Chapter XXI. Black Star and Night

by Zane Grey

　　The time had come for Venters and Bess to leave their retreat.They were at great pains to choose the few things they would beable to carry with them on the journey out of Utah.

　　"Bern, whatever kind of a pack's this, anyhow?" questioned Bess,rising from her work with reddened face.

　　Venters, absorbed in his own task, did not look up at all, and inreply said he had brought so much from Cottonwoods that he didnot recollect the half of it.

　　"A woman packed this!" Bess exclaimed.

　　He scarcely caught her meaning, but the peculiar tone of hervoice caused him instantly to rise, and he saw Bess on her kneesbefore an open pack which he recognized as the one given him byJane.

　　"By George!" he ejaculated, guiltily, and then at sight of Bess'sface he laughed outright.

　　"A woman packed this," she repeated, fixing woeful, tragic eyeson him.

　　"Well, is that a crime?'

　　"There--there is a woman, after all!"

　　"Now Bess--"

　　"You've lied to me!"

　　Then and there Venters found it imperative to postpone work forthe present. All her life Bess had been isolated, but she hadinherited certain elements of the eternal feminine.

　　"But there was a woman and you did lie to me," she keptrepeating, after he had explained.

　　"What of that? Bess, I'll get angry at you in a moment. Rememberyou've been pent up all your life. I venture to say that if you'dbeen out in the world you d have had a dozen sweethearts and havetold many a lie before this."

　　"I wouldn't anything of the kind," declared Bess,indignantly.

　　"Well--perhaps not lie. But you'd have had the sweethearts--Youcouldn't have helped that--being so pretty."

　　This remark appeared to be a very clever and fortunate one; andthe work of selecting and then of stowing all the packs in thecave went on without further interruption.

　　Venters closed up the opening of the cave with a thatch ofwillows and aspens, so that not even a bird or a rat could get into the sacks of grain. And this work was in order with theprecaution habitually observed by him. He might not be able toget out of Utah, and have to return to the valley. But he owed itto Bess to make the attempt, and in case they were compelled toturn back he wanted to find that fine store of food and grainintact. The outfit of implements and utensils he packed away inanother cave.

　　"Bess, we have enough to live here all our lives," he said once,dreamily.

　　"Shall I go roll Balancing Rock?" she asked, in light speech, butwith deep-blue fire in her eyes.

　　"No--no."

　　"Ah, you don't forget the gold and the world," she sighed.

　　"Child, you forget the beautiful dresses and the travel--andeverything."

　　"Oh, I want to go. But I want to stay!"

　　"I feel the same way."

　　They let the eight calves out of the corral, and kept only two ofthe burros Venters had brought from Cottonwoods. These theyintended to ride. Bess freed all her pets--the quail and rabbitsand foxes.

　　The last sunset and twilight and night were both the sweetest andsaddest they had ever spent in Surprise Valley. Morning broughtkeen exhilaration and excitement. When Venters had saddled thetwo burros, strapped on the light packs and the two canteens, thesunlight was dispersing the lazy shadows from the valley. Takinga last look at the caves and the silver spruces, Venters and Bessmade a reluctant start, leading the burros. Ring and Whitielooked keen and knowing. Something seemed to drag at Venters'sfeet and he noticed Bess lagged behind. Never had the climb fromterrace to bridge appeared so long.

　　Not till they reached the opening of the gorge did they stop torest and take one last look at the valley. The tremendous arch ofstone curved clear and sharp in outline against the morning sky.And through it streaked the golden shaft. The valley seemed anenchanted circle of glorious veils of gold and wraiths of whiteand silver haze and dim, blue, moving shade--beautiful and wildand unreal as a dream.

　　"We--we can--th--think of it--always--re--remember," sobbed Bess.

　　"Hush! Don't cry. Our valley has only fitted us for a better lifesomewhere. Come!"

　　They entered the gorge and he closed the willow gate. From rosy,golden morning light they passed into cool, dense gloom. Theburros pattered up the trail with little hollow-cracking steps.And the gorge widened to narrow outlet and the gloom lightened togray. At the divide they halted for another rest. Venters's keen,remembering gaze searched Balancing Rock, and the long incline,and the cracked toppling walls, but failed to note the slightestchange.

