Chapter III. Amber Spring

by Zane Grey

　　No unusual circumstances was it for Oldring and some of his mento visit Cottonwoods in the broad light of day, but for him toprowl about in the dark with the hoofs of his horses muffledmeant that mischief was brewing. Moreover, to Venters thepresence of the masked rider with Oldring seemed especiallyominous. For about this man there was mystery, he seldom rodethrough the village, and when he did ride through it was swiftly;riders seldom met by day on the sage, but wherever he rode therealways followed deeds as dark and mysterious as the mask he wore.Oldring's band did not confine themselves to the rustling ofcattle.

　　Venters lay low in the shade of the cottonwoods, pondering thischance meeting, and not for many moments did he consider it safeto move on. Then, with sudden impulse, he turned the other wayand went back along the grove. When he reached the path leadingto Jane's home he decided to go down to the village. So hehurried onward, with quick soft steps. Once beyond the grove heentered the one and only street. It was wide, lined with tallpoplars, and under each row of trees, inside the foot-path, wereditches where ran the water from Jane Withersteen's spring.

　　Between the trees twinkled lights of cottage candles, and fardown flared bright windows of the village stores. When Ventersgot closer to these he saw knots of men standing together inearnest conversation. The usual lounging on the corners andbenches and steps was not in evidence. Keeping in the shadowVenters went closer and closer until he could hear voices. But hecould not distinguish what was said. He recognized many Mormons,and looked hard for Tull and his men, but looked in vain.Venters concluded that the rustlers had not passed along thevillage street. No doubt these earnest men were discussingLassiter's coming. But Venters felt positive that Tull'sintention toward himself that day had not been and would not berevealed.

　　So Venters, seeing there was little for him to learn, beganretracing his steps. The church was dark, Bishop Dyer's home nextto it was also dark, and likewise Tull's cottage. Upon almost anynight at this hour there would be lights here, and Venters markedthe unusual omission.

　　As he was about to pass out of the street to skirt the grove, heonce more slunk down at the sound of trotting horses. Presentlyhe descried two mounted men riding toward him. He hugged theshadow of a tree. Again the starlight, brighter now, aided him,and he made out Tull's stalwart figure, and beside him the short,froglike shape of the rider Jerry. They were silent, and theyrode on to disappear.

　　Venters went his way with busy, gloomy mind, revolving events ofthe day, trying to reckon those brooding in the night. Histhoughts overwhelmed him. Up in that dark grove dwelt a woman whohad been his friend. And he skulked about her home, gripping agun stealthily as an Indian, a man without place or people orpurpose. Above her hovered the shadow of grim, hidden, secretpower. No queen could have given more royally out of a bounteousstore than Jane Withersteen gave her people, and likewise tothose unfortunates whom her people hated. She asked only thedivine right of all women--freedom; to love and to live as herheart willed. And yet prayer and her hope were vain.

　　"For years I've seen a storm clouding over her and the village ofCottonwoods," muttered Venters, as he strode on. "Soon it'llburst. I don't like the prospects." That night the villagerswhispered in the street--and night-riding rustlers muffledhorses--and Tull was at work in secret--and out there in the sagehid a man who meant something terrible--Lassiter!

　　Venters passed the black cottonwoods, and, entering the sage,climbed the gradual slope. He kept his direction in line with awestern star. From time to time he stopped to listen and heardonly the usual familiar bark of coyote and sweep of wind andrustle of sage. Presently a low jumble of rocks loomed up darklysomewhat to his right, and, turning that way, he whistled softly.Out of the rocks glided a dog that leaped and whined about him.He climbed over rough, broken rock, picking his way carefully,and then went down. Here it was darker, and sheltered from thewind. A white object guided him. It was another dog, and this onewas asleep, curled up between a saddle and a pack. The animalawoke and thumped his tail in greeting. Venters placed the saddlefor a pillow, rolled in his blankets, with his face upward to thestars. The white dog snuggled close to him. The other whined andpattered a few yards to the rise of ground and there crouched onguard. And in that wild covert Venters shut his eyes under thegreat white stars and intense vaulted blue, bitterly comparingtheir loneliness to his own, and fell asleep.

