Riders of the Purple Sage

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

"Uncle Jim!" she said, tremulously, with a different smile from
any 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, and
found himself looking at Jane Withersteen. He had almost
forgotten her presence. Tenderness and sympathy were fast hiding
traces of her agitation. Venters read her mind--felt the reaction
of her noble heart--saw the joy she was beginning to feel at the
happiness of others. And suddenly blinded, choked by his
emotions, he turned from her also. He knew what she would do
presently; she would make some magnificent amend for her anger;
she would give some manifestation of her love; probably all in a
moment, as she had loved Milly Erne, so would she love Elizabeth
Erne.

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

"You're right," replied Venters, instantly. "I'd forgotten
time--place-- danger. Lassiter, you're riding away. Jane's
leaving 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' of
girls."

"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 our
trail with his riders."

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

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

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

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

"My plan is to ride on, keeping sharp lookout. Somewhere up the
trail we'll take to the sage and go round Cottonwoods and then
hit 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 with
me."

"Lassiter, this girl has been hidden all her life in that lonely
place," went on Venters. "Oldring's men are hunting me. We'd not
be safe there any longer. Even if we would be I'd take this
chance to get her out. I want to marry her. She shall have some
of the pleasures of life--see cities and people. We've
gold--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 all
right. Tull will have riders all over this sage. You can't get
out on them burros. It's a fool idea. That's not doin' best by
the girl. Come with me en' take chances on the
rustlers."

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

"Bess, I want you to know. Lassiter says the trip's almost
useless now. I'm afraid he's right. We've got about one chance in
a 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 no
more, and his face clouded.

Venters felt a touch on his elbow. Jane stood beside him with a
hand 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 out
of Utah--out of this wild country. You must do it. You'll show
her the great world, with all its wonders. Think how little she
has seen! Think what delight is in store for her! You have gold,
You will be free; you will make her happy. What a glorious
prospect! I share it with you. I'll think of you--dream of
you--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, open
waste of sage!"

"Bern, the trip's as good as made. It'll be safe--easy. It'll be
a 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 sombrero
round in hands that actually shook.

"You are a rider. She is a rider. This will be the ride of your
lives," added Jane, in that same soft undertone, almost as if she
were 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 did
Venters's clogged brain grasp at literal meanings. He leaped to
catch Lassiter's busy hands.

"No, no! What are you doing?" he demanded, in a kind of fury. "I
won'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 miles
and miles to go. Tull is trailing you. There are rustlers in the
Pass. Give me back that saddle-bag!"

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

"Jane--stop him--please stop him," gasped Venters. "I've lost my
strength. I can't do--anything. This is hell for me! Can't you
see that? I've ruined you--it was through me you lost all. You've
only Black Star and Night left. You love these horses. Oh! I know
how you must love them now! And--you're trying to give them to
me. 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, Venters
saw Jane Withersteen in a supreme moment. This moment was one
wherein she reached up to the height for which her noble soul had
ever yearned. He, after disrupting the calm tenor of her peace,
after bringing down on her head the implacable hostility of her
churchmen, after teaching her a bitter lesson of life--he was to
be her salvation. And he turned away again, this time shaken to
the core of his soul. Jane Withersteen was the incarnation of
selflessness. He experienced wonder and terror, exquisite pain
and rapture. What were all the shocks life had dealt him compared
to the thought of such loyal and generous friendship?

And instantly, as if by some divine insight, he knew himself in
the 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 and
kisses 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't
certain, but I think I seen a speck up the sage-slope. Mebbe I
was mistaken. But, anyway, we must all be movin'. I've shortened
the 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 see
Bess 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 miles
from the village, then cut off in the sage an' go round to the
trail. But you'll most likely meet riders with Tull. Jest keep
right on till you're jest out of gunshot an' then make your
cut-off into the sage. They'll ride after you, but it won't be no
use. You can ride, an' Bess can ride. When you're out of reach
turn on round to the west, an' hit the trail somewhere. Save the
hosses all you can, but don't be afraid. Black Star and Night are
good for a hundred miles before sundown, if you have to push
them. You can get to Sterlin' by night if you want. But better
make it along about to-morrow mornin'. When you get through the
notch on the Glaze trail, swing to the right. You'll be able to
see both Glaze an' Stone Bridge. Keep away from them villages.
You won't run no risk of meetin' any of Oldrin's rustlers from
Sterlin' on. You'll find water in them deep hollows north of the
Notch. There's an old trail there, not much used, en' it leads to
Sterlin'. That's your trail. An' one thing more. If Tull pushes
you--or keeps on persistent-like, for a few miles--jest let the
blacks out an' lose him an' his riders."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, Uncle Jim!...Good-by!"

