Zane Grey by Riders of the Purple Sage Page B

there.”
    â€œWell, what of that?”
    â€œTull has already hinted of your frequent trips into Deception Pass.”
    â€œI know.” Venters uttered a short laugh. “He’ll make a rustler of me next. But, Jane, there’s no water for fifty miles after I leave here, and that nearest is in the cañon. I must drink and water my horse. There! I see more riders. They are going out.”
    â€œThe red herd is on the slope, toward the Pass.”
    Twilight was fast falling. A group of horsemen crossed the dark line of low ground to become more distinct as they climbed the slope. The silence broke to a clear call from an incoming rider, and, almost like the peal of a hunting-horn, floated back the answer. The outgoing riders moved swiftly, came sharply into sight as they topped a ridge to show wild and black above the horizon, and then passed down, dimming into the purple of the sage.
    â€œI hope they don’t meet Lassiter,” said Jane.
    â€œSo do I,” replied Venters. “By this time the riders of the night shift know what happened to-day. But Lassiter will likely keep out of their way.”
    â€œBern, who is Lassiter? He’s only a name to me—a terrible name.”
    â€œWho is he? I don’t know, Jane. Nobody I ever met knows him. He talks a little like a Texan, like Milly Erne. Did you note that?”
    â€œYes. How strange of him to know of her! And she lived here ten years and has been dead two. Bern, what do you know of Lassiter? Tell me what he has done—why you spoke of him to Tull—threatening to become another Lassiter yourself?”
    â€œJane, I only heard things, rumors, stories, most of which I disbelieved. At Glaze his name was known, but none of the riders or ranchers I knew there ever met him. At Stone Bridge I never heard him mentioned. But at Sterling and villages north of there he was spoken of often. I’ve never been in a village which he had been known to visit. There were many conflicting stories about him and his doings. Some said he had shot up this and that Mormon village, and others denied it. I’m inclined to believe he has, and you know how Mormons hide the truth. But there was one feature about Lassiter upon which all agree— that he was what riders in this country call a gun-man. He’s a man with marvelous quickness and accuracy in the use of a Colt. And now that I’ve seen him I know more. Lassiter was born without fear. I watched him with eyes which saw him my friend. I’ll never forget the moment I recognized him from what had been told me of his crouch before the draw. It was then I yelled his name. I believe that yell saved Tull’s life. At any rate, I know this, between Tull and death then there was not the breadth of the littlest hair. If he or any of his men had moved a finger downward . . .”
    Venters left his meaning unspoken, but at the suggestion Jane shuddered.
    The pale afterglow in the west darkened with the merging of twilight into night. The sage now spread out black and gloomy. One dim star glimmered in the southwest sky. The sound of trotting horses had ceased, and there was silence broken only by a faint, dry pattering of cottonwood leaves in the soft night wind.
    Into this peace and calm suddenly broke the high-keyed yelp of a coyote, and from far off in the darkness came the faint answering note of a trailing mate.
    â€œHello, the sage-dogs are barking,” said Venters.
    â€œI don’t like to hear them,” replied Jane. “At night, sometimes, when I lie awake, listening to the long mourn or breaking bark or wild howl, I think of you asleep somewhere in the sage, and my heart aches.”
    â€œJane, you couldn’t listen to sweeter music, nor could I have a better bed.”
    â€œJust think! Men like Lassiter and you have no home, no comfort, no rest, no place to lay your weary heads. Well! . . . Let us be patient. Tull’s anger may cool, and time