Chapter XVIII. Oldring's Knell

by Zane Grey

　　Some forty hours or more later Venters created a commotion inCottonwoods by riding down the main street on Black Star andleading Bells and Night. He had come upon Bells grazing near thebody of a dead rustler, the only incident of his quick ride intothe village.

　　Nothing was farther from Venters's mind than bravado. No thoughtcame to him of the defiance and boldness of riding JaneWithersteen's racers straight into the arch-plotter's stronghold.He wanted men to see the famous Arabians; he wanted men to seethem dirty and dusty, bearing all the signs of having been drivento their limit; he wanted men to see and to know that the thieveswho had ridden them out into the sage had not ridden them back.Venters had come for that and for more--he wanted to meet Tullface to face; if not Tull, then Dyer; if not Dyer, then anyone inthe secret of these master conspirators. Such was Venters'spassion. The meeting with the rustlers, the unprovoked attackupon him, the spilling of blood, the recognition of Jerry Cardand the horses, the race, and that last plunge of madWrangle--all these things, fuel on fuel to the smoldering fire,had kindled and swelled and leaped into living flame. He couldhave shot Dyer in the midst of his religious services at thealtar; he could have killed Tull in front of wives and babes.

　　He walked the three racers down the broad, green-bordered villageroad. He heard the murmur of running water from Amber Spring.Bitter waters for Jane Withersteen! Men and women stopped to gazeat him and the horses. All knew him; all knew the blacks and thebay. As well as if it had been spoken, Venters read in the facesof men the intelligence that Jane Withersteen's Arabians had beenknown to have been stolen. Venters reined in and halted beforeDyer's residence. It was a low, long, stone structure resemblingWithersteen House. The spacious front yard was green andluxuriant with grass and flowers; gravel walks led to the hugeporch; a well-trimmed hedge of purple sage separated the yardfrom the church grounds; birds sang in the trees; water flowedmusically along the walks; and there were glad, careless shoutsof children. For Venters the beauty of this home, and theserenity and its apparent happiness, all turned red and black.For Venters a shade overspread the lawn, the flowers, the oldvine-clad stone house. In the music of the singing birds, in themurmur of the running water, he heard an ominous sound. Quietbeauty--sweet music--innocent laughter! By what monstrousabortion of fate did these abide in the shadow of Dyer?

　　Venters rode on and stopped before Tull's cottage. Women staredat him with white faces and then flew from the porch. Tullhimself appeared at the door, bent low, craning his neck. Hisdark face flashed out of sight; the door banged; a heavy bardropped with a hollow sound.

　　Then Venters shook Black Star's bridle, and, sharply trotting,led the other horses to the center of the village. Here at theintersecting streets and in front of the stores he halted oncemore. The usual lounging atmosphere of that prominent corner wasnot now in evidence. Riders and ranchers and villagers broke upwhat must have been absorbing conversation. There was a rush ofmany feet, and then the walk was lined with faces.

　　Venters's glance swept down the line of silent stone-faced men.He recognized many riders and villagers, but none of those he hadhoped to meet. There was no expression in the faces turned towardhim. All of them knew him, most were inimical, but there were fewwho were not burning with curiosity and wonder in regard to thereturn of Jane Withersteen's racers. Yet all were silent. Herewere the familiar characteristics--masked feeling--strangesecretiveness--expressionless expression of mystery and hiddenpower.

　　"Has anybody here seen Jerry Card?" queried Venters, in a loudvoice.

　　In reply there came not a word, not a nod or shake of head, notso much as dropping eye or twitching lip--nothing but a quiet,stony stare.

　　"Been under the knife? You've a fine knife-wielder here--oneTull, I believe!...Maybe you've all had your tongues cut out?"

　　This passionate sarcasm of Venters brought no response, and thestony calm was as oil on the fire within him.

　　"I see some of you pack guns, too!" he added, in biting scorn. Inthe long, tense pause, strung keenly as a tight wire, he satmotionless on Black Star. "All right," he went on. "Then let someof you take this message to Tull. Tell him I've seen Jerry Card!...Tell him Jerry Card will never return!"

