Zane Grey by Riders of the Purple Sage Read Free Book Online Page A

while it hovered over him, did not descend, for the rider waited for the twitching fingers, the downward flash of hand that did not come. Tull, gathering himself together, turned to the horses, attended by his pale comrades.

CHAPTER II
    COTTONWOODS
    Venters appeared too deeply moved to speak the gratitude his face expressed. And Jane turned upon the rescuer and gripped his hands. Her smiles and tears seemingly dazed him. Presently, as something like calmness returned, she went to Lassiter’s weary horse.
    â€œI will water him myself,” she said, and she led the horse to a trough under a huge old cottonwood. With nimble fingers she loosened the bridle and removed the bit. The horse snorted and bent his head. The trough was of solid stone, hollowed out, moss-covered and green and wet and cool, and the clear brown water that fed it spouted and splashed from a wooden pipe.
    â€œHe has brought you far to-day?”
    â€œYes, ma’am, a matter of over sixty miles, mebbe seventy.”
    â€œA long ride—a ride that— Ah, he is blind!”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” replied Lassiter.
    â€œWhat blinded him?”
    â€œSome men once roped an’ tied him, an’ then held white-hot iron close to his eyes.”
    â€œOh! Men? You mean devils. . . . Were they your enemies— Mormons?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œTo take revenge on a horse! Lassiter, the men of my creed are unnaturally cruel. To my everlasting sorrow I confess it. They have been driven, hated, scourged till their hearts have hardened. But we women hope and pray for the time when our men will soften.”
    â€œBeggin’ your pardon, ma’am—that time will never come.”
    â€œOh, it will! . . . Lassiter, do you think Mormon women wicked? Has your hand been against them, too?”
    â€œNo. I believe Mormon women are the best an’ noblest, the most long-sufferin’, and the blindest, unhappiest women on earth.”
    â€œAh!” She gave him a grave, thoughtful look. “Then you will break bread with me?”
    Lassiter had no ready response, and he uneasily shifted his weight from one leg to another, and turned his sombrero round and round in his hands. “Ma’am,” he began, presently, “I reckon your kindness of heart makes you overlook things. Perhaps I ain’t well known hereabouts, but back up North there’s Mormons who’d rest oneasy in their graves at the idea of me sittin’ to table with you.”
    â€œI dare say. But—will you do it anyway?” she asked.
    â€œMebbe you have a brother or relative who might drop in an’ be offended, an’ I wouldn’t want to—”
    â€œI’ve not a relative in Utah that I know of. There’s no one with a right to question my actions.” She turned smilingly to Venters. “You will come in, Bern, and Lassiter will come in. We’ll eat and be merry while we may.”
    â€œI’m only wonderin’ if Tull an’ his men ’ll raise a storm down in the village,” said Lassiter, in his last weakening stand.
    â€œYes, he’ll raise the storm—after he has prayed,” replied Jane. “Come.”
    She led the way, with the bridle of Lassiter’s horse over her arm. They entered a grove and walked down a wide path shaded by great low-branching cottonwoods. The last rays of the setting sun sent golden bars through the leaves. The grass was deep and rich, welcome contrast to sage-tired eyes. Twittering quail darted across the path, and from a tree-top somewhere a robin sang its evening song, and on the still air floated the freshness and murmur of flowing water.
    The home of Jane Withersteen stood in a circle of cottonwoods, and was a flat, long, red-stone structure, with a covered court in the center through which flowed a lively stream of amber-colored water. In the massive blocks of stone and heavy timbers and solid doors and shutters showed