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to; yet he looked at the red corners and towers with the eyes of a rider picturing landmarks never to be forgotten.

Here he spent a panting moment in a slow-circling gaze of the sage-oval and the gaps between the bluffs. Nothing stirred except the gentle wave of the tips of the brush. Then he pressed on past the mouths of several caƱons and over ground new to him, now close under the eastern wall. This latter part proved to be easy traveling, well screened from possible observation from the north and west, and he soon covered it and felt safer in the deepening shade of his own caƱon. Then the huge, notched bulge of red rim loomed over him, a mark by which he knew again the deep cove where his camp lay hidden. As he penetrated the thicket, safe again for the present, his thoughts reverted to the girl he had left there. The afternoon had far advanced. How would he find her? He ran into camp, frightening the dogs.

The girl lay with wide-open, dark eyes, and they dilated when he knelt beside her. The flush of fever shone in her cheeks. He lifted her and held water to her dry lips, and felt an inexplicable sense of lightness as he saw her swallow in a slow, choking gulp. Gently he laid her back.

ā€œWhoā€”areā€”you?ā€ she whispered, haltingly.

ā€œIā€™m the man who shot you,ā€ he replied.

ā€œYouā€™llā€”notā€”kill meā€”now?ā€

ā€œNo, no.ā€

ā€œWhatā€”willā€”youā€”doā€”with me?ā€

ā€œWhen you get betterā€”strong enoughā€”Iā€™ll take you back to the caƱon where the rustlers ride through the waterfall.ā€

As with a faint shadow from a flitting wing overhead, the marble whiteness of her face seemed to change.

ā€œDonā€™tā€”takeā€”meā€”backā€”there!ā€

CHAPTER VI.
THE MILL-WHEEL OF STEERS

Meantime, at the ranch, when Judkinsā€™s news had sent Venters on the trail of the rustlers, Jane Withersteen led the injured man to her house and with skilled fingers dressed the gunshot wound in his arm.

ā€œJudkins, what do you think happened to my riders?ā€

ā€œIā€”I d rather not say,ā€ he replied.

ā€œTell me. Whatever youā€™ll tell me Iā€™ll keep to myself. Iā€™m beginning to worry about more than the loss of a herd of cattle. Venters hinted ofā€”but tell me, Judkins.ā€

ā€œWell, Miss Withersteen, I think as Venters thinksā€”your riders have been called in.ā€

ā€œJudkins!... By whom?ā€

ā€œYou know who handles the reins of your Mormon riders.ā€

ā€œDo you dare insinuate that my churchmen have ordered in my riders?ā€

ā€œI ainā€™t insinuatinā€™ nothinā€™, Miss Withersteen,ā€ answered Judkins, with spirit. ā€œI know what Iā€™m talking about. I didnā€™t want to tell you.ā€

ā€œOh, I canā€™t believe that! Iā€™ll not believe it! Would Tull leave my herds at the mercy of rustlers and wolves just becauseā€”becauseā€”? No, no! Itā€™s unbelievable.ā€

ā€œYes, thet particular thingā€™s onheard of around Cottonwoods. But, begginā€™ pardon, Miss Withersteen, there never was any other rich Mormon woman here on the border, let alone one thetā€™s taken the bit between her teeth.ā€

That was a bold thing for the reserved Judkins to say, but it did not anger her. This riderā€™s crude hint of her spirit gave her a glimpse of what others might think. Humility and obedience had been hers always. But had she taken the bit between her teeth? Still she wavered. And then, with quick spurt of warm blood along her veins, she thought of Black Star when he got the bit fast between his iron jaws and ran wild in the sage. If she ever started to run! Jane smothered the glow and burn within her, ashamed of a passion for freedom that opposed her duty.