　　Thereupon, in the same dead calm, Venters backed Black Star awayfrom the curb, into the street, and out of range. He was readynow to ride up to Withersteen House and turn the racers over toJane.

　　"Hello, Venters!" a familiar voice cried, hoarsely, and he saw aman running toward him. It was the rider Judkins who came up andgripped Venters's hand. "Venters, I could hev dropped when I seenthem hosses. But thet sight ain't a marker to the looks of you.What's wrong? Hev you gone crazy? You must be crazy to ride inhere this way--with them hosses--talkie' thet way about Tull en'Jerry Card."

　　"Jud, I'm not crazy--only mad clean through," replied Venters.

　　"Mad, now, Bern, I'm glad to hear some of your old self in yourvoice. Fer when you come up you looked like the corpse of a deadrider with fire fer eyes. You hed thet crowd too stiff ferthrowin' guns. Come, we've got to hev a talk. Let's go up thelane. We ain't much safe here."

　　Judkins mounted Bells and rode with Venters up to the cottonwoodgrove. Here they dismounted and went among the trees.

　　"Let's hear from you first," said Judkins. "You fetched back themhosses. Thet is the trick. An', of course, you got Jerry the sameas you got Horne."

　　"Horne!"

　　"Sure. He was found dead yesterday all chewed by coyotes, en'he'd been shot plumb center."

　　"Where was he found?"

　　"At the split down the trail--you know where Oldring's cattletrail runs off north from the trail to the pass."

　　"That's where I met Jerry and the rustlers. What was Horne doingwith them? I thought Horne was an honest cattle-man."

　　"Lord--Bern, don't ask me thet! I'm all muddled now tryin' tofigure things."

　　Venters told of the fight and the race with Jerry Card and itstragic conclusion.

　　"I knowed it! I knowed all along that Wrangle was the best hoss!"exclaimed Judkins, with his lean face working and his eyeslighting. "Thet was a race! Lord, I'd like to hev seen Wranglejump the cliff with Jerry. An' thet was good-by to the grandesthoss an' rider ever on the sage!...But, Bern, after you got thehosses why'd you want to bolt right in Tull's face?"

　　"I want him to know. An' if I can get to him I'll--"

　　"You can't get near Tull," interrupted Judkins. "Thet vigilantebunch hev taken to bein' bodyguard for Tull an' Dyer, too."

　　"Hasn't Lassiter made a break yet?" inquired Venters, curiously.

　　"Naw!" replied Judkins, scornfully. "Jane turned his head. He'smad in love over her--follers her like a dog. He ain't no moreLassiter! He's lost his nerve, he doesn't look like the samefeller. It's village talk. Everybody knows it. He hasn't thrown agun, an' he won't!"

　　"Jud, I'll bet he does," replied Venters, earnestly. "Rememberwhat I say. This Lassiter is something more than a gun-man. Jud,he's big--he's great!...I feel that in him. God help Tull andDyer when Lassiter does go after them. For horses and riders andstone walls won't save them."

　　"Wal, hev it your way, Bern. I hope you're right. Nat'rully I'vebeen some sore on Lassiter fer gittin' soft. But I ain't denyin'his nerve, or whatever's great in him thet sort of paralyzespeople. No later 'n this mornin' I seen him saunterin' down thelane, quiet an' slow. An' like his guns he comes black--black,thet's Lassiter. Wal, the crowd on the corner never batted aneye, en' I'll gamble my hoss thet there wasn't one who hed aheartbeat till Lassiter got by. He went in Snell's saloon, an' asthere wasn't no gun play I had to go in, too. An' there, darn mypictures, if Lassiter wasn't standin' to the bar, drinking en'talkin' with Oldrin'."

　　"Oldring!" whispered Venters. His voice, as all fire and pulsewithin him, seemed to freeze.

