Chapter XI. Faith and Unfaith

by Zane Grey

　　At Jane Withersteen's home the promise made to Mrs. Larkin tocare for little Fay had begun to be fulfilled. Like a gleam ofsunlight through the cottonwoods was the coming of the child tothe gloomy house of Withersteen. The big, silent halls echoedwith childish laughter. In the shady court, where Jane spent manyof the hot July days, Fay's tiny feet pattered over the stoneflags and splashed in the amber stream. She prattled incessantly.What difference, Jane thought, a child made in her home! It hadnever been a real home, she discovered. Even the tidiness andneatness she had so observed, and upon which she had insisted toher women, became, in the light of Fay's smile, habits that nowlost their importance. Fay littered the court with Jane's booksand papers, and other toys her fancy improvised, and many astrange craft went floating down the little brook.

　　And it was owing to Fay's presence that Jane Withersteen came tosee more of Lassiter. The rider had for the most part kept to thesage. He rode for her, but he did not seek her except onbusiness; and Jane had to acknowledge in pique that her overtureshad been made in vain. Fay, however, captured Lassiter the momenthe first laid eyes on her.

　　Jane was present at the meeting, and there was something about itwhich dimmed her sight and softened her toward this foe of herpeople. The rider had clanked into the court, a tired yet waryman, always looking for the attack upon him that was inevitableand might come from any quarter; and he had walked right uponlittle Fay. The child had been beautiful even in her rags andamid the surroundings of the hovel in the sage, but now, in apretty white dress, with her shining curls brushed and her faceclean and rosy, she was lovely. She left her play and looked upat Lassiter.

　　If there was not an instinct for all three of them in thatmeeting, an unreasoning tendency toward a closer intimacy, thenJane Withersteen believed she had been subject to a queer fancy.She imagined any child would have feared Lassiter. And Fay Larkinhad been a lonely, a solitary elf of the sage, not at all anordinary child, and exquisitely shy with strangers. She watchedLassiter with great, round, grave eyes, but showed no fear. Therider gave Jane a favorable report of cattle and horses; and ashe took the seat to which she invited him, little Fay edged asmuch as half an inch nearer. Jane replied to his look of inquiryand told Fay's story. The rider's gray, earnest gaze troubledher. Then he turned to Fay and smiled in a way that made Janedoubt her sense of the true relation of things. How couldLassiter smile so at a child when he had made so many childrenfatherless? But he did smile, and to the gentleness she had seena few times he added something that was infinitely sad and sweet.Jane's intuition told her that Lassiter had never been a father,but if life ever so blessed him he would be a good one. Fay,also, must have found that smile singularly winning. For sheedged closer and closer, and then, by way of femininecapitulation, went to Jane, from whose side she bent a beautifulglance upon the rider.

　　Lassiter only smiled at her.

　　Jane watched them, and realized that now was the moment sheshould seize, if she was ever to win this man from his hatred.But the step was not easy to take. The more she saw of Lassiterthe more she respected him, and the greater her respect theharder it became to lend herself to mere coquetry. Yet as shethought of her great motive, of Tull, and of that other whosename she had schooled herself never to think of in connectionwith Milly Erne's avenger, she suddenly found she had no choice.And her creed gave her boldness far beyond the limit to whichvanity would have led her.

　　"Lassiter, I see so little of you now," she said, and wasconscious of heat in her cheeks.

　　"I've been riding hard," he replied.

　　"But you can't live in the saddle. You come in sometimes. Won'tyou come here to see me--oftener?"

　　"Is that an order?"

　　"Nonsense! I simply ask you to come to see me when you findtime."

　　"Why?"

　　The query once heard was not so embarrassing to Jane as she mighthave imagined. Moreover, it established in her mind a fact thatthere existed actually other than selfish reasons for her wantingto see him. And as she had been bold, so she determined to beboth honest and brave.

　　"I've reasons--only one of which I need mention," she answered."If it's possible I want to change you toward my people. And onthe moment I can conceive of little I wouldn't do to gain thatend."

