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Gradually, however, as time passed, it began to enlarge, to creep down the slope, to encroach upon the intervening distance. "Bess, what do you make them out?" asked Venters. "I don't think they're rustlers." "They're sage-riders," replied Bess. "I see a white horse and several grays. Rustlers seldom ride any horses but bays and blacks." "That white horse is Tull's. Pull the black, Bess.
Venters knew he wasted time in pondering the question, but it held a fascination not easily dispelled. For many years Oldring's mysterious entrance and exit to Deception Pass had been all-absorbing topics to sage-riders. All at once the dog put an end to Venters's pondering. Ring sniffed the air, turned slowly in his tracks with a whine, and then growled. Venters wheeled.
He was only proving what the sage-riders had long said of this labyrinthine system of deceitful canyons and valleys trails led down into Deception Pass, but no rider had ever followed them. On a sudden he heard above the soft roar of the waterfall an unusual sound that he could not define. He dropped flat behind a stone and listened.
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