Riders of the Purple Sage by Zane Grey (best novels in english txt) 📗

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 boy! Jane’s sized up the situation. The burros’ll do for us. We’ll 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 talkin’ 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!”