　　How much better and freer Jane felt after that confession! Shemeant to show him that there was one Mormon who could play a gameor wage a fight in the open.

　　"I reckon," said Lassiter, and he laughed.

　　It was the best in her, if the most irritating, that Lassiteralways aroused.

　　"Will you come?" She looked into his eyes, and for the life ofher could not quite subdue an imperiousness that rose with herspirit. "I never asked so much of any man--except Bern Venters."

　　"'Pears to me that you'd run no risk, or Venters, either. Butmebbe that doesn't hold good for me."

　　"You mean it wouldn't be safe for you to be often here? You lookfor ambush in the cottonwoods?"

　　"Not that so much."

　　At this juncture little Fay sidled over to Lassiter.

　　"Has oo a little dirl?" she inquired.

　　"No, lassie," replied the rider.

　　Whatever Fay seemed to be searching for in Lassiter'ssun-reddened face and quiet eyes she evidently found. "Oo tan tomto see me," she added, and with that, shyness gave place tofriendly curiosity. First his sombrero with its leather band andsilver ornaments commanded her attention; next his quirt, andthen the clinking, silver spurs. These held her for some time,but presently, true to childish fickleness, she left off playingwith them to look for something else. She laughed in glee as sheran her little hands down the slippery, shiny surface ofLassiter's leather chaps. Soon she discovered one of the hanginggun-- sheaths, and she dragged it up and began tugging at thehuge black handle of the gun. Jane Withersteen repressed anexclamation. What significance there was to her in the littlegirl's efforts to dislodge that heavy weapon! Jane Withersteensaw Fay's play and her beauty and her love as most powerfulallies to her own woman's part in a game that suddenly hadacquired a strange zest and a hint of danger. And as for therider, he appeared to have forgotten Jane in the wonder of thislovely child playing about him. At first he was much the shyer ofthe two. Gradually her confidence overcame his backwardness, andhe had the temerity to stroke her golden curls with a great hand.Fay rewarded his boldness with a smile, and when he had gone tothe extreme of closing that great hand over her little brown one,she said, simply, "I like oo!"

　　Sight of his face then made Jane oblivious for the time to hischaracter as a hater of Mormons. Out of the mother longing thatswelled her breast she divined the child hunger in Lassiter.

　　He returned the next day, and the next; and upon the following hecame both at morning and at night. Upon the evening of thisfourth day Jane seemed to feel the breaking of a broodingstruggle in Lassiter. During all these visits he had scarcely aword to say, though he watched her and played absent-mindedlywith Fay. Jane had contented herself with silence. Soon littleFay substituted for the expression of regard, "I like oo," awarmer and more generous one, "I love oo."

　　Thereafter Lassiter came oftener to see Jane and her littleprotegee. Daily he grew more gentle and kind, and graduallydeveloped a quaintly merry mood. In the morning he lifted Fayupon his horse and let her ride as he walked beside her to theedge of the sage. In the evening he played with the child at aninfinite variety of games she invented, and then, oftener thannot, he accepted Jane's invitation to supper. No other visitorcame to Withersteen House during those days. So that in spite ofwatchfulness he never forgot, Lassiter began to show he felt athome there. After the meal they walked into the grove ofcottonwoods or up by the lakes, and little Fay held Lassiter'shand as much as she held Jane's. Thus a strange relationship wasestablished, and Jane liked it. At twilight they always returnedto the house, where Fay kissed them and went in to her mother.Lassiter and Jane were left alone.

　　Then, if there were anything that a good woman could do to win aman and still preserve her self-respect, it was something whichescaped the natural subtlety of a woman determined to allure.Jane's vanity, that after all was not great, was soon satisfiedwith Lassiter's silent admiration. And her honest desire to leadhim from his dark, blood-stained path would never have blindedher to what she owed herself. But the driving passion of herreligion, and its call to save Mormons' lives, one life inparticular, bore Jane Withersteen close to an infringement of herwomanhood. In the beginning she had reasoned that her appeal toLassiter must be through the senses. With whatever means shepossessed in the way of adornment she enhanced her beauty. Andshe stooped to artifices that she knew were unworthy of her, butwhich she deliberately chose to employ. She made of herself agirl in every variable mood wherein a girl might be desirable. Inthose moods she was not above the methods of an inexperiencedthough natural flirt. She kept close to him whenever opportunityafforded; and she was forever playfully, yet passionatelyunderneath the surface, fighting him for possession of the greatblack guns. These he would never yield to her. And so in thatmanner their hands were often and long in contact. The more ofsimplicity that she sensed in him the greater the advantage shetook.

