the perilous. The whole scene impressed Venters as a wild,
austere, and mightymanifestation of nature. And as it somehow

reminded him of his prospect in life, so it suddenly resembled
the woman near him, only in her there were greater beauty and

peril, a mystery more unsolvable, and something nameless that
numbed his heart and dimmed his eye.

"Look! A rider!" exclaimed Jane, breaking the silence. "Can that
be Lassiter?"

Venters moved his glance once more to the west. A horseman showed
dark on the sky-line, then merged into the color of the sage.

"It might be. But I think not--that fellow was coming in. One of
your riders, more likely. Yes, I see him clearly now. And there's

another."
"I see them, too."

"Jane, your riders seem as many as the bunches of sage. I ran
into five yesterday 'way down near the trail to Deception Pass.

They were with the white herd."
"You still go to that canyon? Bern, I wish you wouldn't. Oldring

and his rustlers live somewhere down there."
"Well, what of that?"

"Tull has already hinted to your frequent trips into Deception
Pass."

"I 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 the nearest is in the canyon. I must drink and
water my horse. There! I see more riders. They are going out."

"The 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.
"I hope they don't meet Lassiter," said Jane.

"So 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."
"Bern, who is Lassiter? He's only a name to me--a terrible name."

"Who 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?"

"Yes. 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?"

"Jane, 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 a
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.

"Hello! the sage-dogs are barking," said Venters.
"I 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."
"Jane, you couldn't listen to sweeter music, nor could I have a

better bed."
"Just 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 may help us. You might

do some service to the village--who can tell? Suppose you
discovered the long-unknown hiding-place of Oldring and his band,

and told it to my riders? That would disarm Tull's ugly hints and
put you in favor. For years my riders have trailed the tracks of

stolen cattle. You know as well as I how dearly we've paid for
our ranges in this wild country. Oldring drives our cattle down

into the network of deceiving canyons, and somewhere far to the
north or east he drives them up and out to Utah markets. If you

will spend time in Deception Pass try to find the trails."
"Jane, I've thought of that. I'll try."

"I must go now. And it hurts, for now I'll never be sure of
seeing you again. But to-morrow, Bern?"

"To-morrow surely. I'll watch for Lassiter and ride in with him."
"Good night."

Then she left him and moved away, a white, gliding shape that
soon vanished in the shadows.

Venters waited until the faint slam of a door assured him she had
reached the house, and then, taking up his rifle, he noiselessly

slipped through the bushes, down the knoll, and on under the dark
trees to the edge of the grove. The sky was now turning from gray

to blue; stars had begun to lighten the earlier blackness; and
from the wide flat sweep before him blew a cool wind, fragrant

with the breath of sage. Keeping close to the edge of the
cottonwoods, he went swiftly and silentlywestward. The grove was

long, and he had not reached the end when he heard something that
brought him to a halt. Low padded thuds told him horses were

coming this way. He sank down in the gloom, waiting, listening.
Much before he had expected, judging from sound, to his amazement

he descried horsemen near at hand. They were riding along the
border of the sage, and instantly he knew the hoofs of the horses

were muffled. Then the pale starlight afforded him indistinct
sight of the riders. But his eyes were keen and used to the dark,

and by peering closely he recognized the huge bulk and
black-bearded visage of Oldring and the lithe, supple form of the

rustler's lieutenant, a masked rider. They passed on; the
darkness swallowed them. Then, farther out on the sage, a dark,

compact body of horsemen went by, almost without sound, almost
like specters, and they, too, melted into the night.

CHAPTER III. AMBER SPRING