　　When he awoke, day had dawned and all about him was brightsteel-gray. The air had a cold tang. Arising, he greeted thefawning dogs and stretched his cramped body, and then, gatheringtogether bunches of dead sage sticks, he lighted a fire. Stripsof dried beef held to the blaze for a moment served him and thedogs. He drank from a canteen. There was nothing else in hisoutfit; he had grown used to a scant fire. Then he sat over thefire, palms outspread, and waited. Waiting had been his chiefoccupation for months, and he scarcely knew what he waited forunless it was the passing of the hours. But now he sensed actionin the immediate present; the day promised another meeting withLassiter and Lane, perhaps news of the rustlers; on the morrow hemeant to take the trail to Deception Pass.

　　And while he waited he talked to his dogs. He called them Ringand Whitie; they were sheep-dogs, half collie, half deerhound,superb in build, perfectly trained. It seemed that in his fallenfortunes these dogs understood the nature of their value to him,and governed their affection and faithfulness accordingly. Whitiewatched him with somber eyes of love, and Ring, crouched on thelittle rise of ground above, kept tireless guard. When the sunrose, the white dog took the place of the other, and Ring went tosleep at his master's feet.

　　By and by Venters rolled up his blankets and tied them and hismeager pack together, then climbed out to look for his horse. Hesaw him, presently, a little way off in the sage, and went tofetch him. In that country, where every rider boasted of a finemount and was eager for a race, where thoroughbreds dotted thewonderful grazing ranges, Venters rode a horse that was sad proofof his misfortunes.

　　Then, with his back against a stone, Venters faced the east, and,stick in hand and idle blade, he waited. The glorious sunlightfilled the valley with purple fire. Before him, to left, toright, waving, rolling, sinking, rising, like low swells of apurple sea, stretched the sage. Out of the grove of cottonwoods,a green patch on the purple, gleamed the dull red of JaneWithersteen's old stone house. And from there extended the widegreen of the village gardens and orchards marked by the gracefulpoplars; and farther down shone the deep, dark richness of thealfalfa fields. Numberless red and black and white dots speckledthe sage, and these were cattle and horses.

　　So, watching and waiting, Venters let the time wear away. Atlength he saw a horse rise above a ridge, and he knew it to beLassiter's black. Climbing to the highest rock, so that he wouldshow against the sky-line, he stood and waved his hat. The almostinstant turning of Lassiter's horse attested to the quickness ofthat rider's eye. Then Venters climbed down, saddled his horse,tied on his pack, and, with a word to his dogs, was about to rideout to meet Lassiter, when he concluded to wait for him there, onhigher ground, where the outlook was commanding.

　　It had been long since Venters had experienced friendly greetingfrom a man. Lassiter's warmed in him something that had growncold from neglect. And when he had returned it, with a stronggrip of the iron hand that held his, and met the gray eyes, heknew that Lassiter and he were to be friends.

　　"Venters, let's talk awhile before we go down there," saidLassiter, slipping his bridle. "I ain't in no hurry. Them's surefine dogs you've got." With a rider's eye he took in the pointsof Venter's horse, but did not speak his thought. "Well, didanythin' come off after I left you last night?"

　　Venters told him about the rustlers.

　　"I was snug hid in the sage," replied Lassiter, "an' didn't seeor hear no one. Oldrin's got a high hand here, I reckon. It's nonews up in Utah how he holes in canyons an' leaves no track."Lassiter was silent a moment. "Me an' Oldrin' wasn't exactlystrangers some years back when he drove cattle into Bostil'sFord, at the head of the Rio Virgin. But he got harassed therean' now he drives some place else."

　　"Lassiter, you knew him? Tell me, is he Mormon or Gentile?"

　　"I can't say. I've knowed Mormons who pretended to be Gentiles."

　　"No Mormon ever pretended that unless he was a rustler" declaredVenters.

　　"Mebbe so."

　　"It's a hard country for any one, but hardest for Gentiles. Didyou ever know or hear of a Gentile prospering in a Mormoncommunity?"

　　"I never did."

