Latter Day Saint women -- Fiction; Polygamy -- Fiction; Utah -- Fiction; Western stories; Women ranchers -- Fiction
“No. I want to take Bess out of Utah. Lassiter, Bess found gold in the
valley. We’ve a saddle-bag full of gold. If we can reach Sterling—”
“Man! how’re you ever goin’ to do that? Sterlin’ is a hundred miles.”
“My plan is to ride on, keeping sharp lookout. Somewhere up the trail
we’ll take to the sage and go round Cottonwoods and then hit the trail
again.”
“It’s a bad plan. You’ll kill the burros in two days.”
“Then we’ll walk.”
“That’s more bad an’ worse. Better go back down the Pass with me.”
“Lassiter, this girl has been hidden all her life in that lonely
place,” went on Venters. “Oldring’s men are hunting me. We’d not be
safe there any longer. Even if we would be I’d take this chance to get
her out. I want to marry her. She shall have some of the pleasures of
life—see cities and people. We’ve gold—we’ll be rich. Why, life opens
sweet for both of us. And, by Heaven! I’ll get her out or lose my life
in the attempt!”
“I reckon if you go on with them burros you’ll lose your life all
right. Tull will have riders all over this sage. You can’t get out on
them burros. It’s a fool idea. That’s not doin’ best by the girl. Come
with me en’ take chances on the rustlers.”
Lassiter’s cool argument made Venters waver, not in determination to
go, but in hope of success.
“Bess, I want you to know. Lassiter says the trip’s almost useless now.
I’m afraid he’s right. We’ve got about one chance in a hundred to go
through. Shall we take it? Shall we go on?”
“We’ll go on,” replied Bess.
“That settles it, Lassiter.”
Lassiter spread wide his hands, as if to signify he could do no more,
and his face clouded.
Venters felt a touch on his elbow. Jane stood beside him with a hand on
his arm. She was smiling. Something radiated from her, and like an
electric current accelerated the motion of his blood.
“Bern, you’d be right to die rather than not take Elizabeth out of
Utah—out of this wild country. You must do it. You’ll show her the
great world, with all its wonders. Think how little she has seen! Think
what delight is in store for her! You have gold, You will be free; you
will make her happy. What a glorious prospect! I share it with you.
I’ll think of you—dream of you—pray for you.”
“Thank you, Jane,” replied Venters, trying to steady his voice. “It
does look bright. Oh, if we were only across that wide, open waste of
sage!”
“Bern, the trip’s as good as made. It’ll be safe—easy. It’ll be a
glorious ride,” she said, softly.
Venters stared. Had Jane’s troubles made her insane? Lassiter, too,
acted queerly, all at once beginning to turn his sombrero round in
hands that actually shook.
“You are a rider. She is a rider. This will be the ride of your lives,”
added Jane, in that same soft undertone, almost as if she were musing
to herself.
“Jane!” he cried.
“I give you Black Star and Night!”
“_Black Star and Night!_” he echoed.
“It’s done. Lassiter, put our saddle-bags on the burros.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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