　　She had a trick of changing--and it was not altogethervoluntary--from this gay, thoughtless, girlish coquettishness tothe silence and the brooding, burning mystery of a woman's mood.The strength and passion and fire of her were in her eyes, andshe so used them that Lassiter had to see this depth in her, thishaunting promise more fitted to her years than to the flauntingguise of a wilful girl.

　　The July days flew by. Jane reasoned that if it were possible forher to be happy during such a time, then she was happy. LittleFay completely filled a long aching void in her heart. Infettering the hands of this Lassiter she was accomplishing thegreatest good of her life, and to do good even in a small wayrendered happiness to Jane Withersteen. She had attended theregular Sunday services of her church; otherwise she had not goneto the village for weeks. It was unusual that none of herchurchmen or friends had called upon her of late; but it wasneglect for which she was glad. Judkins and his boy riders hadexperienced no difficulty in driving the white herd. So thesewarm July days were free of worry, and soon Jane hoped she hadpassed the crisis; and for her to hope was presently to trust,and then to believe. She thought often of Venters, but in adreamy, abstract way. She spent hours teaching and playing withlittle Fay. And the activity of her mind centered aroundLassiter. The direction she had given her will seemed to bluntany branching off of thought from that straight line. The moodcame to obsess her.

　　In the end, when her awakening came, she learned that she hadbuilded better than she knew. Lassiter, though kinder and gentlerthan ever, had parted with his quaint humor and his coldness andhis tranquillity to become a restless and unhappy man. Whateverthe power of his deadly intent toward Mormons, that passion nowhad a rival, the one equally burning and consuming. JaneWithersteen had one moment of exultation before the dawn of astrange uneasiness. What if she had made of herself a lure, attremendous cost to him and to her, and all in vain!

　　That night in the moonlit grove she summoned all her courage and,turning suddenly in the path, she faced Lassiter and leaned closeto him, so that she touched him and her eyes looked up to his.

　　"Lassiter!...Will you do anything for me?"

　　In the moonlight she saw his dark, worn face change, and by thatchange she seemed to feel him immovable as a wall of stone.

　　Jane slipped her hands down to the swinging gun-sheaths, and whenshe had locked her fingers around the huge, cold handles of theguns, she trembled as with a chilling ripple over all her body.

　　"May I take your guns?"

　　"Why?" he asked, and for the first time to her his voice carrieda harsh note. Jane felt his hard, strong hands close round herwrists. It was not wholly with intent that she leaned toward him,for the look of his eyes and the feel of his hands made her weak.

　　"It's no trifle--no woman's whim--it's deep--as my heart. Let metake them?"

　　"Why?"

　　"I want to keep you from killing more men--Mormons. You must letme save you from more wickedness--more wanton bloodshed--" Thenthe truth forced itself falteringly from her lips. "Youmust--let--help me to keep my vow to Milly Erne. I swore toher--as she lay dying--that if ever any one came here to avengeher--I swore I would stay his hand. Perhaps I--I alone can savethe--the man who--who--Oh, Lassiter!...I feel that I can't changeyou--then soon you'll be out to kill--and you'll kill byinstinct--and among the Mormons you kill will be theone--who...Lassiter, if you care a little for me--let me--for mysake--let me take your guns!"

　　As if her hands had been those of a child, he unclasped theirclinging grip from the handles of his guns, and, pushing heraway, he turned his gray face to her in one look of terriblerealization and then strode off into the shadows of thecottonwoods.