　　"Let go my arm!" exclaimed Judkins. "Thet's my bad arm. Sure itwas Oldrin'. What the hell's wrong with you, anyway? Venters, Itell you somethin's wrong. You're whiter 'n a sheet. You can't bescared of the rustler. I don't believe you've got a scare in you.Wal, now, jest let me talk. You know I like to talk, an' if I'mslow I allus git there sometime. As I said, Lassiter was talkie'chummy with Oldrin'. There wasn't no hard feelin's. An' the gangwasn't payin' no pertic'lar attention. But like a cat watchin' amouse I hed my eyes on them two fellers. It was strange to me,thet confab. I'm gittin' to think a lot, fer a feller who doesn'tknow much. There's been some queer deals lately an' this seemedto me the queerest. These men stood to the bar alone, an' soclose their big gun-hilts butted together. I seen Oldrin' wassome surprised at first, an' Lassiter was cool as ice. Theytalked, an' presently at somethin' Lassiter said the rustlerbawled out a curse, an' then he jest fell up against the bar, an'sagged there. The gang in the saloon looked around an' laughed,an' thet's about all. Finally Oldrin' turned, and it was easy tosee somethin' hed shook him. Yes, sir, thet big rustler--you knowhe's as broad as he is long, an' the powerfulest build of aman--yes, sir, the nerve had been taken out of him. Then, after alittle, he began to talk an' said a lot to Lassiter, an' by an'by it didn't take much of an eye to see thet Lassiter was gittin'hit hard. I never seen him anyway but cooler 'n ice--till then.He seemed to be hit harder 'n Oldrin', only he didn't roar outthet way. He jest kind of sunk in, an' looked an' looked, an' hedidn't see a livin' soul in thet saloon. Then he sort of come to,an' shakin' hands--mind you, shakin' hands with Oldrin'--he wentout. I couldn't help thinkin' how easy even a boy could hevdropped the great gun-man then!...Wal, the rustler stood at thebar fer a long time, en' he was seein' things far off, too; thenhe come to an' roared fer whisky, an' gulped a drink thet was bigenough to drown me."

　　"Is Oldring here now?" whispered Venters. He could not speakabove a whisper. Judkins's story had been meaningless to him.

　　"He's at Snell's yet. Bern, I hevn't told you yet thet therustlers hev been raisin' hell. They shot up Stone Bridge an'Glaze, an' fer three days they've been here drinkin' an' gamblin'an' throwin' of gold. These rustlers hev a pile of gold. If itwas gold dust or nugget gold I'd hev reason to think, but it'snew coin gold, as if it had jest come from the United Statestreasury. An' the coin's genuine. Thet's all been proved. Thetruth is Oldrin's on a rampage. A while back he lost his MaskedRider, an' they say he's wild about thet. I'm wonderin' ifLassiter could hev told the rustler anythin' about thet littlemasked, hard-ridin' devil. Ride! He was most as good as JerryCard. An', Bern, I've been wonderin' if you know--"

　　"Judkins, you're a good fellow," interrupted Venters. "Some dayI'll tell you a story. I've no time now. Take the horses toJane."

　　Judkins stared, and then, muttering to himself, he mounted Bells,and stared again at Venters, and then, leading the other horses,he rode into the grove and disappeared.

　　Once, long before, on the night Venters had carried Bess throughthe canyon and up into Surprise Valley, he had experienced thestrangeness of faculties singularly, tinglingly acute. And nowthe same sensation recurred. But it was different in that he feltcold, frozen, mechanical incapable of free thought, and all abouthim seemed unreal, aloof, remote. He hid his rifle in the sage,marking its exact location with extreme care. Then he faced downthe lane and strode toward the center of the village. Perceptionsflashed upon him, the faint, cold touch of the breeze, a cold,silvery tinkle of flowing water, a cold sun shining out of a coldsky, song of birds and laugh of children, coldly distant. Coldand intangible were all things in earth and heaven. Colder andtighter stretched the skin over his face; colder and harder grewthe polished butts of his guns; colder and steadier became hishands as he wiped the clammy sweat from his face or reached lowto his gun-sheaths. Men meeting him in the walk gave him wideberth. In front of Bevin's store a crowd melted apart for hispassage, and their faces and whispers were faces and whispers ofa dream. He turned a corner to meet Tull face to face, eye toeye. As once before he had seen this man pale to a ghastly, lividwhite so again he saw the change. Tull stopped in his tracks,with right hand raised and shaking. Suddenly it dropped, and heseemed to glide aside, to pass out of Venters's sight. Next hesaw many horses with bridles down--all clean-limbed, dark bays orblacks--rustlers' horses! Loud voices and boisterous laughter,rattle of dice and scrape of chair and clink of gold, burst inmingled din from an open doorway. He stepped inside.

