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Updated: May 15, 2025
Jane Withersteen's common sense took arms against the binding limits of her religion; and she doubted that her Bishop, whom she had been taught had direct communication with God would damn her soul for refusing to marry a Mormon.
No thought came to him of the defiance and boldness of riding Jane Withersteen's racers straight into the arch-plotter's stronghold. He wanted men to see the famous Arabians; he wanted men to see them dirty and dusty, bearing all the signs of having been driven to their limit; he wanted men to see and to know that the thieves who had ridden them out into the sage had not ridden them back.
Before him, to left, to right, waving, rolling, sinking, rising, like low swells of a purple sea, stretched the sage. Out of the grove of cottonwoods, a green patch on the purple, gleamed the dull red of Jane Withersteen's old stone house.
Get what things you want to take with you." "Oh yes Mother Jane, let us hurry!" cried Fay. "I'm so full I can't talk my heart hurts so!" Jane Withersteen's face shone with an exceedingly radiant light, and a glory blended with a terrible fear in her eyes. "Fay! my little Fay!" Lassiter had stood there with his mild, clear blue eyes upon Shefford.
The question flung itself in-voluntarily over Jane Withersteen's inhibitive habit of faith without question. And she refused to answer it. Tull could not fight in the open Venters had said, Lassiter had said, that her Elder shirked fight and worked in the dark. Just now in this meeting Tull had ignored the fact that he had sued, exhorted, demanded that she marry him. He made no mention of Venters.
New-born thought of self, ringing vibrantly in her voice, gave her answer singular power. Venters trembled, and then swiftly turned his gaze from her face from her eyes. He knew what she had only half divined that she loved him. At Jane Withersteen's home the promise made to Mrs. Larkin to care for little Fay had begun to be fulfilled.
"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.
Recalling Jane Withersteen's devoted assurance that Night could run neck and neck with Wrangle, and Black Star could show his heels to him, Venters wished that Jane were there to see the race to recover her blacks and in the unqualified superiority of the giant sorrel. Then Venters found himself thankful that she was absent, for he meant that race to end in Jerry Card's death.
So he hurried onward, with quick soft steps. Once beyond the grove he entered the one and only street. It was wide, lined with tall poplars, and under each row of trees, inside the foot-path, were ditches where ran the water from Jane Withersteen's spring. Between the trees twinkled lights of cottage candles, and far down flared bright windows of the village stores.
Wait till he smells the sage!" "Jerd, this horse is an iron-jawed devil. I never straddled him but once. Run? Say, he's swift as wind!" When Venters's boot touched the stirrup the sorrel bolted, giving him the rider's flying mount. The swing of this fiery horse recalled to Venters days that were not really long past, when he rode into the sage as the leader of Jane Withersteen's riders.
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