　　The dogs led the descent; then came Bess leading her burro; thenVenters leading his. Bess kept her eyes bent downward. Venters,however, had an irresistible desire to look upward at BalancingRock. It had always haunted him, and now he wondered if he werereally to get through the outlet before the huge stone thundereddown. He fancied that would be a miracle. Every few steps heanswered to the strange, nervous fear and turned to make sure therock still stood like a giant statue. And, as he descended, itgrew dimmer in his sight. It changed form; it swayed it noddeddarkly; and at last, in his heightened fancy, he saw it heave androll. As in a dream when he felt himself falling yet knew hewould never fall, so he saw this long-standing thunderbolt of thelittle stone-men plunge down to close forever the outlet toDeception Pass.

　　And while he was giving way to unaccountable dread imaginationsthe descent was accomplished without mishap.

　　"I'm glad that's over," he said, breathing more freely. "I hopeI'm by that hanging rock for good and all. Since almost themoment I first saw it I've had an idea that it was waiting forme. Now, when it does fall, if I'm thousands of miles away, I'llhear it."

　　With the first glimpses of the smooth slope leading down to thegrotesque cedars and out to the Pass, Venters's cool nervereturned. One long survey to the left, then one to the right,satisfied his caution. Leading the burros down to the spur ofrock, he halted at the steep incline.

　　"Bess, here's the bad place, the place I told you about, with thecut steps. You start down, leading your burro. Take your time andhold on to him if you slip. I've got a rope on him and ahalf-hitch on this point of rock, so I can let him down safely.Coming up here was a killing job. But it'll be easy goingdown."

　　Both burros passed down the difficult stairs cut by thecliff-dwellers, and did it without a misstep. After that thedescent down the slope and over the mile of scrawled, ripped, andridged rock required only careful guidance, and Venters got theburros to level ground in a condition that caused him tocongratulate himself.

　　"Oh, if we only had Wrangle!" exclaimed Venters. "But we'relucky. That's the worst of our trail passed. We've only men tofear now. If we get up in the sage we can hide and slip alonglike coyotes."

　　They mounted and rode west through the valley and entered thecanyon. From time to time Venters walked, leading his burro. Whenthey got by all the canyons and gullies opening into the Passthey went faster and with fewer halts. Venters did not confide inBess the alarming fact that he had seen horses and smoke lessthan a mile up one of the intersecting canyons. He did not talkat all. And long after he had passed this canyon and felt secureonce more in the certainty that they had been unobserved he neverrelaxed his watchfulness. But he did not walk any more, and hekept the burros at a steady trot. Night fell before they reachedthe last water in the Pass and they made camp by starlight.Venters did not want the burros to stray, so he tied them withlong halters in the grass near the spring. Bess, tired out andsilent, laid her head in a saddle and went to sleep between thetwo dogs. Venters did not close his eyes. The canyon silenceappeared full of the low, continuous hum of insects. He listeneduntil the hum grew into a roar, and then, breaking the spell,once more he heard it low and clear. He watched the stars and themoving shadows, and always his glance returned to the girl'sdimly pale face. And he remembered how white and still it hadonce looked in the starlight. And again stern thought fought hisstrange fancies. Would all his labor and his love be for naught?Would he lose her, after all? What did the dark shadow around herportend? Did calamity lurk on that long upland trail through thesage? Why should his heart swell and throb with nameless fear? Helistened to the silence and told himself that in the broad lightof day he could dispel this leaden-weighted dread.

　　At the first hint of gray over the eastern rim he awoke Bess,saddled the burros, and began the day's travel. He wanted to getout of the Pass before there was any chance of riders comingdown. They gained the break as the first red rays of the risingsun colored the rim.

　　For once, so eager was he to get up to level ground, he did notsend Ring or Whitie in advance. Encouraging Bess to hurry pullingat his patient, plodding burro, he climbed the soft, steeptrail.

　　Brighter and brighter grew the light. He mounted the last brokenedge of rim to have the sun-fired, purple sage-slope burst uponhim as a glory. Bess panted up to his side, tugging on the halterof her burro.

　　"We're up!" he cried, joyously. "There's not a dot on the sageWe're safe. We'll not be seen! Oh, Bess--"

　　Ring growled and sniffed the keen air and bristled. Ventersclutched at his rifle. Whitie sometimes made a mistake, but Ringnever. The dull thud of hoofs almost deprived Venters of power toturn and see from where disaster threatened. He felt his eyesdilate as he stared at Lassiter leading Black Star and Night outof the sage, with Jane Withersteen, in rider's costume, closebeside them.

