“Venters, ride straight on up the slope,” Lassiter was saying, “’an if you don’t meet any riders keep on till you’re a few miles from the village, then cut off in the sage an’ go round to the trail. But you’ll most likely meet riders with Tull. Jest keep right on till you’re jest out of gunshot an’ then make your cut-off into the sage. They’ll ride after you, but it won’t be no use. You can ride, an’ Bess can ride. When you’re out of reach turn on round to the west, an’ hit the trail somewhere. Save the hosses all you can, but don’t be afraid. Black Star and Night are good for a hundred miles before sundown, if you have to push them. You can get to Sterlin’ by night if you want. But better make it along about to-morrow mornin’. When you get through the notch on the Glaze trail, swing to the right. You’ll be able to see both Glaze an’ Stone Bridge. Keep away from them villages. You won’t run no risk of meetin’ any of Oldrin’s rustlers from Sterlin’ on. You’ll find water in them deep hollows north of the Notch. There’s an old trail there, not much used, en’ it leads to Sterlin’. That’s your trail. An’ one thing more. If Tull pushes you—or keeps on persistent-like, for a few miles—jest let the blacks out an’ lose him an’ his riders.” “Lassiter, may we meet again!” said Venters, in a deep voice. “Son, it ain’t likely—it ain’t likely. Well, Bess Oldrin’—Masked Rider—Elizabeth Erne—now you climb on Black Star. I’ve heard you could ride. Well, every rider loves a good horse. An’, lass, there never was but one that could beat Black Star.” “Ah, Lassiter, there never was any horse that could beat Black Star,” said Jane, with the old pride. “I often wondered—mebbe Venters rode out that race when he brought back the blacks. Son, was Wrangle the best hoss?” “No, Lassiter,” replied Venters. For this lie he had his reward in Jane’s quick smile. “Well, well, my hoss-sense ain’t always right. An’ here I’m talkin’ a lot, wastin’ time. It ain’t so easy to find an’ lose a pretty niece all in one hour! Elizabeth—good-by!” “Oh, Uncle Jim!... Good-by!” “Elizabeth Erne, be happy! Good-by,” said Jane. “Good-by—oh—good-by!” In lithe, supple action Bess swung up to Black Star’s saddle. “Jane Withersteen!... Good-by!” called Venters hoarsely. “Bern—Bess—riders of the purple sage—good-by!” CHAPTER XXII. RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE