. The grass was deep and rich,welcome contrast to sage-tired eyes. Twittering quail dartedacross the path, and from a tree-top somewhere a robin sang itsevening song, and on the still air floated the freshness andmurmur of flowing water.

　　The home of Jane Withersteen stood in a circle of cottonwoods,and was a flat, long, red-stone structure with a covered court inthe center through which flowed a lively stream of amber-coloredwater. In the massive blocks of stone and heavy timbers and soliddoors and shutters showed the hand of a man who had buildedagainst pillage and time; and in the flowers and mosses liningthe stone-bedded stream, in the bright colors of rugs andblankets on the court floor, and the cozy corner with hammock andbooks and the clean-linened table, showed the grace of a daughterwho lived for happiness and the day at hand.

　　Jane turned Lassiter's horse loose in the thick grass. "You willwant him to be near you," she said, "or I'd have him taken to thealfalfa fields." At her call appeared women who began at once tobustle 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 ofa fort, and into a smaller one where a bright wood-fire blazed inan old open fireplace, and from this into her own room. It hadthe same comfort as was manifested in the home-like outer court;moreover, it was warm and rich in soft hues.

　　Seldom did Jane Withersteen enter her room without looking intoher mirror. She knew she loved the reflection of that beautywhich since early childhood she had never been allowed to forget.Her relatives and friends, and later a horde of Mormon andGentile suitors, had fanned the flame of natural vanity in her.So that at twenty-eight she scarcely thought at all of herwonderful influence for good in the little community where herfather had left her practically its beneficent landlord, butcared most for the dream and the assurance and the allurement ofher beauty. This time, however, she gazed into her glass withmore than the usual happy motive, without the usual slightconscious smile. For she was thinking of more than the desire tobe fair in her own eyes, in those of her friend; she wondered ifshe were to seem fair in the eyes of this Lassiter, this manwhose name had crossed the long, wild brakes of stone and plainsof sage, this gentle-voiced, sad-faced man who was a hater and akiller of Mormons. It was not now her usual half-conscious vainobsession that actuated her as she hurriedly changed herriding-dress to one of white, and then looked long at the statelyform with its gracious contours, at the fair face with its strongchin and full firm lips, at the dark-blue, proud, and passionateeyes.

　　"If by some means I can keep him here a few days, a week--he willnever kill another Mormon," she mused. "Lassiter!...I shudderwhen I think of that name, of him. But when I look at the man Iforget who he is--I almost like him. I remember only that hesaved Bern. He has suffered. I wonder what it was--did he love aMormon woman once? How splendidly he championed us poormisunderstood 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. Itwas a bountiful supper and a strange company. On her right satthe ragged and half-starved Venters; and though blind eyes couldhave seen what he counted for in the sum of her happiness, yet helooked the gloomy outcast his allegiance had made him, and abouthim there was the shadow of the ruin presaged by Tull. On herleft sat black-leather-garbed Lassiter looking like a man in adream. Hunger was not with him, nor composure, nor speech, andwhen he twisted in frequent unquiet movements the heavy guns thathe had not removed knocked against the table-legs. If it had beenotherwise possible to forget the presence of Lassiter thosetelling little jars would have rendered it unlikely. And JaneWithersteen talked and smiled and laughed with all the dazzlingplay of lips and eyes that a beautiful, daring woman could summonto her purpose.

　　When the meal ended, and the men pushed back their chairs, sheleaned 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 hehad just remembered himself and had tarried longer than his wont.

　　"Ma'am, I have hunted all over the southern Utah and Nevada for--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 spokefirst. Well, tell me where you heard it and from whom?"

　　"At the little village--Glaze, I think it's called--some fiftymiles or more west of here. An' I heard it from a Gentile, arider 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 awrench.

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

　　"Milly Erne's grave?" she echoed, in a whisper. "What do you knowof Milly Erne, my best-beloved friend--who died in my arms? Whatwere you to her?"

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

　　"Relatives? She never spoke of relatives, except a brother whowas shot in Texas. Lassiter, Milly Erne's grave is in a secretburying-ground on my property."

　　"Will you take me there?...You'll be offendin' Mormons worse thanby breakin' 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 toher 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 ifI 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 yourkindness 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 carefullypicked his blind way out of the grove. The rider did not bridlehim, but walked beside him, leading him by touch of hand andtogether they passed slowly into the shade of the cottonwoods.

　　"Jane, I must be off soon," said Venters. "Give me my guns. IfI'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 youforebearance, 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 to-day.To-day this strange coming of Lassiter left me still a man, andnow I'll die a man!...Give me my guns."

　　Silently she went into the house, to return with a heavycartridge-belt and gun-filled sheath and a long rifle; these shehanded to him, and as he buckled on the belt she stood before himin silent eloquence.

　　"Jane," he said, in gentler voice, "don't look so. I'm not goingout to murder your churchman. I'll try to avoid him and all hismen. 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 unselfishand good. Only you're blind in one way....Listen!"

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

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

　　It was still daylight in the open, but under the spreadingcottonwoods shadows were obscuring the lanes. Venters drew Janeoff from one of these into a shrub-lined trail, just wide enoughfor the two to walk abreast, and in a roundabout way led her farfrom the house to a knoll on the edge of the grove. Here in asecluded nook was a bench from which, through an opening in thetree-tops, could be seen the sage-slope and the wall of rock andthe dim lines of canyons. Jane had not spoken since Venters hadshocked her with his first harsh speech; but all the way she hadclung 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'tfeel right--I've lost all--"

　　"I'll give you anything you--"

　　"Listen, please. When I say loss I don't mean what you think. Imean loss of good-will, good name--that which would have enabledme to stand up in this village without bitterness. Well, it's toolate....Now, as to the future, I think you'd do best to give meup. Tull is implacable. You ought to see from his intentionto-day that--But you can't see. Your blindness--your damnedreligion!...Jane, forgive me--I'm sore within and somethingrankles. 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 notrelease her as she started back. "He's the law. The edict wentforth to ruin me. Well, look at me! It'll now go forth to compelyou to the will of the Church."

　　"You wrong Bishop Dyer. Tull is hard, I know. But then he hasbeen in love with me for years."

　　"Oh, your faith and your excuses! You can't see what I know--andif you did see it you'd not admit it to save your life. That'sthe Mormon of you. These elders and bishops will do absolutelyany deed to go on building up the power and wealth of theirchurch, their empire. Think of what they've done to the Gentileshere, 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 whobrought her here. But I must stop this kind of talk."

　　She pressed his hand in response. He helped her to a seat besidehim on the bench. And he respected a silence that he divined wasfull of woman's deep emotion beyond his understanding.

　　It was the moment when the last ruddy rays of the sunsetbrightened momentarily before yielding to twilight. And forVenters the outlook before him was in some sense similar to afeeling of his future, and with searching eyes he studied thebeautiful purple, barren waste of sage. Here was the unknown andthe perilous. The whole scene impressed Venters as a wild,austere, and mighty manifestation of nature. And as it somehowreminded him of his prospect in life, so it suddenly resembledthe woman near him, only in her there were greater beauty andperil, a mystery more unsolvable, and something nameless thatnumbed his heart and dimmed his eye.

　　"Look! A rider!" exclaimed Jane, breaking the silence. "Can thatbe Lassiter?"

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

　　"It might be. But I think not--that fellow was coming in. One ofyour riders, more likely. Yes, I see him clearly now. And there'sanother."

　　"I see them, too."

　　"Jane, your riders seem as many as the bunches of sage. I raninto five yesterday 'way down near the trail to Deception Pass.They were with the white herd."

　　"You still go to that canyon? Bern, I wish you wouldn't. Oldringand his rustlers live somewhere down there."

　　"Well, what of that?"

　　"Tull has already hinted to your frequent trips into DeceptionPass."

　　"I know." Venters uttered a short laugh. "He'll make a rustler ofme next. But, Jane, there's no water for fifty miles after Ileave here, and the nearest is in the canyon. I must drink andwater 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 darkline of low ground to become more distinct as they climbed theslope. The silence broke to a clear call from an incoming rider,and, almost like the peal of a hunting-horn, floated back theanswer. The outgoing riders moved swiftly, came sharply intosight as they topped a ridge to show wild and black above thehorizon, and then passed down, dimming into the purple of thesage.

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

　　"So do I," replied Venters. "By this time the riders of the nightshift know what happened to-day. But Lassiter will likely keepout of their way."

　　"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. Hetalks a little like a Texan, like Milly Erne. Did you note that?"

　　"Yes. How strange of him to know of her! And she lived here tenyears and has been dead two. Bern, what do you know of Lassiter?Tell me what he has done--why you spoke of him toTull--threatening to become another Lassiter yourself?"

　　"Jane, I only heard things, rumors, stories, most of which Idisbelieved. At Glaze his name was known, but none of the ridersor ranchers I knew there ever met him. At Stone Bridge I neverheard him mentioned. But at Sterling and villages north of therehe was spoken of often. I've never been in a village which he hadbeen known to visit. There were many conflicting stories abouthim and his doings. Some said he had shot up this and that Mormonvillage, and others denied it. I'm inclined to believe he has,and you know how Mormons hide the truth. But there was onefeature about Lassiter upon which all agree--that he was whatriders in this country call a gun-man. He's a man with amarvelous quickness and accuracy in the use of a Colt. And nowthat I've seen him I know more. Lassiter was born without fear. Iwatched him with eyes which saw him my friend. I'll never forgetthe moment I recognized him from what had been told me of hiscrouch before the draw. It was then I yelled his name. I believethat yell saved Tull's life. At any rate, I know this, betweenTull and death then there was not the breadth of the littlesthair. If he or any of his men had moved a finger downward--"

　　Venters left his meaning unspoken, but at the suggestion Janeshuddered.

　　The pale afterglow in the west darkened with the merging oftwilight into night. The sage now spread out black and gloomy.One dim star glimmered in the southwest sky. The sound oftrotting horses had ceased, and there was silence broken only bya faint, dry pattering of cottonwood leaves in the soft nightwind.

　　Into this peace and calm suddenly broke the high-keyed yelp of acoyote, and from far off in the darkness came the faint answeringnote of a trailing mate.

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

　　"I don't like to hear them," replied Jane. "At night, sometimeswhen I lie awake, listening to the long mourn or breaking bark orwild howl, I think of you asleep somewhere in the sage, and myheart aches."

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

　　"Just think! Men like Lassiter and you have no home, no comfort,no rest, no place to lay your weary heads. Well!...Let us bepatient. Tull's anger may cool, and time may help us. You mightdo some service to the village--who can tell? Suppose youdiscovered the long-unknown hiding-place of Oldring and his band,and told it to my riders? That would disarm Tull's ugly hints andput you in favor. For years my riders have trailed the tracks ofstolen cattle. You know as well as I how dearly we've paid forour ranges in this wild country. Oldring drives our cattle downinto the network of deceiving canyons, and somewhere far to thenorth 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 ofseeing you again. 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 thatsoon vanished 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 noiselesslyslipped through the bushes, down the knoll, and on under the darktrees to the edge of the grove. The sky was now turning from grayto blue; stars had begun to lighten the earlier blackness; andfrom the wide flat sweep before him blew a cool wind, fragrantwith the breath of sage. Keeping close to the edge of thecottonwoods, he went swiftly and silently westward. The grove waslong, and he had not reached the end when he heard something thatbrought him to a halt. Low padded thuds told him horses werecoming this way. He sank down in the gloom, waiting, listening.Much before he had expected, judging from sound, to his amazementhe descried horsemen near at hand. They were riding along theborder of the sage, and instantly he knew the hoofs of the horseswere muffled. Then the pale starlight afforded him indistinctsight of the riders. But his eyes were keen and used to the dark,and by peering closely he recognized the huge bulk andblack-bearded visage of Oldring and the lithe, supple form of therustler's lieutenant, a masked rider. They passed on; thedarkness swallowed them. Then, farther out on the sage, a dark,compact body of horsemen went by, almost without sound, almostlike specters, and they, too, melted into the night.