She looked sad as she spoke, but she offered no explanation for the neglect of an unmarked, uncared-for grave. There was a little bunch of pale, sweet lavender daisies, doubtless planted there by Jane. “I only come here to remember and to pray,” she said. “But I leave no trail!” A grave in the sage! How lonely this resting-place of Milly Erne! The cottonwoods or the alfalfa fields were not in sight, nor was there any rock or ridge or cedar to lend contrast to the monotony. Gray slopes, tinging the purple, barren and wild, with the wind waving the sage, swept away to the dim horizon. Lassiter looked at the grave and then out into space. At that moment he seemed a figure of bronze. Jane touched Venters’s arm and led him back to the horses. “Bern!” cried Jane, when they were out of hearing. “Suppose Lassiter were Milly’s husband—the father of that little girl lost so long ago!” “It might be, Jane. Let us ride on. If he wants to see us again he’ll come.” So they mounted and rode out to the cattle trail and began to climb. From the height of the ridge, where they had started down, Venters looked back. He did not see Lassiter, but his glance, drawn irresistibly farther out on the gradual slope, caught sight of a moving cloud of dust. “Hello, a rider!” “Yes, I see,” said Jane. “That fellow’s riding hard. Jane, there’s something wrong.” “Oh yes, there must be.... How he rides!” The horse disappeared in the sage, and then puffs of dust marked his course. “He’s short-cut on us—he’s making straight for the corrals.” Venters and Jane galloped their steeds and reined in at the turning of the lane. This lane led down to the right of the grove. Suddenly into its lower entrance flashed a bay horse. Then Venters caught the fast rhythmic beat of pounding hoofs. Soon his keen eye recognized the swing of the rider in his saddle. “It’s Judkins, your Gentile rider!” he cried. “Jane, when Judkins rides like that it means hell!” CHAPTER IV. DECEPTION PASS The rider thundered up and almost threw his foam-flecked horse in the sudden stop. He was a giant form, and with fearless eyes. “Judkins, you’re all bloody!” cried Jane, in affright. “Oh, you’ve been shot!” “Nothin’ much Miss Withersteen. I got a nick in the shoulder. I’m some wet an’ the hoss’s been throwin’ lather, so all this ain’t blood.” “What’s up?” queried Venters, sharply. “Rustlers sloped off with the red herd.” “Where are my riders?” demanded Jane. “Miss Withersteen, I was alone all night with the herd. At daylight this mornin’ the rustlers rode down. They began to shoot at me on sight. They chased me hard an’ far, burnin’ powder all the time, but I got away.” “Jud, they meant to kill you,” declared Venters. “Now I wonder,” returned Judkins. “They wanted me bad. An’ it ain’t regular for rustlers to waste time chasin’ one rider.” “Thank heaven you got away,” said Jane. “But my riders—where are they?”