　　For an instant Venters felt himself whirl dizzily in the centerof vast circles of sage. He recovered partially, enough to seeLassiter standing with a glad smile and Jane riveted inastonishment.

　　"Why, Bern!" she exclaimed. "How good it is to see you! We'reriding away, you see. The storm burst--and I'm a ruinedwoman!...I thought you were alone."

　　Venters, unable to speak for consternation, and bewildered out ofall sense of what he ought or ought not to do, simply stared atJane.

　　"Son, where are you bound for?" asked Lassiter.

　　"Not safe--where I was. I'm--we're going out of Utah--back East,"he found tongue to say.

　　"I reckon this meetin's the luckiest thing that ever happened toyou an' to me--an' to Jane--an' to Bess," said Lassiter, coolly.

　　"Bess!" cried Jane, with a sudden leap of blood to her palecheek.

　　It was entirely beyond Venters to see any luck in thatmeeting.

　　Jane Withersteen took one flashing, woman's glance at Bess'sscarlet face, at her slender, shapely form.

　　"Venters! is this a girl--a woman?" she questioned, in a voicethat stung.

　　"Yes."

　　"Did you have her in that wonderful valley?"

　　"Yes, but Jane--"

　　"All the time you were gone?"

　　"Yes, but I couldn't tell--"

　　"Was it for her you asked me to give you supplies? Was it for herthat you wanted to make your valley aparadise?"

　　"Oh--Jane--"

　　"Answer me."

　　"Yes."

　　"Oh, you liar!" And with these passionate words Jane Withersteensuccumbed to fury. For the second time in her life she fell intothe ungovernable rage that had been her father's weakness. And itwas worse than his, for she was a jealous woman--jealous even ofher friends.

　　As best he could, he bore the brunt of her anger. It was not onlyhis deceit to her that she visited upon him, but her betrayal byreligion, by life itself.

　　Her passion, like fire at white heat, consumed itself in littletime. Her physical strength failed, and still her spiritattempted to go on in magnificent denunciation of those who hadwronged her. Like a tree cut deep into its roots, she began toquiver and shake, and her anger weakened into despair. And herringing voice sank into a broken, husky whisper. Then, spent andpitiable, upheld by Lassiter's arm, she turned and hid her facein Black Star's mane.

　　Numb as Venters was when at length Jane Withersteen lifted herhead and looked at him, he yet suffered a pang.

　　"Jane, the girl is innocent!" he cried.

　　"Can you expect me to believe that?" she asked, with weary,bitter eyes.

　　"I'm not that kind of a liar. And you know it. If I lied--if Ikept silent when honor should have made me speak, it was to spareyou. I came to Cottonwoods to tell you. But I couldn't add toyour pain. I intended to tell you I had come to love this girl.But, Jane I hadn't forgotten how good you were to me. I haven'tchanged at all toward you. I prize your friendship as I alwayshave. But, however it may look to you--don't be unjust. The girlis innocent. Ask Lassiter."

　　"Jane, she's jest as sweet an' innocent as little Fay," saidLassiter. There was a faint smile upon his face and a beautifullight.

　　Venters saw, and knew that Lassiter saw, how Jane Withersteen'stortured soul wrestled with hate and threw it--with scorn doubt,suspicion, and overcame all.

　　"Bern, if in my misery I accused you unjustly, I craveforgiveness," she said. "I'm not what I once was. Tell me--who isthis girl?"

　　"Jane, she is Oldring's daughter, and his Masked Rider. Lassiterwill tell you how I shot her for a rustler, saved her life--allthe story. It's a strange story, Jane, as wild as the sage. Butit's true--true as her innocence. That you must believe,"

　　"Oldring's Masked Rider! Oldring's daughter!" exclaimed Jane "Andshe's innocent! You ask me to believe much. If this girl is--iswhat you say, how could she be going away with the man who killedher father?"

　　"Why did you tell that?" cried Venters, passionately.

　　Jane's question had roused Bess out of stupefaction. Her eyessuddenly darkened and dilated. She stepped toward Venters andheld up both hands as if to ward off a blow.

　　"Did--did you kill Oldring?"