　　With the sight of smoke-hazed room and drinking, cursing,gambling, dark-visaged men, reality once more dawned uponVenters.

　　His entrance had been unnoticed, and he bent his gaze upon thedrinkers at the bar. Dark-clothed, dark-faced men they all were,burned by the sun, bow-legged as were most riders of the sage,but neither lean nor gaunt. Then Venters's gaze passed to thetables, and swiftly it swept over the hard-featured gamesters, toalight upon the huge, shaggy, black head of the rustlerchief.

　　"Oldring!" he cried, and to him his voice seemed to split a bellin his ears.

　　It stilled the din.

　　That silence suddenly broke to the scrape and crash of Oldring'schair as he rose; and then, while he passed, a great gloomyfigure, again the thronged room stilled in silence yet deeper.

　　"Oldring, a word with you!" continued Venters.

　　"Ho! What's this?" boomed Oldring, in frowning scrutiny.

　　"Come outside, alone. A word for you--from your Masked Rider!"

　　Oldring kicked a chair out of his way and lunged forward with astamp of heavy boot that jarred the floor. He waved down hismuttering, rising men.

　　Venters backed out of the door and waited, hearing, as no soundhad ever before struck into his soul, the rapid, heavy steps ofthe rustler.

　　Oldring appeared, and Venters had one glimpse of his greatbreadth and bulk, his gold-buckled belt with hanging guns, hishigh-top boots with gold spurs. In that moment Venters had astrange, unintelligible curiosity to see Oldring alive. Therustler's broad brow, his large black eyes, his sweeping beard,as dark as the wing of a raven, his enormous width of shoulderand depth of chest, his whole splendid presence so wonderfullycharged with vitality and force and strength, seemed to affordVenters an unutterable fiendish joy because for that magnificentmanhood and life he meant cold and sudden death.

　　"Oldring, Bess is alive! But she's dead to you--dead to the lifeyou made her lead--dead as you will be in one second!"

　　Swift as lightning Venters's glance dropped from Oldring'srolling eyes to his hands. One of them, the right, swept out,then toward his gun--and Venters shot him through the heart.

　　Slowly Oldring sank to his knees, and the hand, dragging at thegun, fell away. Venters's strangely acute faculties grasped themeaning of that limp arm, of the swaying hulk, of the gasp andheave, of the quivering beard. But was that awful spirit in theblack eyes only one of vitality?

　　"Man--why--didn't--you--wait? Bess--was--" Oldring's whisper diedunder his beard, and with a heavy lurch he fellforward.

　　Bounding swiftly away, Venters fled around the corner, across thestreet, and, leaping a hedge, he ran through yard, orchard, andgarden to the sage. Here, under cover of the tall brush, heturned west and ran on to the place where he had hidden hisrifle. Securing that, he again set out into a run, and, circlingthrough the sage, came up behind Jane Withersteen's stable andcorrals. With laboring, dripping chest, and pain as of a knifethrust in his side, he stopped to regain his breath, and whileresting his eyes roved around in search of a horse. Doors andwindows of the stable were open wide and had a deserted look. Onedejected, lonely burro stood in the near corral. Strange indeedwas the silence brooding over the once happy, noisy home of JaneWithersteen's pets.