　　"Well, I want to get out of Utah. I've a mother living inIllinois. I want to go home. It's eight years now."

　　The older man's sympathy moved Venters to tell his story. He hadleft Quincy, run off to seek his fortune in the gold fields hadnever gotten any farther than Salt Lake City, wandered here andthere as helper, teamster, shepherd, and drifted southward overthe divide and across the barrens and up the rugged plateauthrough the passes to the last border settlements. Here he becamea rider of the sage, had stock of his own, and for a timeprospered, until chance threw him in the employ of JaneWithersteen.

　　"Lassiter, I needn't tell you the rest."

　　"Well, it'd be no news to me. I know Mormons. I've seen theirwomen's strange love en' patience en' sacrifice an' silence en'whet I call madness for their idea of God. An' over against thatI've seen the tricks of men. They work hand in hand, alltogether, an' in the dark. No man can hold out against them,unless he takes to packin' guns. For Mormons are slow to kill.That's the only good I ever seen in their religion. Venters, takethis from me, these Mormons ain't just right in their minds. Elsecould a Mormon marry one woman when he already has a wife, an'call it duty?"

　　"Lassiter, you think as I think," returned Venters.

　　"How'd it come then that you never throwed a gun on Tull or someof them?" inquired the rider, curiously.

　　"Jane pleaded with me, begged me to be patient, to overlook. Sheeven took my guns from me. I lost all before I knew it," repliedVenters, with the red color in his face. "But, Lassiter, listen."Out of the wreck I saved a Winchester, two Colts, and plenty ofshells. I packed these down into Deception Pass. There, almostevery day for six months, I have practiced with my rifle till thebarrel burnt my hands. Practised the draw--the firing of a Colt,hour after hour!"

　　"Now that's interestin' to me," said Lassiter, with a quickuplift of his head and a concentration of his gray gaze onVenters. "Could you throw a gun before you began thatpractisin'?"

　　"Yes. And now..." Venters made a lightning-swift movement.

　　Lassiter smiled, and then his bronzed eyelids narrowed till hiseyes seemed mere gray slits. "You'll kill Tull!" He did notquestion; he affirmed.

　　"I promised Jane Withersteen I'd try to avoid Tull. I'll keep myword. But sooner or later Tull and I will meet. As I feel now, ifhe even looks at me I'll draw!"

　　"I reckon so. There'll be hell down there, presently." He pauseda moment and flicked a sage-brush with his quirt. "Venters,seein' as you're considerable worked up, tell me Milly Erne'sstory."

　　Venters's agitation stilled to the trace of suppressed eagernessin Lassiter's query.

　　"Milly Erne's story? Well, Lassiter, I'll tell you what I know.Milly Erne had been in Cottonwoods years when I first arrivedthere, and most of what I tell you happened before my arrival. Igot to know her pretty well. She was a slip of a woman, and crazyon religion. I conceived an idea that I never mentioned--Ithought she was at heart more Gentile than Mormon. But she passedas a Mormon, and certainly she had the Mormon woman's lockedlips. You know, in every Mormon village there are women who seemmysterious to us, but about Milly there was more than theordinary mystery. When she came to Cottonwoods she had abeautiful little girl whom she loved passionately. Milly was notknown openly in Cottonwoods as a Mormon wife. That she really wasa Mormon wife I have no doubt. Perhaps the Mormon's other wife orwives would not acknowledge Milly. Such things happen in thesevillages. Mormon wives wear yokes, but they get jealous. Well,whatever had brought Milly to this country-- love or madness ofreligion--she repented of it. She gave up teaching the villageschool. She quit the church. And she began to fight Mormonupbringing for her baby girl. Then the Mormons put on thescrews-- slowly, as is their way. At last the child disappeared.'Lost' was the report. The child was stolen, I know that. So doyou. That wrecked Milly Erne. But she lived on in hope. Shebecame a slave. She worked her heart and soul and life out to getback her child. She never heard of it again. Then she sank....Ican see her now, a frail thing, so transparent you could almostlook through her--white like ashes--and her eyes!...Her eyes havealways haunted me. She had one real friend--Jane Withersteen. ButJane couldn't mend a broken heart, and Milly died."

