Riders of the Purple Sage, Zane Grey [best classic novels TXT] 📗

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; tonight, however, it seemed unusually so. At supper her women served her with a silent assiduity; it spoke what their sealed lips could not utter⁠—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 campfire sitting between his faithful dogs. She prayed for his safety, for the success of his undertaking.

Early the next morning one of Jane’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.

“Judkins! Those guns? You never carried guns.”

“It’s high time, Miss Withersteen,” he replied. “Will you come into the grove? It ain’t jest exactly safe for me to be seen here.”

She walked with him into the shade of the cottonwoods.

“What do you mean?”

“Miss Withersteen, I went to my mother’s house last night. While there, someone knocked, an’ a man asked for me. I went to the door. He wore a mask. He said I’d better not ride any more for Jane Withersteen. His voice was hoarse an’ strange, disguised I reckon, like his face. He said no more, an’ ran off in the dark.”

“Did you know who he was?” asked Jane, in a low voice.

“Yes.”

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

“Thet’s why I’m packin’ guns,” went on Judkins. “For I’ll never quit ridin’ for you, Miss Withersteen, till you let me go.”

“Judkins, do you want to leave me?”

“Do I look thet way? Give me a hoss⁠—a fast hoss, an’ send me out on the sage.”

“Oh, thank you, Judkins! You’re more faithful than my own people. I ought not accept your loyalty⁠—you might suffer more through it. But what in the world can I do? My head whirls. The wrong to Venters⁠—the stolen herd⁠—these masks, threats, this coil in the dark! I can’t understand! But I feel something dark and terrible closing in around me.”

“Miss Withersteen, it’s all simple enough,” said Judkins, earnestly. “Now please listen⁠—an’ beggin’ your pardon⁠—jest turn thet deaf Mormon ear aside, an’ let me talk clear an’ plain in the other. I went around to the saloons an’ the stores an’ the loafin’ places yesterday. All your riders are in. There’s talk of a vigilance band organized to hunt down rustlers. They call themselves ‘The Riders.’ Thet’s the report⁠—thet’s the reason given for your riders leavin’ you. Strange thet only a few riders of other ranchers joined the band! An’ Tull’s man, Jerry Card⁠—he’s the leader. I seen him en’ his hoss. He ain’t been to Glaze. I’m not easy to fool on the looks of a hoss thet’s traveled the sage. Tull an’ Jerry didn’t ride to Glaze!⁠ ⁠… Well, I met Blake en’ Dorn, both good friends of mine, usually, as far as their Mormon lights will let ’em go. But these fellers couldn’t fool me, an’ they didn’t try very hard. I asked them, straight out like a man, why they left you like thet. I didn’t forget to mention how you nursed Blake’s poor old mother when she was sick, an’ how good you was to Dorn’s kids. They looked ashamed, Miss Withersteen. An’ they jest froze up⁠—thet dark set look thet makes them strange an’ different to me. But I could tell the difference between thet first natural twinge of conscience an’ the later look of some secret thing. An’ the difference I caught was thet they couldn’t help themselves. They hadn’t no say in the matter. They looked as if their bein’ unfaithful to you was bein’ faithful to a higher duty. An’ there’s the secret. Why it’s as plain as⁠—as sight of my gun here.”

“Plain!⁠ ⁠… My herds to wander in the sage⁠—to be stolen! Jane Withersteen a poor woman! Her head to be brought low and her spirit broken!⁠ ⁠… Why, Judkins, it’s plain enough.”

“Miss Withersteen, let me get what boys I can gather, an’ hold the white herd. It’s on the slope now, not ten miles out⁠—three thousand head, an’ all steers. They’re wild, an’ likely to stampede at the pop of a jackrabbit’s ears. We’ll camp right with them, en’ try to hold them.”

“Judkins, I’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. But⁠—do not shed blood