　　When the first shock of her futile appeal to Lassiter had passed,Jane took his cold, silent condemnation and abrupt departure notso much as a refusal to her entreaty as a hurt and stunnedbitterness for her attempt at his betrayal. Upon further thoughtand slow consideration of Lassiter's past actions, she believedhe would return and forgive her. The man could not be hard to awoman, and she doubted that he could stay away from her. But atthe point where she had hoped to find him vulnerable she nowbegan to fear he was proof against all persuasion. The iron andstone quality that she had early suspected in him had actuallycropped out as an impregnable barrier. Nevertheless, if Lassiterremained in Cottonwoods she would never give up her hope anddesire to change him. She would change him if she had tosacrifice everything dear to her except hope of heaven.Passionately devoted as she was to her religion, she had yetrefused to marry a Mormon. But a situation had developed whereinself paled in the great white light of religious duty of thehighest order. That was the leading motive, the divinelyspiritual one; but there were other motives, which, liketentacles, aided in drawing her will to the acceptance of apossible abnegation. And through the watches of that sleeplessnight Jane Withersteen, in fear and sorrow and doubt, camefinally to believe that if she must throw herself into Lassiter'sarms to make him abide by "Thou shalt not kill!" she would yet dowell.

　　In the morning she expected Lassiter at the usual hour, but shewas not able to go at once to the court, so she sent little Fay.Mrs. Larkin was ill and required attention. It appeared that themother, from the time of her arrival at Withersteen House, hadrelaxed and was slowly losing her hold on life. Jane had believedthat absence of worry and responsibility coupled with goodnursing and comfort would mend Mrs. Larkin's broken health. Such,however, was not the case.

　　When Jane did get out to the court, Fay was there alone, and atthe moment embarking on a dubious voyage down the stone-linedamber stream upon a craft of two brooms and a pillow. Fay was asdelightfully wet as she could possibly wish to get.

　　Clatter of hoofs distracted Fay and interrupted the scolding shewas gleefully receiving from Jane. The sound was not thelight-spirited trot that Bells made when Lassiter rode him intothe outer court. This was slower and heavier, and Jane did notrecognize in it any of her other horses. The appearance of BishopDyer startled Jane. He dismounted with his rapid, jerky motionflung the bridle, and, as he turned toward the inner court andstalked up on the stone flags, his boots rang. In hisauthoritative front, and in the red anger unmistakably flaming inhis face, he reminded Jane of her father.

　　"Is that the Larkin pauper?" he asked, bruskly, without anygreeting to Jane.

　　"It's Mrs. Larkin's little girl," replied Jane, slowly.

　　"I hear you intend to raise the child?"

　　"Yes."

　　"Of course you mean to give her Mormon bringing-up?"

　　"No."

　　His questions had been swift. She was amazed at a feeling thatsome one else was replying for her.

　　"I've come to say a few things to you." He stopped to measure herwith stern, speculative eye.

　　Jane Withersteen loved this man. From earliest childhood she hadbeen taught to revere and love bishops of her church. And for tenyears Bishop Dyer had been the closest friend and counselor ofher father, and for the greater part of that period her ownfriend and Scriptural teacher. Her interpretation of her creedand her religious activity in fidelity to it, her acceptance ofmysterious and holy Mormon truths, were all invested in thisBishop. Bishop Dyer as an entity was next to God. He was God'smouthpiece to the little Mormon community at Cottonwoods. Godrevealed himself in secret to this mortal.

　　And Jane Withersteen suddenly suffered a paralyzing affront toher consciousness of reverence by some strange, irresistibletwist of thought wherein she saw this Bishop as a man. And thetrain of thought hurdled the rising, crying protests of thatother self whose poise she had lost. It was not her Bishop whoeyed her in curious measurement. It was a man who tramped intoher presence without removing his hat, who had no greeting forher, who had no semblance of courtesy. In looks, as in action, hemade her think of a bull stamping cross-grained into a corral.She had heard of Bishop Dyer forgetting the minister in the furyof a common man, and now she was to feel it. The glance by whichshe measured him in turn momentarily veiled the divine in theordinary. He looked a rancher; he was booted, spurred, andcovered with dust; he carried a gun at his hip, and sheremembered that he had been known to use it. But during the longmoment while he watched her there was nothing commonplace in theslow-gathering might of his wrath.

