another meeting with Lassiter and Jane, perhaps news of the rustlers; on the morrow he meant to take the trail to Deception Pass.
And while he waited he talked to his dogs. He called them Ring and Whitie; they were sheep-dogs, half collie, half deer-hound, superb in build, perfectly trained. It seemed that in his fallen fortunes these dogs understood the nature of their value to him, and governed their affection and faithfulness accordingly. Whitie watched him with somber eyes of love, and Ring, crouched on the little rise of ground above, kept tireless guard. When the sun rose, the white dog took the place of the other, and Ring went to sleep at his masterâs feet.
By-and-by Venters rolled up his blankets and tied them and his meager pack together, then climbed out to look for his horse. He saw him, presently, a little way off in the sage, and went to fetch him. In that country, where every rider boasted of a fine mount and was eager for a race, where thoroughbreds dotted the wonderful grazing ranges, Venters rode a horse that was sad proof of his misfortunes.
Then, with his back against a stone, Venters faced the east, and, stick in hand and idle blade, he waited. The glorious sunlight filled the valley with purple fire. 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 Withersteenâs old stone house. And from there extended the wide green of the village gardens and orchards marked by the graceful poplars; and farther down shone the deep, dark richness of the alfalfa fields. Numberless red and black and white dots speckled the sage, and these were cattle and horses.
So, watching and waiting, Venters let the time wear away. At length he saw a horse rise above a ridge, and he knew it to be Lassiterâs black. Climbing to the highest rock, so that he would show against the sky-line, he stood and waved his hat. The almost instant turning of Lassiterâs horse attested to the quickness of that riderâs eye. Then Venters climbed down, saddled his horse, tied on his pack, and, with a word to his dogs, was about to ride out to meet Lassiter, when he concluded to wait for him there, on higher ground, where the outlook was commanding.
It had been long since Venters had experienced friendly greeting from a man. Lassiterâs warmed in him something that had grown cold from neglect. And when he had returned it, with a strong grip of the iron hand that held his, and met the gray eyes, he knew that Lassiter and he were to be friends.
âVenters, letâs talk awhile before we go down there,â said Lassiter, slipping his bridle. âI ainât in no hurry. Themâs sure fine dogs youâve got.â With a riderâs eye he took in the points of Ventersâs horse, but did not speak his thought. âWell, did anythinâ come off after I left you last night?â
Venters told him about the rustlers.
âI was snug hid in the sage,â replied Lassiter, âanâ didnât see or hear no one. Oldrinâs got a high hand here, I reckon. Itâs no news up in Utah how he holes in cañons anâ leaves no track.â Lassiter was silent a moment. âMe anâ Oldrinâ wasnât exactly strangers some years back when he drove cattle into Bostilâs Ford, at the head of the Rio Virgin. But he got harassed there anâ now he drives some place else.â
âLassiter, you knew him? Tell me, is he Mormon or Gentile?â
âI canât say. Iâve knowed Mormons who pretended to be Gentiles.â
âNo Mormon ever pretended that unless he was a rustler,â declared Venters.
âMebbe so.â
âItâs a hard country for any one, but hardest for Gentiles. Did you ever know or hear of a Gentile prospering in a Mormon community?â
âI never
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