　　"I did, Bess, and I hate myself for it. But you know I neverdreamed he was your father. I thought he'd wronged you. I killedhim when I was madly jealous."

　　For a moment Bess was shocked into silence.

　　"But he was my father!" she broke out, at last. "And now I mustgo back--I can't go with you. It's all over--that beautifuldream. Oh, I knew it couldn't come true. You can't take me now."

　　"If you forgive me, Bess, it'll all come right in the end!"implored Venters.

　　"It can't be right. I'll go back. After all, I loved him. He wasgood to me. I can't forget that."

　　"If you go back to Oldring's men I'll follow you, and thenthey'll kill me," said Venters, hoarsely.

　　"Oh no, Bern, you'll not come. Let me go. It's best for you toforget mot I've brought you only pain and dishonor."

　　She did not weep. But the sweet bloom and life died out of herface. She looked haggard and sad, all at once stunted; and herhands dropped listlessly; and her head drooped in slow, finalacceptance of a hopeless fate.

　　"Jane. look there!" cried Venters, in despairing grief. "Need youhave told her? Where was all your kindness of heart? This girlhas had a wretched, lonely life. And I'd found a way to make herhappy. You've killed it. You've killed something sweet and pureand hopeful, just as sure as you breathe."

　　"Oh, Bern! It was a slip. I never thought--I never thought!"replied Jane. "How could I tell she didn't know?"

　　Lassiter suddenly moved forward, and with the beautiful light onhis face now strangely luminous, he looked at Jane and Ventersand then let his soft, bright gaze rest on Bess.

　　"Well, I reckon you've all had your say, an' now it's Lassiter'sturn. Why, I was jest praying for this meetin'. Bess, jest lookhere."

　　Gently he touched her arm and turned her to face the others, andthen outspread his great hand to disclose a shiny, battered goldlocket.

　　"Open it," he said, with a singularly rich voice.

　　Bess complied, but listlessly.

　　"Jane--Venters--come closer," went on Lassiter. "Take a look atthe picture. Don't you know the woman?"

　　Jane, after one glance, drew back.

　　"Milly Erne!" she cried, wonderingly.

　　Venters, with tingling pulse, with something growing on him,recognized in the faded miniature portrait the eyes of MillyErne.

　　"Yes, that's Milly," said Lassiter, softly. "Bess, did you eversee her face--look hard--with all your heart an' soul?"

　　"The eyes seem to haunt me," whispered Bess. "Oh, I can'tremember-- they're eyes of my dreams--but--but--"

　　Lassiter's strong arm went round her and he bent his head.

　　"Child, I thought you'd remember her eyes. They're the samebeautiful eyes you'd see if you looked in a mirror or a clearspring. They're your mother's eyes. You are Milly Erne's child.Your name is Elizabeth Erne. You're not Oldring's daughter.You're the daughter of Frank Erne, a man once my best friend.Look! Here's his picture beside Milly's. He was handsome, an' asfine an' gallant a Southern gentleman as I ever seen. Frank cameof an old family. You come of the best of blood, lass, and bloodtells."

　　Bess slipped through his arm to her knees and hugged the locketto her bosom, and lifted wonderful, yearning eyes.

　　"It--can't--be--true!"

　　"Thank God, lass, it is true," replied Lassiter. "Jane an' Bernhere--they both recognize Milly. They see Milly in you. They'reso knocked out they can't tell you, that's all."

　　"Who are you?" whispered Bess.

　　"I reckon I'm Milly's brother an' your uncle!...Uncle Jim! Ain'tthat fine?"

　　"Oh, I can't believe--Don't raise me! Bern, let me kneel. I seetruth in your face--in Miss Withersteen's. But let me hear itall--all on my knees. Tell me how it's true!"