　　He went into the corral, exercising care to leave no tracks, andled the burro to the watering-trough. Venters, though notthirsty, drank till he could drink no more. Then, leading theburro over hard ground, he struck into the sage and down theslope.

　　He strode swiftly, turning from time to time to scan the slopefor riders. His head just topped the level of sage-brush, and theburro could not have been seen at all. Slowly the green ofCottonwoods sank behind the slope, and at last a wavering line ofpurple sage met the blue of sky.

　　To avoid being seen, to get away, to hide his trail--these werethe sole ideas in his mind as he headed for Deception Pass, andhe directed all his acuteness of eye and ear, and the keenness ofa rider's judgment for distance and ground, to sternaccomplishment of the task. He kept to the sage far to the leftof the trail leading into the Pass. He walked ten miles andlooked back a thousand times. Always the graceful, purple wave ofsage remained wide and lonely, a clear, undotted waste. Coming toa stretch of rocky ground, he took advantage of it to cross thetrail and then continued down on the right. At length hepersuaded himself that he would be able to see riders mounted onhorses before they could see him on the little burro, and he rodebareback.

　　Hour by hour the tireless burro kept to his faithful, steadytrot. The sun sank and the long shadows lengthened down theslope. Moving veils of purple twilight crept out of the hollowsand, mustering and forming on the levels, soon merged and shadedinto night. Venters guided the burro nearer to the trail, so thathe could see its white line from the ridges, and rode on throughthe hours.

　　Once down in the Pass without leaving a trail, he would holdhimself safe for the time being. When late in the night hereached the break in the sage, he sent the burro down ahead ofhim, and started an avalanche that all but buried the animal atthe bottom of the trail. Bruised and battered as he was, he had amoment's elation, for he had hidden his tracks. Once more hemounted the burro and rode on. The hour was the blackest of thenight when he made the thicket which inclosed his old camp. Herehe turned the burro loose in the grass near the spring, and thenlay down on his old bed of leaves.

　　He felt only vaguely, as outside things, the ache and burn andthrob of the muscles of his body. But a dammed-up torrent ofemotion at last burst its bounds, and the hour that saw hisrelease from immediate action was one that confounded him in thereaction of his spirit. He suffered without understanding why. Hecaught glimpses into himself, into unlit darkness of soul. Thefire that had blistered him and the cold which had frozen him nowunited in one torturing possession of his mind and heart, andlike a fiery steed with ice-shod feet, ranged his being, ranrioting through his blood, trampling the resurging good, draggingever at the evil.

　　Out of the subsiding chaos came a clear question. What hadhappened? He had left the valley to go to Cottonwoods. Why? Itseemed that he had gone to kill a man--Oldring! The name rivetedhis consciousness upon the one man of all men upon earth whom hehad wanted to meet. He had met the rustler. Venters recalled thesmoky haze of the saloon, the dark-visaged men, the huge Oldring.He saw him step out of the door, a splendid specimen of manhood,a handsome giant with purple-black and sweeping beard. Heremembered inquisitive gaze of falcon eyes. He heard himselfrepeating: "Oldring, Bess is alive! But she's dead to you," andhe felt himself jerk, and his ears throbbed to the thunder of agun, and he saw the giant sink slowly to his knees. Was that onlythe vitality of him--that awful light in the eyes--only thehard-dying life of a tremendously powerful brute? A brokenwhisper, strange as death: "Man--why--didn't--you wait!Bess--was--" And Oldring plunged face forward, dead.

　　"I killed him," cried Venters, in remembering shock. "But itwasn't that. Ah, the look in his eyes and his whisper!"

　　Herein lay the secret that had clamored to him through all thetumult and stress of his emotions. What a look in the eyes of aman shot through the heart! It had been neither hate nor ferocitynor fear of men nor fear of death. It had been no passionateglinting spirit of a fearless foe, willing shot for shot, lifefor life, but lacking physical power. Distinctly recalled now,never to be forgotten, Venters saw in Oldring's magnificent eyesthe rolling of great, glad surprise--softness--love! Then came ashadow and the terrible superhuman striving of his spirit tospeak. Oldring shot through the heart, had fought and forced backdeath, not for a moment in which to shoot or curse, but towhisper strange words.