　　"Brother Tull has talked to me," he began. "It was your father'swish that you marry Tull, and my order. You refusedhim?"

　　"Yes."

　　"You would not give up your friendship with that tramp Venters?"

　　"No."

　　"But you'll do as I order!" he thundered. "Why, Jane Withersteen,you are in danger of becoming a heretic! You can thank yourGentile friends for that. You face the damning of your soul toperdition."

　　In the flux and reflux of the whirling torture of Jane's mind,that new, daring spirit of hers vanished in the old habitualorder of her life. She was a Mormon, and the Bishop regainedascendance.

　　"It's well I got you in time, Jane Withersteen. What would yourfather have said to these goings-on of yours? He would have putyou in a stone cage on bread and water. He would have taught yousomething about Mormonism. Remember, you're a born Mormon. Therehave been Mormons who turned heretic--damn their souls!--but noborn Mormon ever left us yet. Ah, I see your shame. Your faith isnot shaken. You are only a wild girl." The Bishop's tonesoftened. "Well, it's enough that I got to you in time....Nowtell me about this Lassiter. I hear strange things."

　　"What do you wish to know?" queried Jane.

　　"About this man. You hired him?"

　　"Yes, he's riding for me. When my riders left me I had to haveany one I could get."

　　"Is it true what I hear--that he's a gun-man, a Mormon-hater,steeped in blood?"

　　"True--terribly true, I fear."

　　"But what's he doing here in Cottonwoods? This place isn'tnotorious enough for such a man. Sterling and the villages north,where there's universal gun-packing and fights every day--wherethere are more men like him, it seems to me they would attracthim most. We're only a wild, lonely border settlement. It's onlyrecently that the rustlers have made killings here. Nor havethere been saloons till lately, nor the drifting in of outcasts.Has not this gun-man some special mission here?"

　　Jane maintained silence.

　　"Tell me," ordered Bishop Dyer, sharply.

　　"Yes," she replied.

　　"Do you know what it is?"

　　"Yes."

　　"Tell me that."

　　"Bishop Dyer, I don't want to tell."

　　He waved his hand in an imperative gesture of command. The redonce more leaped to his face, and in his steel-blue eyes glinteda pin-point of curiosity.

　　"That first day," whispered Jane, "Lassiter said he came here tofind-- Milly Erne's grave!"

　　With downcast eyes Jane watched the swift flow of the amberwater. She saw it and tried to think of it, of the stones, of theferns; but, like her body, her mind was in a leaden vise. Onlythe Bishop's voice could release her. Seemingly there was silenceof longer duration than all her former life.

　　"For what--else?" When Bishop Dyer's voice did cleave the silenceit was high, curiously shrill, and on the point of breaking. Itreleased Jane's tongue, but she could not lift her eyes.

　　"To kill the man who persuaded Milly Erne to abandon her home andher husband--and her God!"

　　With wonderful distinctness Jane Withersteen heard her own clearvoice. She heard the water murmur at her feet and flow on to thesea; she heard the rushing of all the waters in the world. Theyfilled her ears with low, unreal murmurings--these sounds thatdeadened her brain and yet could not break the long and terriblesilence. Then, from somewhere-- from an immeasurabledistance--came a slow, guarded, clinking, clanking step. Into herit shot electrifying life. It released the weight upon her numbedeyelids. Lifting her eyes she saw--ashen, shaken, stricken-- notthe Bishop but the man! And beyond him, from round the cornercame that soft, silvery step. A long black boot with a gleamingspur swept into sight--and then Lassiter! Bishop Dyer did notsee, did not hear: he stared at Jane in the throes of suddenrevelation.

　　"Ah, I understand!" he cried, in hoarse accents. "That's why youmade love to this Lassiter--to bind his hands!"

　　It was Jane's gaze riveted upon the rider that made Bishop Dyerturn. Then clear sight failed her. Dizzily, in a blur, she sawthe Bishop's hand jerk to his hip. She saw gleam of blue andspout of red. In her ears burst a thundering report. The courtfloated in darkening circles around her, and she fell into utterblackness.