　　"Well, Elizabeth, listen," said Lassiter. "Before you was bornyour father made a mortal enemy of a Mormon named Dyer. They wasboth ministers an' come to be rivals. Dyer stole your mother awayfrom her home. She gave birth to you in Texas eighteen years ago.Then she was taken to Utah, from place to place, an' finally tothe last border settlement--Cottonwoods. You was about threeyears old when you was taken away from Milly. She never knew whathad become of you. But she lived a good while hopin' and prayin'to have you again. Then she gave up an' died. An' I may as wellput in here your father died ten years ago. Well, I spent my timetracin' Milly, an' some months back I landed in Cottonwoods. An'jest lately I learned all about you. I had a talk with Oldrin'an' told him you was dead, an' he told me what I had so long beenwantin' to know. It was Dyer, of course, who stole you fromMilly. Part reason he was sore because Milly refused to give youMormon teachin', but mostly he still hated Frank Erne soinfernally that he made a deal with Oldrin' to take you an' bringyou up as an infamous rustler an' rustler's girl. The idea was tobreak Frank Erne's heart if he ever came to Utah--to show him hisdaughter with a band of low rustlers. Well--Oldrin' took you,brought you up from childhood, an' then made you his MaskedRider. He made you infamous. He kept that part of the contract,but he learned to love you as a daughter an' never let any buthis own men know you was a girl. I heard him say that with my ownears, an' I saw his big eyes grow dim. He told me how he hadguarded you always, kept you locked up in his absence, was alwaysat your side or near you on those rides that made you famous onthe sage. He said he an' an old rustler whom he trusted hadtaught you how to read an' write. They selected the books foryou. Dyer had wanted you brought up the vilest of the vile! An'Oldrin' brought you up the innocentest of the innocent. He saidyou didn't know what vileness was. I can hear his big voicetremble now as he said it. He told me how the men--rustlers an'outlaws--who from time to time tried to approach youfamiliarly--he told me how he shot them dead. I'm tellin' youthis 'specially because you've showed such shame--sayin' you wasnameless an' all that. Nothin' on earth can be wronger than thatidea of yours. An' the truth of it is here. Oldrin' swore to methat if Dyer died, releasin' the contract, he intended to hunt upyour father an' give you back to him. It seems Oldrin' wasn't allbad, en' he sure loved you."

　　Venters leaned forward in passionate remorse.

　　"Oh, Bess! I know Lassiter speaks the truth. For when I shotOldring he dropped to his knees and fought with unearthly powerto speak. And he said: 'Man--why--didn't--you--wait? Bess was--'Then he fell dead. And I've been haunted by his look and words.Oh, Bess, what a strange, splendid thing for Oldring to do! Itall seems impossible. But, dear, you really are not what youthought."

　　"Elizabeth Erne!" cried Jane Withersteen. "I loved your motherand I see her in you!"

　　What had been incredible from the lips of men became, in thetone, look, and gesture of a woman, a wonderful truth for Bess.With little tremblings of all her slender body she rocked to andfro on her knees. The yearning wistfulness of her eyes changed tosolemn splendor of joy. She believed. She was realizinghappiness. And as the process of thought was slow, so were thevariations of her expression. Her eyes reflected thetransformation of her soul. Dark, brooding, hopelessbelief--clouds of gloom--drifted, paled, vanished in gloriouslight. An exquisite rose flush--a glow--shone from her face asshe slowly began to rise from her knees. A spirit uplifted her.All that she had held as base dropped from her.

　　Venters watched her in joy too deep for words. By it he divinedsomething of what Lassiter's revelation meant to Bess, but heknew he could only faintly understand. That moment when sheseemed to be lifted by some spiritual transfiguration was themost beautiful moment of his life. She stood with parted,quivering lips, with hands tightly clasping the locket to herheaving breast. A new conscious pride of worth dignified the oldwild, free grace and poise.

　　"Uncle Jim!" she said, tremulously, with a different smile fromany Venters had ever seen on her face.

　　Lassiter took her into his arms.

　　"I reckon. It's powerful fine to hear that," replied Lassiter,unsteadily.

　　Venters, feeling his eyes grow hot and wet, turned away, andfound himself looking at Jane Withersteen. He had almostforgotten her presence. Tenderness and sympathy were fast hidingtraces of her agitation. Venters read her mind--felt the reactionof her noble heart--saw the joy she was beginning to feel at thehappiness of others. And suddenly blinded, choked by hisemotions, he turned from her also. He knew what she would dopresently; she would make some magnificent amend for her anger;she would give some manifestation of her love; probably all in amoment, as she had loved Milly Erne, so would she love ElizabethErne.

　　"'Pears to me, folks, that we'd better talk a little seriousnow," remarked Lassiter, at length. "Time flies."

　　"You're right," replied Venters, instantly. "I'd forgottentime--place-- danger. Lassiter, you're riding away. Jane'sleaving Withersteen House?"