　　What words for a dying man to whisper! Why had not Venterswaited? For what? That was no plea for life. It was regret thatthere was not a moment of life left in which to speak. Besswas--Herein lay renewed torture for Venters. What had Bess beento Oldring? The old question, like a specter, stalked from itsgrave to haunt him. He had overlooked, he had forgiven, he hadloved and he had forgotten; and now, out of the mystery of adying man's whisper rose again that perverse, unsatisfied,jealous uncertainty. Bess had loved that splendid, black-crownedgiant--by her own confession she had loved him; and in Venters'ssoul again flamed up the jealous hell. Then into the clamoringhell burst the shot that had killed Oldring, and it rang in awild fiendish gladness, a hateful, vengeful joy. That passed tothe memory of the love and light in Oldring's eyes and themystery in his whisper. So the changing, swaying emotionsfluctuated in Venters's heart.

　　This was the climax of his year of suffering and the crucialstruggle of his life. And when the gray dawn came he rose, agloomy, almost heartbroken man, but victor over evil passions. Hecould not change the past; and, even if he had not loved Besswith all his soul, he had grown into a man who would not changethe future he had planned for her. Only, and once for all, hemust know the truth, know the worst, stifle all these insistentdoubts and subtle hopes and jealous fancies, and kill the past byknowing truly what Bess had been to Oldring. For that matter heknew--he had always known, but he must hear it spoken. Then, whenthey had safely gotten out of that wild country to take up a newand an absorbing life, she would forget, she would be happy, andthrough that, in the years to come, he could not but find lifeworth living.

　　All day he rode slowly and cautiously up the Pass, taking time topeer around corners, to pick out hard ground and grassy patches,and to make sure there was no one in pursuit. In the nightsometime he came to the smooth, scrawled rocks dividing thevalley, and here set the burro at liberty. He walked beyond,climbed the slope and the dim, starlit gorge. Then, weary to thepoint of exhaustion, he crept into a shallow cave and fellasleep.

　　In the morning, when he descended the trail, he found the sun waspouring a golden stream of light through the arch of the greatstone bridge. Surprise Valley, like a valley of dreams, laymystically soft and beautiful, awakening to the golden floodwhich was rolling away its slumberous bands of mist, brighteningits walled faces.

　　While yet far off he discerned Bess moving under the silverspruces, and soon the barking of the dogs told him that they hadseen him. He heard the mocking-birds singing in the trees, andthen the twittering of the quail. Ring and Whitie came boundingtoward him, and behind them ran Bess, her handsoutstretched.

　　"Bern! You're back! You're back!" she cried, in joy that rang ofher loneliness.

　　"Yes, I'm back," he said, as she rushed to meet him.

　　She had reached out for him when suddenly, as she saw himclosely, something checked her, and as quickly all her joy fled,and with it her color, leaving her pale and trembling.

　　"Oh! What's happened?"

　　"A good deal has happened, Bess. I don't need to tell you what.And I'm played out. Worn out in mind more than body."

　　"Dear--you look strange to me!" faltered Bess.

　　"Never mind that. I'm all right. There's nothing for you to bescared about. Things are going to turn out just as we haveplanned. As soon as I'm rested we'll make a break to get out ofthe country. Only now, right now, I must know the truth aboutyou."

　　"Truth about me?" echoed Bess, shrinkingly. She seemed to becasting back into her mind for a forgotten key. Venters himself,as he saw her, received a pang.

　　"Yes--the truth. Bess, don't misunderstand. I haven't changedthat way. I love you still. I'll love you more afterward. Lifewill be just as sweet--sweeter to us. We'll be--be married assoon as ever we can. We'll be happy--but there's a devil in me. Aperverse, jealous devil! Then I've queer fancies. I forgot for along time. Now all those fiendish little whispers of doubt andfaith and fear and hope come torturing me again. I've got to killthem with the truth."

