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Updated: June 13, 2025
The wind roared in her ears; the gleaming cliffs swept by; trail and sage and grass moved under her. Lassiter's bandaged, blood-stained face turned to her; he shouted encouragement; he looked back down the Pass; he spurred his horse. Jane clung on, spurring likewise. And the horses settled from hard, furious gallop into a long-striding, driving run.
Instead of a house they found only fire-blackened foundations of stone, enclosing an area of compact ashes pitted by rains. Lassiter's astonishment was extreme. "I could not find the right way to tell you," said Albro. "In the fight a year ago your house was burned by a Federal shell." "And my family where are they?" "In Heaven, I hope. All were killed by the shell."
No other visitor came to Withersteen House during those days. So that in spite of watchfulness he never forgot, Lassiter began to show he felt at home there. After the meal they walked into the grove of cottonwoods or up by the lakes, and little Fay held Lassiter's hand as much as she held Jane's. Thus a strange relationship was established, and Jane liked it.
She could not pray; she could not rail; she no longer cared for herself. All of life, of good, of use in the world, of hope in heaven entered in Lassiter's ride with little Fay to safety. She would have tried to turn the iron-jawed brute she rode, she would have given herself to that relentless, dark-browed Tull. But she knew Lassiter would turn with her, so she rode on and on.
Venters's agitation stilled to the trace of suppressed eagerness in Lassiter's query. "Milly Erne's story? Well, Lassiter, I'll tell you what I know. Milly Erne had been in Cottonwoods years when I first arrived there, and most of what I tell you happened before my arrival. I got to know her pretty well. She was a slip of a woman, and crazy on religion.
Presently she heard him speaking low at first, then in louder accents emphasized by the thumping of his rifle on the stones. "As infernal a job as even you, Lassiter, ever heerd of." "Why, son," was Lassiter's reply, "this breakin' of Miss Withersteen may seem bad to you, but it ain't bad yet.
But I figgered we might need them some day. They won't be stylish, but I reckon they'll do better 'n these skins. An' there's an old coat thet was Venters's." The mild, dreamy look became intensified in Lassiter's eyes. "Did Venters have any hosses when you knowed him?" he asked. "He had a farm full of horses," replied Shefford, with a smile.
Venters concluded that the rustlers had not passed along the village street. No doubt these earnest men were discussing Lassiter's coming. But Venters felt positive that Tull's intention toward himself that day had not been and would not be revealed. So Venters, seeing there was little for him to learn, began retracing his steps.
How she had fallen how broken and spiritless must she be to have still the same old horror of Lassiter's guns and his name, yet feel somehow a cold, shrinking protection in their law and might and use. "Did you trail Venters find his wonderful valley?" she asked, eagerly. "Yes, an' I reckon it's sure a wonderful place." "Is he safe there?" "That's been botherin' me some.
"Love your enemies as yourself!" was a divine word, entirely free from any church or creed. Jane's meditations were disturbed by Lassiter's soft, tinkling step in the court. Always he wore the clinking spurs. Always he was in readiness to ride. She passed out and called him into the huge, dim hall. "I think you'll be safer here. The court is too open," she said. "I reckon," replied Lassiter.
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