　　"Forever," replied Jane.

　　"I fired Withersteen House," said Lassiter.

　　"Dyer?" questioned Venters, sharply.

　　"I reckon where Dyer's gone there won't be any kidnappin' ofgirls."

　　"Ah! I knew it. I told Judkins--And Tull?" went on Venters,passionately.

　　"Tull wasn't around when I broke loose. By now he's likely on ourtrail with his riders."

　　"Lassiter, you're going into the Pass to hide till all this stormblows over?"

　　"I reckon that's Jane's idea. I'm thinkin' the storm'll be apowerful long time blowin' over. I was comin' to join you inSurprise Valley. You'll go back now with me?"

　　"No. I want to take Bess out of Utah. Lassiter, Bess found goldin the valley. We've a saddle-bag full of gold. If we can reachSterling--"

　　"Man! how're you ever goin' to do that? Sterlin' is a hundredmiles."

　　"My plan is to ride on, keeping sharp lookout. Somewhere up thetrail we'll take to the sage and go round Cottonwoods and thenhit the trail again."

　　"It's a bad plan. You'll kill the burros in two days."

　　"Then we'll walk."

　　"That's more bad an' worse. Better go back down the Pass withme."

　　"Lassiter, this girl has been hidden all her life in that lonelyplace," went on Venters. "Oldring's men are hunting me. We'd notbe safe there any longer. Even if we would be I'd take thischance to get her out. I want to marry her. She shall have someof the pleasures of life--see cities and people. We'vegold--we'll be rich. Why, life opens sweet for both of us. And,by Heaven! I'll get her out or lose my life in the attempt!"

　　"I reckon if you go on with them burros you'll lose your life allright. Tull will have riders all over this sage. You can't getout on them burros. It's a fool idea. That's not doin' best bythe girl. Come with me en' take chances on therustlers."

　　Lassiter's cool argument made Venters waver, not in determinationto go, but in hope of success.

　　"Bess, I want you to know. Lassiter says the trip's almostuseless now. I'm afraid he's right. We've got about one chance ina hundred to go through. Shall we take it? Shall we go on?"

　　"We'll go on," replied Bess.

　　"That settles it, Lassiter."

　　Lassiter spread wide his hands, as if to signify he could do nomore, and his face clouded.

　　Venters felt a touch on his elbow. Jane stood beside him with ahand on his arm. She was smiling. Something radiated from her,and like an electric current accelerated the motion of his blood.

　　"Bern, you'd be right to die rather than not take Elizabeth outof Utah--out of this wild country. You must do it. You'll showher the great world, with all its wonders. Think how little shehas seen! Think what delight is in store for her! You have gold,You will be free; you will make her happy. What a gloriousprospect! I share it with you. I'll think of you--dream ofyou--pray for you."

　　"Thank you, Jane," replied Venters, trying to steady his voice."It does look bright. Oh, if we were only across that wide, openwaste of sage!"

　　"Bern, the trip's as good as made. It'll be safe--easy. It'll bea glorious ride," she said, softly.

　　Venters stared. Had Jane's troubles made her insane? Lassiter,too, acted queerly, all at once beginning to turn his sombreroround in hands that actually shook.

　　"You are a rider. She is a rider. This will be the ride of yourlives," added Jane, in that same soft undertone, almost as if shewere musing to herself.

　　"Jane!" he cried.

　　"I give you Black Star and Night!"

　　"Black Star and Night!" he echoed.

　　"It's done. Lassiter, put our saddle-bags on the burros."

　　Only when Lassiter moved swiftly to execute her bidding didVenters's clogged brain grasp at literal meanings. He leaped tocatch Lassiter's busy hands.

　　"No, no! What are you doing?" he demanded, in a kind of fury. "Iwon't take her racers. What do you think I am? It'd be monstrous.Lassiter! stop it, I say!...You've got her to save. You've milesand miles to go. Tull is trailing you. There are rustlers in thePass. Give me back that saddle-bag!"

　　"Son--cool down," returned Lassiter, in a voice he might haveused to a child. But the grip with which he tore away Venters'sgrasping hands was that of a giant. "Listen--you fool boyl Jane'ssized up the situation. The burros'll do for us. Well sneak alongan' hide. I'll take your dogs an' your rifle. Why, it's thetrick. The blacks are yours, an' sure as I can throw a gun you'regoin' to ride safe out of the sage."