　　The darkness lightened, turned to slow-drifting haze, and lifted.Through a thin film of blue smoke she saw the rough-hewn timbersof the court roof. A cool, damp touch moved across her brow. Shesmelled powder, and it was that which galvanized her suspendedthought. She moved, to see that she lay prone upon the stoneflags with her head on Lassiter's knee, and he was bathing herbrow with water from the stream. The same swift glance, shiftinglow, brought into range of her sight a smoking gun and splashesof blood.

　　"Ah-h!" she moaned, and was drifting, sinking again intodarkness, when Lassiter's voice arrested her.

　　"It's all right, Jane. It's all right."

　　"Did--you--kill--him?" she whispered.

　　"Who? That fat party who was here? No. I didn't killhim."

　　"Oh!...Lassiter!"

　　"Say! It was queer for you to faint. I thought you were such astrong woman, not faintish like that. You're all right now--onlysome pale. I thought you'd never come to. But I'm awkward roundwomen folks. I couldn't think of anythin'."

　　"Lassiter!...the gun there!...the blood!"

　　"So that's troublin' you. I reckon it needn't. You see it wasthis way. I come round the house an' seen that fat party an'heard him talkin' loud. Then he seen me, an' very impolite goesstraight for his gun. He oughtn't have tried to throw a gun onme--whatever his reason was. For that's meetin' me on my owngrounds. I've seen runnin' molasses that was quicker 'n him. NowI didn't know who he was, visitor or friend or relation of yours,though I seen he was a Mormon all over, an' I couldn't getserious about shootin'. So I winged him--put a bullet through hisarm as he was pullin' at his gun. An' he dropped the gun there,an' a little blood. I told him he'd introduced himselfsufficient, an' to please move out of my vicinity. An' hewent."

　　Lassiter spoke with slow, cool, soothing voice, in which therewas a hint of levity, and his touch, as he continued to bathe herbrow, was gentle and steady. His impassive face, and the kindgray eyes, further stilled her agitation.

　　"He drew on you first, and you deliberately shot to cripplehim--you wouldn't kill him--you--Lassiter?"

　　"That's about the size of it."

　　Jane kissed his hand.

　　All that was calm and cool about Lassiter instantly vanished.

　　"Don't do that! I won't stand it! An' I don't care a damn whothat fat party was."

　　He helped Jane to her feet and to a chair. Then with the wetscarf he had used to bathe her face he wiped the blood from thestone flags and, picking up the gun, he threw it upon a couch.With that he began to pace the court, and his silver spursjangled musically, and the great gun-sheaths softly brushedagainst his leather chaps.

　　"So--it's true--what I heard him say?" Lassiter asked, presentlyhalting before her. "You made love to me--to bind my hands?"

　　"Yes," confessed Jane. It took all her woman's courage to meetthe gray storm of his glance.

　　"All these days that you've been so friendly an' like apardner--all these evenin's that have been so bewilderin' tome--your beauty--an'--an' the way you looked an' came close tome--they were woman's tricks to bind my hands?"

　　"Yes."

　　"An' your sweetness that seemed so natural, an' your throwin'little Fay an' me so much together--to make me love thechild--all that was for the same reason?"

　　"Yes."

　　Lassiter flung his arms--a strange gesture for him.

　　"Mebbe it wasn't much in your Mormon thinkin', for you to playthat game. But to ring the child in--that was hellish!"

　　Jane's passionate, unheeding zeal began to loom darkly.

　　"Lassiter, whatever my intention in the beginning, Fay loves youdearly-- and I--I've grown to--to like you."

　　"That's powerful kind of you, now," he said. Sarcasm and scornmade his voice that of a stranger. "An' you sit there an' look mestraight in the eyes! You're a wonderful strange woman, JaneWithersteen."

　　"I'm not ashamed, Lassiter. I told you I'd try to change you."

　　"Would you mind tellin' me just what you tried?"