"Elizabeth Erne, be happy! Good-by," said
Jane.

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

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

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

CHAPTER XXII. RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE

Black Star and Night, answering to spur, swept swiftly westward
along the white, slow-rising, sage-bordered trail. Venters heard
a mournful howl from Ring, but Whitie was silent. The blacks
settled into their fleet, long-striding gallop. The wind sweetly
fanned Venters's hot face. From the summit of the first
low-swelling ridge he looked back. Lassiter waved his hand; Jane
waved her scarf. Venters replied by standing in his stirrups and
holding high his sombrero. Then the dip of the ridge hid them.
From the height of the next he turned once more. Lassiter, Jane,
and the burros had disappeared. They had gone down into the Pass.
Venters felt a sensation of irreparable loss.

"Bern--look!" called Bess, pointing up the long slope.

A small, dark, moving dot split the line where purple sage met
blue sky. That dot was a band of riders.

"Pull the black, Bess."

They slowed from gallop to canter, then to trot. The fresh and
eager horses did not like the check.

"Bern, Black Star has great eyesight."

"I wonder if they're Tull's riders. They might be rustlers. But
it's all the same to us."

The black dot grew to a dark patch moving under low dust clouds.
It grew all the time, though very slowly. There were long periods
when it was in plain sight, and intervals when it dropped behind
the sage. The blacks trotted for half an hour, for another
half-hour, and still the moving patch appeared to stay on the
horizon line. Gradually, however, as time passed, it began to
enlarge, to creep down the slope, to encroach upon the
intervening distance.

"Bess, what do you make them out?" asked Venters. "I don't think
they're rustlers."

"They're sage-riders," replied Bess. "I see a white horse and
several grays. Rustlers seldom ride any horses but bays and
blacks."

"That white horse is Tull's. Pull the black, Bess. I'll get down
and cinch up. We're in for some riding. Are you afraid?"

"Not now," answered the girl, smiling.

"You needn't be. Bess, you don't weigh enough to make Black Star
know you're on him. I won't be able to stay with you. You'll
leave Tull and his riders as if they were standing still."

"How about you?"

"Never fear. If I can't stay with you I can still laugh at
Tull."

"Look, Bern! They've stopped on that ridge. They see us."

"Yes. But we're too far yet for them to make out who we are.
They'll recognize the blacks first. We've passed most of the
ridges and the thickest sage. Now, when I give the word, let
Black Star go and ride!"

Venters calculated that a mile or more still intervened between
them and the riders. They were approaching at a swift canter.
Soon Venters recognized Tull's white horse, and concluded that
the riders had likewise recognized Black Star and Night. But it
would be impossible for Tull yet to see that the blacks were not
ridden by Lassiter and Jane. Venters noted that Tull and the line
of horsemen, perhaps ten or twelve in number, stopped several
times and evidently looked hard down the slope. It must have been
a puzzling circumstance for Tull. Venters laughed grimly at the
thought of what Tull's rage would be when he finally discovered
the trick. Venters meant to sheer out into the sage before Tull
could possibly be sure who rode the blacks.

The gap closed to a distance to half a mile. Tull halted. His
riders came up and formed a dark group around him. Venters
thought he saw him wave his arms and was certain of it when the
riders dashed into the sage, to right and left of the trail. Tull
had anticipated just the move held in mind by Venters.

"Now Bess!" shouted Venters. "Strike north. Go round those riders
and turn west."

Black Star sailed over the low sage, and in a few leaps got into
his stride and was running. Venters spurred Night after him. It
was hard going in the sage. The horses could run as well there,
but keen eyesight and judgment must constantly be used by the
riders in choosing ground. And continuous swerving from aisle to
aisle between the brush, and leaping little washes and mounds of
the pack-rats, and breaking through sage, made rough riding. When
Venters had turned into a long aisle he had time to look up at
Tull's riders. They were now strung out into an extended line
riding northeast. And, as Venters and Bess were holding due
north, this meant, if the horses of Tull and his riders had the
speed and the staying power, they would head the blacks and turn
them back down the slope. Tull's men were not saving their
mounts; they were driving them desperately. Venters feared only
an accident to Black Star or Night, and skilful riding would
mitigate possibility of that. One glance ahead served to show him
that Bess could pick a course through the sage as well as he. She
looked neither back nor at the running riders, and bent forward
over Black Star's neck and studied the ground ahead.

It struck Venters, presently, after he had glanced up from time
to time, that Bess was drawing away from him as he had expected.
He had, however, only thought of the light weight Black Star was
carrying and of his superior speed; he saw now that the black was
being ridden as never before, except when Jerry Card lost the
race to Wrangle. How easily, gracefully, naturally, Bess sat her
saddle! She could ride! Suddenly Venters remembered she had said
she could ride. But he had not dreamed she was capable of such
superb horsemanship. Then all at once, flashing over him,
thrilling him, came the recollection that Bess was Oldring's
Masked Rider.