ā€œJudkins, go to the village,ā€ she said, ā€œand when you have learned anything definite about my riders please come to me at once.ā€

When he had gone Jane resolutely applied her mind to a number of tasks that of late had been neglected. Her father had trained her in the management of a hundred employees and the working of gardens and fields; and to keep record of the movements of cattle and riders. And beside the many duties she had added to this work was one of extreme delicacy, such as required all her tact and ingenuity. It was an unobtrusive, almost secret aid which she rendered to the Gentile families of the village. Though Jane Withersteen never admitted so to herself, it amounted to no less than a system of charity. But for her invention of numberless kinds of employment, for which there was no actual need, these families of Gentiles, who had failed in a Mormon community, would have starved.

In aiding these poor people Jane thought she deceived her keen churchmen, but it was a kind of deceit for which she did not pray to be forgiven. Equally as difficult was the task of deceiving the Gentiles, for they were as proud as they were poor. It had been a great grief to her to discover how these people hated her people; and it had been a source of great joy that through her they had come to soften in hatred. At any time this work called for a clearness of mind that precluded anxiety and worry; but under the present circumstances it required all her vigor and obstinate tenacity to pin her attention upon her task.

Sunset came, bringing with the end of her labor a patient calmness and power to wait that had not been hers earlier in the day. She expected Judkins, but he did not appear. Her house was always quiet; to-night, however, it seemed unusually so. At supper her women served her with a silent assiduity; it spoke what their sealed lips could not utterā€”the sympathy of Mormon women. Jerd came to her with the key of the great door of the stone stable, and to make his daily report about the horses. One of his daily duties was to give Black Star and Night and the other racers a ten-mile run. This day it had been omitted, and the boy grew confused in explanations that she had not asked for. She did inquire if he would return on the morrow, and Jerd, in mingled surprise and relief, assured her he would always work for her. Jane missed the rattle and trot, canter and gallop of the incoming riders on the hard trails. Dusk shaded the grove where she walked; the birds ceased singing; the wind sighed through the leaves of the cottonwoods, and the running water murmured down its stone-bedded channel. The glimmering of the first star was like the peace and beauty of the night. Her faith welled up in her heart and said that all would soon be right in her little world. She pictured Venters about his lonely camp-fire sitting between his faithful dogs. She prayed for his safety, for the success of his undertaking.

Early the next morning one of Janeā€™s women brought in word that Judkins wished to speak to her. She hurried out, and in her surprise to see him armed with rifle and revolver, she forgot her intention to inquire about his wound.

ā€œJudkins! Those guns? You never carried guns.ā€

ā€œItā€™s high time, Miss Withersteen,ā€ he replied. ā€œWill you come into the grove? It ainā€™t jest exactly safe for me to be seen here.ā€

She walked with him into the shade of the cottonwoods.

ā€œWhat do you mean?ā€

ā€œMiss Withersteen, I went to my motherā€™s house last night. While there, some one knocked, anā€™ a man asked for me. I went to the door. He wore a mask. He said Iā€™d better not ride any more for Jane Withersteen. His voice was hoarse anā€™ strange, disguised I reckon, like his face. He said no more, anā€™ ran off in the dark.ā€

ā€œDid you know who he was?ā€ asked Jane, in a low voice.

ā€œYes.ā€

Jane did not ask to know; she did not want to know; she feared to know. All her calmness fled at a single thought.

ā€œThetā€™s why Iā€™m packinā€™ guns,ā€ went on Judkins. ā€œFor Iā€™ll never quit ridinā€™ for you, Miss Withersteen, till you let me go.ā€

ā€œJudkins, do you want to leave me?ā€

ā€œDo I look thet way? Give me a hossā€”a fast hoss, anā€™ send me out on the sage.ā€

ā€œOh, thank you, Judkins! Youā€™re more faithful than my own people. I ought not accept your loyaltyā€”you might suffer more through it. But what in the world can I do? My head whirls. The wrong to Ventersā€”the stolen herdā€”these masks, threats, this coil in the dark! I canā€™t understand! But I feel something dark and terrible closing in around me.ā€

