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Riders Of The Purple Sage








From: Riders Of The Purple Sage

Black Star and Night, answering to spur, swept swiftly westward

along the white, slow-rising, sage-bordered trail. Venters heard

a mournful howl from Ring, but Whitie was silent. The blacks

settled into their fleet, long-striding gallop. The wind sweetly

fanned Venters's hot face. From the summit of the first

low-swelling ridge he looked back. Lassiter waved his hand; Jane

waved her scarf. Venters replied by standing in his stirrups and

holding high his sombrero. Then the dip of the ridge hid them.

From the height of the next he turned once more. Lassiter, Jane,

and the burros had disappeared. They had gone down into the Pass.

Venters felt a sensation of irreparable loss.



"Bern--look!" called Bess, pointing up the long slope.



A small, dark, moving dot split the line where purple sage met

blue sky. That dot was a band of riders.



"Pull the black, Bess."



They slowed from gallop to canter, then to trot. The fresh and

eager horses did not like the check.



"Bern, Black Star has great eyesight."



"I wonder if they're Tull's riders. They might be rustlers. But

it's all the same to us."



The black dot grew to a dark patch moving under low dust clouds.

It grew all the time, though very slowly. There were long periods

when it was in plain sight, and intervals when it dropped behind

the sage. The blacks trotted for half an hour, for another

half-hour, and still the moving patch appeared to stay on the

horizon line. 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. I'll get down

and cinch up. We're in for some riding. Are you afraid?"



"Not now," answered the girl, smiling.



"You needn't be. Bess, you don't weigh enough to make Black Star

know you're on him. I won't be able to stay with you. You'll

leave Tull and his riders as if they were standing still."



"How about you?"



"Never fear. If I can't stay with you I can still laugh at

Tull."



"Look, Bern! They've stopped on that ridge. They see us."



"Yes. But we're too far yet for them to make out who we are.

They'll recognize the blacks first. We've passed most of the

ridges and the thickest sage. Now, when I give the word, let

Black Star go and ride!"



Venters calculated that a mile or more still intervened between

them and the riders. They were approaching at a swift canter.

Soon Venters recognized Tull's white horse, and concluded that

the riders had likewise recognized Black Star and Night. But it

would be impossible for Tull yet to see that the blacks were not

ridden by Lassiter and Jane. Venters noted that Tull and the line

of horsemen, perhaps ten or twelve in number, stopped several

times and evidently looked hard down the slope. It must have been

a puzzling circumstance for Tull. Venters laughed grimly at the

thought of what Tull's rage would be when he finally discovered

the trick. Venters meant to sheer out into the sage before Tull

could possibly be sure who rode the blacks.



The gap closed to a distance to half a mile. Tull halted. His

riders came up and formed a dark group around him. Venters

thought he saw him wave his arms and was certain of it when the

riders dashed into the sage, to right and left of the trail. Tull

had anticipated just the move held in mind by Venters.



"Now Bess!" shouted Venters. "Strike north. Go round those riders

and turn west."



Black Star sailed over the low sage, and in a few leaps got into

his stride and was running. Venters spurred Night after him. It

was hard going in the sage. The horses could run as well there,

but keen eyesight and judgment must constantly be used by the

riders in choosing ground. And continuous swerving from aisle to

aisle between the brush, and leaping little washes and mounds of

the pack-rats, and breaking through sage, made rough riding. When

Venters had turned into a long aisle he had time to look up at

Tull's riders. They were now strung out into an extended line

riding northeast. And, as Venters and Bess were holding due

north, this meant, if the horses of Tull and his riders had the

speed and the staying power, they would head the blacks and turn

them back down the slope. Tull's men were not saving their

mounts; they were driving them desperately. Venters feared only

an accident to Black Star or Night, and skilful riding would

mitigate possibility of that. One glance ahead served to show him

that Bess could pick a course through the sage as well as he. She

looked neither back nor at the running riders, and bent forward

over Black Star's neck and studied the ground ahead.



It struck Venters, presently, after he had glanced up from time

to time, that Bess was drawing away from him as he had expected.

He had, however, only thought of the light weight Black Star was

carrying and of his superior speed; he saw now that the black was

being ridden as never before, except when Jerry Card lost the

race to Wrangle. How easily, gracefully, naturally, Bess sat her

saddle! She could ride! Suddenly Venters remembered she had said

she could ride. But he had not dreamed she was capable of such

superb horsemanship. Then all at once, flashing over him,

thrilling him, came the recollection that Bess was Oldring's

Masked Rider.



He forgot Tull--the running riders--the race. He let Night have a

free rein and felt him lengthen out to suit himself, knowing he

would keep to Black Star's course, knowing that he had been

chosen by the best rider now on the upland sage. For Jerry Card

was dead. And fame had rivaled him with only one rider, and that

was the slender girl who now swung so easily with Black Star's

stride. Venters had abhorred her notoriety, but now he took

passionate pride in her skill, her daring, her power over a

horse. And he delved into his memory, recalling famous rides

which he had heard related in the villages and round the

camp-fires. Oldring's Masked Rider! Many times this strange

rider, at once well known and unknown, had escaped pursuers by

matchless riding. He had to run the gantlet of vigilantes down

the main street of Stone Bridge, leaving dead horses and dead

rustlers behind. He had jumped his horse over the Gerber Wash, a

deep, wide ravine separating the fields of Glaze from the wild

sage. He had been surrounded north of Sterling; and he had broken

through the line. How often had been told the story of day

stampedes, of night raids, of pursuit, and then how the Masked

Rider, swift as the wind, was gone in the sage! A fleet, dark

horse--a slender, dark form--a black mask--a driving run down the

slope--a dot on the purple sage--a shadowy, muffled steed

disappearing in the night!