　　"I tried to make you see beauty in me and be softened by it. Iwanted you to care for me so that I could influence you. Itwasn't easy. At first you were stone-blind. Then I hoped you'dlove little Fay, and through that come to feel the horror ofmaking children fatherless."

　　"Jane Withersteen, either you're a fool or noble beyond myunderstandin'. Mebbe you're both. I know you're blind. What youmeant is one thing--what you did was to make me love you."

　　"Lassiter!"

　　"I reckon I'm a human bein', though I never loved any one but mysister, Milly Erne. That was long--"

　　"Oh, are you Milly's brother?"

　　"Yes, I was, an' I loved her. There never was any one but her inmy life till now. Didn't I tell you that long ago I back-trailedmyself from women? I was a Texas ranger till--till Milly lefthome, an' then I became somethin' else--Lassiter! For years I'vebeen a lonely man set on one thing. I came here an' met you. An'now I'm not the man I was. The change was gradual, an' I took nonotice of it. I understand now that never-satisfied longin' tosee you, listen to you, watch you, feel you near me. It's plainnow why you were never out of my thoughts. I've had no thoughtsbut of you. I've lived an' breathed for you. An' now when I knowwhat it means--what you've done--I'm burnin' up with hell'sfire!"

　　"Oh, Lassiter--no--no--you don't love me that way!" Jane cased.

　　"If that's what love is, then I do."

　　"Forgive me! I didn't mean to make you love me like that. Oh,what a tangle of our lives! You--Milly Erne's brother! AndI--heedless, mad to melt your heart toward Mormons. Lassiter, Imay be wicked but not wicked enough to hate. If I couldn't hateTull, could I hate you?"

　　"After all, Jane, mebbe you're only blind--Mormon blind. Thatonly can explain what's close to selfishness--"

　　"I'm not selfish. I despise the very word. If I were free--"

　　"But you're not free. Not free of Mormonism. An' in playin' thisgame with me you've been unfaithful."

　　"Un-faithful!" faltered Jane.

　　"Yes, I said unfaithful. You're faithful to your Bishop an'unfaithful to yourself. You're false to your womanhood an' trueto your religion. But for a savin' innocence you'd have madeyourself low an' vile-- betrayin' yourself, betrayin' me--all tobind my hands an' keep me from snuffin' out Mormon life. It'syour damned Mormon blindness."

　　"Is it vile--is it blind--is it only Mormonism to save humanlife? No, Lassiter, that's God's law, divine, universal for allChristians."

　　"The blindness I mean is blindness that keeps you from seein' thetruth. I've known many good Mormons. But some are blacker thanhell. You won't see that even when you know it. Else, why allthis blind passion to save the life of that--that...."

　　Jane shut out the light, and the hands she held over her eyestrembled and quivered against her face.

　　"Blind--yes, en' let me make it clear en' simple to you,"Lassiter went on, his voice losing its tone of anger. "Take, forinstance, that idea of yours last night when you wanted my guns.It was good an' beautiful, an' showed your heart--but--why, Jane,it was crazy. Mind I'm assumin' that life to me is as sweet as toany other man. An' to preserve that life is each man's first an'closest thought. Where would any man be on this border withoutguns? Where, especially, would Lassiter be? Well, I'd be underthe sage with thousands of other men now livin' an' sure bettermen than me. Gun-packin' in the West since the Civil War hasgrowed into a kind of moral law. An' out here on this border it'sthe difference between a man an' somethin' not a man. Look whatyour takin' Venters's guns from him all but made him! Why, yourchurchmen carry guns. Tull has killed a man an' drawed on others.Your Bishop has shot a half dozen men, an' it wasn't throughprayers of his that they recovered. An' to-day he'd have shot meif he'd been quick enough on the draw. Could I walk or ride downinto Cottonwoods without my guns? This is a wild time, JaneWithersteen, this year of our Lord eighteen seventy- one."

　　"No time--for a woman!" exclaimed Jane, brokenly. "Oh, Lassiter,I feel helpless--lost--and don't know where to turn. If I amblind--then--I need some one--a friend--you, Lassiter--more thanever!"

　　"Well, I didn't say nothin' about goin' back on you, did I?"