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Updated: May 18, 2025
Mormon women don't marry for what they expect on earth. Take up the cross, Jane. Remember your father found Amber Spring, built these old houses, brought Mormons here, and fathered them. You are the daughter of Withersteen!" Jane left Mary Brandt and went to call upon other friends.
Jane Withersteen felt hell pursuing her, and dared not look back for fear she would fall from her horse. "Oh, Lassiter! Is he coming?" The grim rider looked over his shoulder, but said no word. Fay's golden hair floated on the breeze. The sun shone; the walls gleamed; the sage glistened. And then it seemed the sun vanished, the walls shaded, the sage paled.
"Never!" hissed Lassiter. His long arm leaped at her. Almost running, he dragged her under the cottonwoods, across the court, into the huge hall of Withersteen House, and he shut the door with a force that jarred the heavy walls. Black Star and Night and Bells, since their return, had been locked in this hall, and now they stamped on the stone floor.
Movement went on in the outer circle, and that, too, gradually stilled. The white herd had come to a stop, and the pall of yellow dust began to drift away on the wind. Jane Withersteen waited on the ridge with full and grateful heart. Lassiter appeared, making his weary way toward her through the sage. And up on the slope Judkins rode into sight with his troop of boys.
"But my riders where are they?" "I don't know. The night-riders weren't there last night when I rode down, en' this mornin' I met no day-riders." "Judkins! Bern, they've been set upon killed by Oldring's men!" "I don't think so," replied Venters, decidedly. "Jane, your riders haven't gone out in the sage." "Bern, what do you mean?" Jane Withersteen turned deathly pale.
"Why, Jane Withersteen, you are in danger of becoming a heretic! You can thank your Gentile friends for that. You face the damning of your soul to perdition." In the flux and reflux of the whirling torture of Jane's mind, that new, daring spirit of hers vanished in the old habitual order of her life. She was a Mormon, and the Bishop regained ascendance.
The Bishop was rather tall, of stout build, with iron-gray hair and beard, and eyes of light blue. They were merry now; but Jane had seen them when they were not, and then she feared him as she had feared her father. The women flocked around her in welcome. "Daughter of Withersteen," said the Bishop, gaily, as he took her hand, "you have not been prodigal of your gracious self of late.
An' it led me to the last lonely villages of the Utah border. Eighteen years!... I feel pretty old now. I was only twenty when I hit that trail. Well, as I told you, back here a ways a Gentile said Jane Withersteen could tell me about Milly Erne an' show me her grave!"
"That's a damnable lie!" cried Jane Withersteen. "It was what made me hesitate," went on Mrs. Larkin, "but I never believed it at heart. And now I guess I'll let you " "Wait! Mrs. Larkin, I may have told little white lies in my life, but never a lie that mattered, that hurt any one. Now believe me. I love little Fay. If I had her near me I'd grow to worship her.
Jane Withersteen laughed, and for the first time in many a day she felt a stir of her pulse and warmth in her cheek.
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