And this Masked Rider of the uplands had been Elizabeth Erne!



The sweet sage wind rushed in Venters's face and sang a song in

his ears. He heard the dull, rapid beat of Night's hoofs; he saw

Black Star drawing away, farther and farther. He realized both

horses were swinging to the west. Then gunshots in the rear

reminded him of Tull. Venters looked back. Far to the side,

dropping behind, trooped the riders. They were shooting. Venters

saw no puffs or dust, heard no whistling bullets. He was out of

range. When he looked back again Tull's riders had given up

pursuit. The best they could do, no doubt, had been to get near

enough to recognize who really rode the blacks. Venters saw Tull

drooping in his saddle.



Then Venters pulled Night out of his running stride. Those few

miles had scarcely warmed the black, but Venters wished to save

him. Bess turned, and, though she was far away, Venters caught

the white glint of her waving hand. He held Night to a trot and

rode on, seeing Bess and Black Star, and the sloping upward

stretch of sage, and from time to time the receding black riders

behind. Soon they disappeared behind a ridge, and he turned no

more. They would go back to Lassiter's trail and follow it, and

follow in vain. So Venters rode on, with the wind growing sweeter

to taste and smell, and the purple sage richer and the sky bluer

in his sight; and the song in his ears ringing. By and by Bess

halted to wait for him, and he knew she had come to the trail.

When he reached her it was to smile at sight of her standing with

arms round Black Star's neck.



"Oh, Bern! I love him!" she cried. "He's beautiful; he knows; and

how he can run! I've had fast horses. But Black Star!...Wrangle

never beat him!"



"I'm wondering if I didn't dream that. Bess, the blacks are

grand. What it must have cost Jane--ah!--well, when we get out of

this wild country with Star and Night, back to my old home in

Illinois, we'll buy a beautiful farm with meadows and springs and

cool shade. There we'll turn the horses free--free to roam and

browse and drink--never to feel a spur again--never to be

ridden!"



"I would like that," said Bess.



They rested. Then, mounting, they rode side by side up the white

trail. The sun rose higher behind them. Far to the left a low

fine of green marked the site of Cottonwoods. Venters looked once

and looked no more. Bess gazed only straight ahead. They put the

blacks to the long, swinging rider's canter, and at times pulled

them to a trot, and occasionally to a walk. The hours passed, the

miles slipped behind, and the wall of rock loomed in the fore.

The Notch opened wide. It was a rugged, stony pass, but with

level and open trail, and Venters and Bess ran the blacks through

it. An old trail led off to the right, taking the line of the

wall, and his Venters knew to be the trail mentioned by Lassiter.



The little hamlet, Glaze, a white and green patch in the vast

waste of purple, lay miles down a slope much like the Cottonwoods

slope, only this descended to the west. And miles farther west a

faint green spot marked the location of Stone Bridge. All the

rest of that world was seemingly smooth, undulating sage, with no

ragged lines of canyons to accentuate its wildness.



"Bess, we're safe--we're free!" said Venters. "We're alone on the

sage. We're half way to Sterling."



"Ah! I wonder how it is with Lassiter and Miss

Withersteen."



"Never fear, Bess. He'll outwit Tull. He'll get away and hide her

safely. He might climb into Surprise Valley, but I don't think

he'll go so far."



"Bern, will we ever find any place like our beautiful valley?"



"No. But, dear, listen. Well go back some day, after years--ten

years. Then we'll be forgotten. And our valley will be just as we

left it."



"What if Balancing Rock falls and closes the outlet to the Pass?"



"I've thought of that. I'll pack in ropes and ropes. And if the

outlet's closed we'll climb up the cliffs and over them to the

valley and go down on rope ladders. It could be done. I know just

where to make the climb, and I'll never forget."



"Oh yes, let us go back!"



"It's something sweet to look forward to. Bess, it's like all the

future looks to me."



"Call me--Elizabeth," she said, shyly.



"Elizabeth Erne! It's a beautiful name. But I'll never forget

Bess. Do you know--have you thought that very soon--by this time

to-morrow--you will be Elizabeth Venters?"



So they rode on down the old trail. And the sun sloped to the

west, and a golden sheen lay on the sage. The hours sped now; the

afternoon waned. Often they rested the horses. The glisten of a

pool of water in a hollow caught Venters's eye, and here he

unsaddled the blacks and let them roll and drink and browse. When

he and Bess rode up out of the hollow the sun was low, a crimson

ball, and the valley seemed veiled in purple fire and smoke. It

was that short time when the sun appeared to rest before setting,

and silence, like a cloak of invisible life, lay heavy on all

that shimmering world of sage.



They watched the sun begin to bury its red curve under the dark

horizon.



"We'll ride on till late," he said. "Then you can sleep a little,

while I watch and graze the horses. And we'll ride into Sterling

early to-morrow. We'll be married!...We'll be in time to catch

the stage. We'll tie Black Star and Night behind--and then--for a

country not wild and terrible like this!"



"Oh, Bern!...But look! The sun is setting on the sage--the last

time for us till we dare come again to the Utah border. Ten

years! Oh, Bern, look, so you will never forget!"



Slumbering, fading purple fire burned over the undulating sage

ridges. Long streaks and bars and shafts and spears fringed the

far western slope. Drifting, golden veils mingled with low,

purple shadows. Colors and shades changed in slow, wondrous

transformation.



Suddenly Venters was startled by a low, rumbling roar--so low

that it was like the roar in a sea-shell.



"Bess, did you hear anything?" he

whispered.



"No."



"Listen!...Maybe I only imagined--Ah!"



Out of the east or north from remote distance, breathed an

infinitely low, continuously long sound--deep, weird, detonating,

thundering, deadening--dying.





Next: The Fall Of Balancing Rock

Previous: Black Star And Night



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