He forgot Tull--the running riders--the race. He let Night have a
free rein and felt him lengthen out to suit himself, knowing he
would keep to Black Star's course, knowing that he had been
chosen by the best rider now on the upland sage. For Jerry Card
was dead. And fame had rivaled him with only one rider, and that
was the slender girl who now swung so easily with Black Star's
stride. Venters had abhorred her notoriety, but now he took
passionate pride in her skill, her daring, her power over a
horse. And he delved into his memory, recalling famous rides
which he had heard related in the villages and round the
camp-fires. Oldring's Masked Rider! Many times this strange
rider, at once well known and unknown, had escaped pursuers by
matchless riding. He had to run the gantlet of vigilantes down
the main street of Stone Bridge, leaving dead horses and dead
rustlers behind. He had jumped his horse over the Gerber Wash, a
deep, wide ravine separating the fields of Glaze from the wild
sage. He had been surrounded north of Sterling; and he had broken
through the line. How often had been told the story of day
stampedes, of night raids, of pursuit, and then how the Masked
Rider, swift as the wind, was gone in the sage! A fleet, dark
horse--a slender, dark form--a black mask--a driving run down the
slope--a dot on the purple sage--a shadowy, muffled steed
disappearing in the night!

And this Masked Rider of the uplands had been Elizabeth Erne!

The sweet sage wind rushed in Venters's face and sang a song in
his ears. He heard the dull, rapid beat of Night's hoofs; he saw
Black Star drawing away, farther and farther. He realized both
horses were swinging to the west. Then gunshots in the rear
reminded him of Tull. Venters looked back. Far to the side,
dropping behind, trooped the riders. They were shooting. Venters
saw no puffs or dust, heard no whistling bullets. He was out of
range. When he looked back again Tull's riders had given up
pursuit. The best they could do, no doubt, had been to get near
enough to recognize who really rode the blacks. Venters saw Tull
drooping in his saddle.

Then Venters pulled Night out of his running stride. Those few
miles had scarcely warmed the black, but Venters wished to save
him. Bess turned, and, though she was far away, Venters caught
the white glint of her waving hand. He held Night to a trot and
rode on, seeing Bess and Black Star, and the sloping upward
stretch of sage, and from time to time the receding black riders
behind. Soon they disappeared behind a ridge, and he turned no
more. They would go back to Lassiter's trail and follow it, and
follow in vain. So Venters rode on, with the wind growing sweeter
to taste and smell, and the purple sage richer and the sky bluer
in his sight; and the song in his ears ringing. By and by Bess
halted to wait for him, and he knew she had come to the trail.
When he reached her it was to smile at sight of her standing with
arms round Black Star's neck.

"Oh, Bern! I love him!" she cried. "He's beautiful; he knows; and
how he can run! I've had fast horses. But Black Star!...Wrangle
never beat him!"

"I'm wondering if I didn't dream that. Bess, the blacks are
grand. What it must have cost Jane--ah!--well, when we get out of
this wild country with Star and Night, back to my old home in
Illinois, we'll buy a beautiful farm with meadows and springs and
cool shade. There we'll turn the horses free--free to roam and
browse and drink--never to feel a spur again--never to be
ridden!"

"I would like that," said Bess.

They rested. Then, mounting, they rode side by side up the white
trail. The sun rose higher behind them. Far to the left a low
fine of green marked the site of Cottonwoods. Venters looked once
and looked no more. Bess gazed only straight ahead. They put the
blacks to the long, swinging rider's canter, and at times pulled
them to a trot, and occasionally to a walk. The hours passed, the
miles slipped behind, and the wall of rock loomed in the fore.
The Notch opened wide. It was a rugged, stony pass, but with
level and open trail, and Venters and Bess ran the blacks through
it. An old trail led off to the right, taking the line of the
wall, and his Venters knew to be the trail mentioned by Lassiter.

The little hamlet, Glaze, a white and green patch in the vast
waste of purple, lay miles down a slope much like the Cottonwoods
slope, only this descended to the west. And miles farther west a
faint green spot marked the location of Stone Bridge. All the
rest of that world was seemingly smooth, undulating sage, with no
ragged lines of canyons to accentuate its wildness.

"Bess, we're safe--we're free!" said Venters. "We're alone on the
sage. We're half way to Sterling."

"Ah! I wonder how it is with Lassiter and Miss
Withersteen."