　　For moments Lassiter did not speak, or turn his head.

　　"The man!" he exclaimed, presently, in husky accents.

　　"I haven't the slightest idea who the Mormon was," repliedVenters; "nor has any Gentile in Cottonwoods."

　　"Does Jane Withersteen know?"

　　"Yes. But a red-hot running-iron couldn't burn that name out ofher!"

　　Without further speech Lassiter started off, walking his horseand Venters followed with his dogs. Half a mile down the slopethey entered a luxuriant growth of willows, and soon came into anopen space carpeted with grass like deep green velvet. Therushing of water and singing of birds filled their ears. Ventersled his comrade to a shady bower and showed him Amber Spring. Itwas a magnificent outburst of clear, amber water pouring from adark, stone-lined hole. Lassiter knelt and drank, lingered thereto drink again. He made no comment, but Venters did not needwords. Next to his horse a rider of the sage loved a spring. Andthis spring was the most beautiful and remarkable known to theupland riders of southern Utah. It was the spring that made oldWithersteen a feudal lord and now enabled his daughter to returnthe toll which her father had exacted from the toilers of thesage.

　　The spring gushed forth in a swirling torrent, and leaped downjoyously to make its swift way along a willow-skirted channel.Moss and ferns and lilies overhung its green banks. Except forthe rough-hewn stones that held and directed the water, thiswillow thicket and glade had been left as nature had made it.

　　Below were artificial lakes, three in number, one above the otherin banks of raised earth, and round about them rose the loftygreen-foliaged shafts of poplar trees. Ducks dotted the glassysurface of the lakes; a blue heron stood motionless on awater-gate; kingfishers darted with shrieking flight along theshady banks; a white hawk sailed above; and from the trees andshrubs came the song of robins and cat-birds. It was all instrange contrast to the endless slopes of lonely sage and thewild rock environs beyond. Venters thought of the woman who lovedthe birds and the green of the leaves and the murmur of thewater.

　　Next on the slope, just below the third and largest lake, werecorrals and a wide stone barn and open sheds and coops and pens.Here were clouds of dust, and cracking sounds of hoofs, andromping colts and heehawing burros. Neighing horses trampled tothe corral fences. And on the little windows of the barnprojected bobbing heads of bays and blacks and sorrels. When thetwo men entered the immense barnyard, from all around the dinincreased. This welcome, however, was not seconded by the severalmen and boys who vanished on sight.

　　Venters and Lassiter were turning toward the house when Janeappeared in the lane leading a horse. In riding-skirt and blouseshe seemed to have lost some of her statuesque proportions, andlooked more like a girl rider than the mistress of Withersteen.She was brightly smiling, and her greeting was warmly cordial.

　　"Good news," she announced. "I've been to the village. All isquiet. I expected--I don't know what. But there's no excitement.And Tull has ridden out on his way to Glaze."

　　"Tull gone?" inquired Venters, with surprise. He was wonderingwhat could have taken Tull away. Was it to avoid another meetingwith Lassiter that he went? Could it have any connection with theprobable nearness of Oldring and his gang?

　　"Gone, yes, thank goodness," replied Jane. "Now I'll have peacefor a while. Lassiter, I want you to see my horses. You are arider, and you must be a judge of horseflesh. Some of mine haveArabian blood. My father got his best strain in Nevada fromIndians who claimed their horses were bred down from the originalstock left by the Spaniards."

　　"Well, ma'am, the one you've been ridin' takes my eye," saidLassiter, as he walked round the racy, clean-limbed, andfine-pointed roan.

　　"Where are the boys?" she asked, looking about. "Jerd, Paul,where are you? Here, bring out the horses."

　　The sound of dropping bars inside the barn was the signal for thehorses to jerk their heads in the windows, to snort and stamp.Then they came pounding out of the door, a file of thoroughbreds,to plunge about the barnyard, heads and tails up, manes flying.They halted afar off, squared away to look, came slowly forwardwith whinnies for their mistress, and doubtful snorts for thestrangers and their horses.