　　"I'll tell you anything you want to know," she replied, frankly.

　　"Then by Heaven! we'll have it over and done with!...Bess--didOldring love you?"

　　"Certainly he did."

　　"Did--did you love him?"

　　"Of course. I told you so."

　　"How can you tell it so lightly?" cried Venters, passionately."Haven't you any sense of--of--" He choked back speech. He feltthe rush of pain and passion. He seized her in rude, strong handsand drew her close. He looked straight into her dark-blue eyes.They were shadowing with the old wistful light, hut they were asclear as the limpid water of the spring. They were earnest,solemn in unutterable love and faith and abnegation. Ventersshivered. He knew he was looking into her soul. He knew she couldnot lie in that moment; but that she might tell the truth,looking at him with those eyes, almost killed his belief inpurity.

　　"What are--what were you to--to Oldring?" he panted, fiercely.

　　"I am his daughter," she replied, instantly.

　　Venters slowly let go of her. There was a violent break in theforce of his feeling--then creeping blankness.

　　"What--was it--you said?" he asked, in a kind of dull wonder.

　　"I am his daughter."

　　"Oldring's daughter?" queried Venters, with life gathering in hisvoice.

　　"Yes."

　　With a passionately awakening start he grasped her hands and drewher close.

　　"All the time--you've been Oldring's daughter?"

　　"Yes, of course all the time--always."

　　"But Bess, you told me--you let me think--I made out youwere--a--so--so ashamed."

　　"It is my shame," she said, with voice deep and full, and now thescarlet fired her cheek. "I told you--I'm nothing--nameless--justBess, Oldring's girl!"

　　"I know--I remember. But I never thought--" he went on,hurriedly, huskily. "That time--when you lay dying--youprayed--you--somehow I got the idea you were bad."

　　"Bad?" she asked, with a little laugh.

　　She looked up with a faint smile of bewilderment and the absoluteunconsciousness of a child. Venters gasped in the gathering mightof the truth. She did not understand his meaning.

　　"Bess! Bess!" He clasped her in his arms, hiding her eyes againsthis breast. She must not see his face in that moment. And he heldher while he looked out across the valley. In his dim and blindedsight, in the blur of golden light and moving mist, he sawOldring. She was the rustler's nameless daughter. Oldring hadloved her. He had so guarded her, so kept her from women and menand knowledge of life that her mind was as a child's. That waspart of the secret--part of the mystery. That was the wonderfultruth. Not only was she not bad, but good, pure, innocent aboveall innocence in the world--the innocence of lonely girlhood.

　　He saw Oldring's magnificent eyes, inquisitive, searching,softening. He saw them flare in amaze, in gladness, with love,then suddenly strain in terrible effort of will. He heard Oldringwhisper and saw him sway like a log and fall. Then a millionbellowing, thundering voices--gunshots of conscience,thunderbolts of remorse--dinned horribly in his ears. He hadkilled Bess's father. Then a rushing wind filled his ears like amoan of wind in the cliffs, a knell indeed--Oldring's knell.

　　He dropped to his knees and hid his face against Bess, andgrasped her with the hands of a drowning man.

　　"My God!...My God!...Oh, Bess!...Forgive me! Never mind what I'vedone--what I've thought. But forgive me. I'll give you my life.I'll live for you. I'll love you. Oh, I do love you as no manever loved a woman. I want you to know--to remember that I foughta fight for you--however blind I was. I thought--I thought--nevermind what I thought--but I loved you--I asked you to marry me.Let that--let me have that to hug to my heart. Oh, Bess, I wasdriven! And I might have known! I could not rest nor sleep till Ihad this mystery solved. God! how things work out!"

　　"Bern, you're weak--trembling--you talk wildly," cried Bess."You've overdone your strength. There's nothing to forgive.There's no mystery except your love for me. You have come back tome!"

　　And she clasped his head tenderly in her arms and pressed itclosely to her throbbing breast.