　　"Jane--stop him--please stop him," gasped Venters. "I've lost mystrength. I can't do--anything. This is hell for me! Can't yousee that? I've ruined you--it was through me you lost all. You'veonly Black Star and Night left. You love these horses. Oh! I knowhow you must love them now! And--you're trying to give them tome. To help me out of Utah! To save the girl I love!"

　　"That will be my glory."

　　Then in the white, rapt face, in the unfathomable eyes, Venterssaw Jane Withersteen in a supreme moment. This moment was onewherein she reached up to the height for which her noble soul hadever yearned. He, after disrupting the calm tenor of her peace,after bringing down on her head the implacable hostility of herchurchmen, after teaching her a bitter lesson of life--he was tobe her salvation. And he turned away again, this time shaken tothe core of his soul. Jane Withersteen was the incarnation ofselflessness. He experienced wonder and terror, exquisite painand rapture. What were all the shocks life had dealt him comparedto the thought of such loyal and generous friendship?

　　And instantly, as if by some divine insight, he knew himself inthe remaking--tried, found wanting; but stronger, better,surer--and he wheeled to Jane Withersteen, eager, joyous,passionate, wild, exalted. He bent to her; he left tears andkisses on her hands.

　　"Jane, I--I can't find words--now," he said. "I'm beyond words.Only--I understand. And I'll take the blacks."

　　"Don't be losin' no more time," cut in Lassiter. "I ain'tcertain, but I think I seen a speck up the sage-slope. Mebbe Iwas mistaken. But, anyway, we must all be movin'. I've shortenedthe stirrups on Black Star. Put Bess on him."

　　Jane Withersteen held out her arms.

　　"Elizabeth Erne!" she cried, and Bess flew to her.

　　How inconceivably strange and beautiful it was for Venters to seeBess clasped to Jane Withersteen's breast!

　　Then he leaped astride Night.

　　"Venters, ride straight on up the slope," Lassiter was saying,"'an if you don't meet any riders keep on till you're a few milesfrom the village, then cut off in the sage an' go round to thetrail. But you'll most likely meet riders with Tull. Jest keepright on till you're jest out of gunshot an' then make yourcut-off into the sage. They'll ride after you, but it won't be nouse. You can ride, an' Bess can ride. When you're out of reachturn on round to the west, an' hit the trail somewhere. Save thehosses all you can, but don't be afraid. Black Star and Night aregood for a hundred miles before sundown, if you have to pushthem. You can get to Sterlin' by night if you want. But bettermake it along about to-morrow mornin'. When you get through thenotch on the Glaze trail, swing to the right. You'll be able tosee both Glaze an' Stone Bridge. Keep away from them villages.You won't run no risk of meetin' any of Oldrin's rustlers fromSterlin' on. You'll find water in them deep hollows north of theNotch. There's an old trail there, not much used, en' it leads toSterlin'. That's your trail. An' one thing more. If Tull pushesyou--or keeps on persistent-like, for a few miles--jest let theblacks out an' lose him an' his riders."

　　"Lassiter, may we meet again!" said Venters, in a deepvoice.

　　"Son, it ain't likely--it ain't likely. Well, BessOldrin'--Masked Rider--Elizabeth Erne--now you climb on BlackStar. I've heard you could ride. Well, every rider loves a goodhorse. An', lass, there never was but one that could beat BlackStar."

　　"Ah, Lassiter, there never was any horse that could beat BlackStar," said Jane, with the old pride.

　　"I often wondered--mebbe Venters rode out that race when hebrought back the blacks. Son, was Wrangle the best hoss?"

　　"No, Lassiter," replied Venters. For this lie he had his rewardin Jane's quick smile.

　　"Well, well, my hoss-sense ain't always right. An' here I'mtalkie' a lot, wastin' time. It ain't so easy to find an' lose apretty niece all in one hour! Elizabeth--good-by!"

　　"Oh, Uncle Jim!...Good-by!"

　　"Elizabeth Erne, be happy! Good-by," saidJane.

　　"Good-by--oh--good-by!" In lithe, supple action Bess swung up toBlack Star's saddle.

　　"Jane Withersteen!...Good-by!" called Venters hoarsely.

　　"Bern--Bess--riders of the purple sage--good-by!"