　　"Come--come--come," called Jane, holding out her hands. "Why,Bells-- Wrangle, where are your manners? Come, Black Star--come,Night. Ah, you beauties! My racers of the sage!"

　　Only two came up to her; those she called Night and Black Star.Venters never looked at them without delight. The first was softdead black, the other glittering black, and they were perfectlymatched in size, both being high and long-bodied, wide throughthe shoulders, with lithe, powerful legs. That they were awoman's pets showed in the gloss of skin, the fineness of mane.It showed, too, in the light of big eyes and the gentle reach ofeagerness.

　　"I never seen their like," was Lassiter's encomium, "an' in myday I've seen a sight of horses. Now, ma'am, if you was wantin'to make a long an' fast ride across the sage--say toelope--"

　　Lassiter ended there with dry humor, yet behind that was meaning.Jane blushed and made arch eyes at him.

　　"Take care, Lassiter, I might think that a proposal," shereplied, gaily. "It's dangerous to propose elopement to a Mormonwoman. Well, I was expecting you. Now will be a good hour to showyou Milly Erne's grave. The day-riders have gone, and thenight-riders haven't come in. Bern, what do you make of that?Need I worry? You know I have to be made to worry."

　　"Well, it's not usual for the night shift to ride in so late,"replied Venters, slowly, and his glance sought Lassiter's."Cattle are usually quiet after dark. Still, I've known even acoyote to stampede your white herd."

　　"I refuse to borrow trouble. Come," said Jane.

　　They mounted, and, with Jane in the lead, rode down the lane,and, turning off into a cattle trail, proceeded westward.Venters's dogs trotted behind them. On this side of the ranch theoutlook was different from that on the other; the immediateforeground was rough and the sage more rugged and less colorful;there were no dark-blue lines of canyons to hold the eye, nor anyuprearing rock walls. It was a long roll and slope into grayobscurity. Soon Jane left the trail and rode into the sage, andpresently she dismounted and threw her bridle. The men didlikewise. Then, on foot, they followed her, coming out at lengthon the rim of a low escarpment. She passed by several littleridges of earth to halt before a faintly defined mound. It lay inthe shade of a sweeping sage-brush close to the edge of thepromontory; and a rider could have jumped his horse over itwithout recognizing a grave.

　　"Here!"

　　She looked sad as she spoke, but she offered no explanation forthe neglect of an unmarked, uncared-for grave. There was a littlebunch of pale, sweet lavender daisies, doubtless planted there byJane.

　　"I only come here to remember and to pray," she said. "But Ileave no trail!"

　　A grave in the sage! How lonely this resting-place of Milly Erne!The cottonwoods or the alfalfa fields were not in sight, nor wasthere any rock or ridge or cedar to lend contrast to themonotony. Gray slopes, tinging the purple, barren and wild, withthe wind waving the sage, swept away to the dimhorizon.

　　Lassiter looked at the grave and then out into space. At thatmoment he seemed a figure of bronze.

　　Jane touched Venters's arm and led him back to the horses.

　　"Bern!" cried Jane, when they were out of hearing. "SupposeLassiter were Milly's husband--the father of that little girllost so long ago!"

　　"It might be, Jane. Let us ride on. If he wants to see us againhe'll come."

　　So they mounted and rode out to the cattle trail and began toclimb. From the height of the ridge, where they had started down,Venters looked back. He did not see Lassiter, but his glance,drawn irresistibly farther out on the gradual slope, caught sightof a moving cloud of dust.

　　"Hello, a rider!"

　　"Yes, I see," said Jane.

　　"That fellow's riding hard. Jane, there's something wrong."

　　"Oh yes, there must be....How he rides!"

　　The horse disappeared in the sage, and then puffs of dust markedhis course.

　　"He's short-cut on us--he's making straight for the corrals."

　　Venters and Jane galloped their steeds and reined in at theturning of the lane. This lane led down to the right of thegrove. Suddenly into its lower entrance flashed a bay horse. ThenVenters caught the fast rhythmic beat of pounding hoofs. Soon hiskeen eye recognized the swing of the rider in his saddle.

　　"It's Judkins, your Gentile rider!" he cried. "Jane, when Judkinsrides like that it means hell!"