ā€œMiss Withersteen, itā€™s all simple enough,ā€ said Judkins, earnestly. ā€œNow please listenā€”anā€™ begginā€™ your pardonā€”jest turn thet deaf Mormon ear aside, anā€™ let me talk clear anā€™ plain in the other. I went around to the saloons anā€™ the stores anā€™ the loafinā€™ places yesterday. All your riders are in. Thereā€™s talk of a vigilance band organized to hunt down rustlers. They call themselves ā€˜The Riders.ā€™ Thetā€™s the reportā€”thetā€™s the reason given for your riders leavinā€™ you. Strange thet only a few riders of other ranchers joined the band! Anā€™ Tullā€™s man, Jerry Cardā€”heā€™s the leader. I seen him enā€™ his hoss. He ainā€™t been to Glaze. Iā€™m not easy to fool on the looks of a hoss thetā€™s traveled the sage. Tull anā€™ Jerry didnā€™t ride to Glaze!... Well, I met Blake enā€™ Dorn, both good friends of mine, usually, as far as their Mormon lights will let ā€™em go. But these fellers couldnā€™t fool me, anā€™ they didnā€™t try very hard. I asked them, straight out like a man, why they left you like thet. I didnā€™t forget to mention how you nursed Blakeā€™s poor old mother when she was sick, anā€™ how good you was to Dornā€™s kids. They looked ashamed, Miss Withersteen. Anā€™ they jest froze upā€”thet dark set look thet makes them strange anā€™ different to me. But I could tell the difference between thet first natural twinge of conscience anā€™ the later look of some secret thing. Anā€™ the difference I caught was thet they couldnā€™t help themselves. They hadnā€™t no say in the matter. They looked as if their beinā€™ unfaithful to you was beinā€™ faithful to a higher duty. Anā€™ thereā€™s the secret. Why itā€™s as plain asā€”as sight of my gun here.ā€

ā€œPlain!... My herds to wander in the sageā€”to be stolen! Jane Withersteen a poor woman! Her head to be brought low and her spirit broken!... Why, Judkins, itā€™s plain enough.ā€

ā€œMiss Withersteen, let me get what boys I can gather, anā€™ hold the white herd. Itā€™s on the slope now, not ten miles outā€”three thousand head, anā€™ all steers. Theyā€™re wild, anā€™ likely to stampede at the pop of a jack-rabbitā€™s ears. Weā€™ll camp right with them, enā€™ try to hold them.ā€

ā€œJudkins, Iā€™ll reward you some day for your service, unless all is taken from me. Get the boys and tell Jerd to give you pick of my horses, except Black Star and Night. Butā€”do not shed blood for my cattle nor heedlessly risk your lives.ā€

Jane Withersteen rushed to the silence and seclusion of her room, and there could not longer hold back the bursting of her wrath. She went stone-blind in the fury of a passion that had never before showed its power. Lying upon her bed, sightless, voiceless, she was a writhing, living flame. And she tossed there while her fury burned and burned, and finally burned itself out.

Then, weak and spent, she lay thinking, not of the oppression that would break her, but of this new revelation of self. Until the last few days there had been little in her life to rouse passions. Her forefathers had been Vikings, savage chieftains who bore no cross and brooked no hindrance to their will. Her father had inherited that temper; and at times, like antelope fleeing before fire on the slope, his people fled from his red rages. Jane Withersteen realized that the spirit of wrath and war had lain dormant in her. She shrank from black depths hitherto unsuspected. The one thing in man or woman that she scorned above all scorn, and which she could not forgive, was hate. Hate headed a flaming pathway straight to hell. All in a flash, beyond her control there had been in her a birth of fiery hate. And the man who had dragged her peaceful and loving spirit to this degradation was a minister of Godā€™s word, an Elder of her church, the counselor of her beloved Bishop.

The loss of herds and ranges, even of Amber Spring and the Old Stone House, no longer concerned Jane Withersteen, she faced the foremost thought of her life, what she now considered the mightiest problemā€”the salvation of her soul.

She knelt by her bedside and prayed; she prayed as she had never prayed in all her lifeā€”prayed to be forgiven for her sin to be immune from that dark, hot hate; to love Tull as her minister, though she could not love him as a man; to do her duty by her church and

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