"Never fear, Bess. He'll outwit Tull. He'll get away and hide her
safely. He might climb into Surprise Valley, but I don't think
he'll go so far."

"Bern, will we ever find any place like our beautiful valley?"

"No. But, dear, listen. Well go back some day, after years--ten
years. Then we'll be forgotten. And our valley will be just as we
left it."

"What if Balancing Rock falls and closes the outlet to the Pass?"

"I've thought of that. I'll pack in ropes and ropes. And if the
outlet's closed we'll climb up the cliffs and over them to the
valley and go down on rope ladders. It could be done. I know just
where to make the climb, and I'll never forget."

"Oh yes, let us go back!"

"It's something sweet to look forward to. Bess, it's like all the
future looks to me."

"Call me--Elizabeth," she said, shyly.

"Elizabeth Erne! It's a beautiful name. But I'll never forget
Bess. Do you know--have you thought that very soon--by this time
to-morrow--you will be Elizabeth Venters?"

So they rode on down the old trail. And the sun sloped to the
west, and a golden sheen lay on the sage. The hours sped now; the
afternoon waned. Often they rested the horses. The glisten of a
pool of water in a hollow caught Venters's eye, and here he
unsaddled the blacks and let them roll and drink and browse. When
he and Bess rode up out of the hollow the sun was low, a crimson
ball, and the valley seemed veiled in purple fire and smoke. It
was that short time when the sun appeared to rest before setting,
and silence, like a cloak of invisible life, lay heavy on all
that shimmering world of sage.

They watched the sun begin to bury its red curve under the dark
horizon.

"We'll ride on till late," he said. "Then you can sleep a little,
while I watch and graze the horses. And we'll ride into Sterling
early to-morrow. We'll be married!...We'll be in time to catch
the stage. We'll tie Black Star and Night behind--and then--for a
country not wild and terrible like this!"

"Oh, Bern!...But look! The sun is setting on the sage--the last
time for us till we dare come again to the Utah border. Ten
years! Oh, Bern, look, so you will never forget!"

Slumbering, fading purple fire burned over the undulating sage
ridges. Long streaks and bars and shafts and spears fringed the
far western slope. Drifting, golden veils mingled with low,
purple shadows. Colors and shades changed in slow, wondrous
transformation.

Suddenly Venters was startled by a low, rumbling roar--so low
that it was like the roar in a sea-shell.

"Bess, did you hear anything?" he
whispered.

"No."

"Listen!...Maybe I only imagined--Ah!"

Out of the east or north from remote distance, breathed an
infinitely low, continuously long sound--deep, weird, detonating,
thundering, deadening--dying.

CHAPTER XXIII. THE FALL OF BALANCING ROCK

Through tear-blurred sight Jane Withersteen watched Venters and
Elizabeth Erne and the black racers disappear over the ridge of
sage.

"They're gone!" said Lassiter. "An' they're safe now. An'
there'll never be a day of their comin' happy lives but what
they'll remember Jane Withersteen an'--an' Uncle Jim!...I reckon,
Jane, we'd better be on our way."

The burros obediently wheeled and started down the break with
little cautious steps, but Lassiter had to leash the whining dogs
and lead them. Jane felt herself bound in a feeling that was
neither listlessness nor indifference, yet which rendered her
incapable of interest. She was still strong in body, but
emotionally tired. That hour at the entrance to Deception Pass
had been the climax of her suffering--the flood of her wrath--the
last of her sacrifice--the supremity of her love--and the
attainment of peace. She thought that if she had little Fay she
would not ask any more of life.

Like an automaton she followed Lassiter down the steep trail of
dust and bits of weathered stone; and when the little slides
moved with her or piled around her knees she experienced no
alarm. Vague relief came to her in the sense of being enclosed
between dark stone walls, deep hidden from the glare of sun, from
the glistening sage. Lassiter lengthened the stirrup straps on
one of the burros and bade her mount and ride close to him. She
was to keep the burro from cracking his little hard hoofs on
stones. Then she was riding on between dark, gleaming walls.
There were quiet and rest and coolness in this canyon. She noted
indifferently that they passed close under shady, bulging shelves
of cliff, through patches of grass and sage and thicket and
groves of slender trees, and over white, pebbly washes, and
around masses of broken rock. The burros trotted tirelessly; the
dogs, once more free, pattered tirelessly; and Lassiter led on
with never a stop, and at every open place he looked back. The
shade under the walls gave place to sunlight. And presently they
came to a dense thicket of slender trees, through which they
passed to rich, green grass and water. Here Lassiter rested the
burros for a little while, but he was restless, uneasy, silent,
always listening, peering under the trees. She dully reflected
that enemies were behind them--before them; still the thought
awakened no dread or concern or interest.

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