I reckon into the house.  Jane Withersteen, you know, never locked a door!  This here grove’s a hummin’ bee-hive of mysterious happenin’s.  Jane, it ain’t so much that these soles keep out of my way as me keepin’ out of theirs.  They’re goin’ to try to kill me.  That’s plain.  But mebbe I’m as hard to shoot in the back as in the face.  So far I’ve seen fit to watch only.  This all means, Jane, that you’re a marked woman.  You can’t get away—­ not now.  Mebbe later, when you’re broken, you might.  But that’s sure doubtful.  Jane, you’re to lose the cattle that’s left—­your home en’ ranch—­en’ amber Spring.  You can’t even hide a sack of gold!  For it couldn’t be slipped out of the house, day or night, an’ hid or buried, let alone be rid off with.  You may lose all.  I’m tellin’ you, Jane, hopin’ to prepare you, if the worst does come.  I told you once before about that strange power I’ve got to feel things.”

“Lassiter, what can I do?”

“Nothin’, I reckon, except know what’s comin’ an’ wait an’ be game.  If you’d let me make a call on Tull, an’ a long-deferred call on—­”

“Hush!...Hush!” she whispered.

“Well, even that wouldn’t help you any in the end.”

“What does it mean?  Oh, what does it mean?  I am my father’s daughter—­a Mormon, yet I can’t see!  I’ve not failed in religion—­in duty.  For years I’ve given with a free and full heart.  When my father died I was rich.  If I’m still rich it’s because I couldn’t find enough ways to become poor.  What am I, what are my possessions to set in motion such intensity of secret oppression?”

“Jane, the mind behind it all is an empire builder.”

“But, Lassiter, I would give freely—­all I own to avert this—­this wretched thing.  If I gave—­that would leave me with faith still.  Surely my—­my churchmen think of my soul?  If I lose my trust in them—­”

“Child, be still!” said Lassiter, with a dark dignity that had in it something of pity.  “You are a woman, fine en’ big an’ strong, an’ your heart matches your size.  But in mind you’re a child.  I’ll say a little more—­then I’m done.  I’ll never mention this again.  Among many thousands of women you’re one who has bucked against your churchmen.  They tried you out, an’ failed of persuasion, an’ finally of threats.  You meet now the cold steel of a will as far from Christlike as the universe is wide.  You’re to be broken.  Your body’s to be held, given to some man, made, if possible, to bring children into the world.  But your soul?...What do they care for your soul?”

CHAPTER XIII.  SOLITUDE AND STORM

In his hidden valley Venters awakened from sleep, and his ears rang with innumerable melodies from full-throated mockingbirds, and his eyes opened wide upon the glorious golden shaft of sunlight shining through the great stone bridge.  The circle of cliffs surrounding Surprise Valley lay shrouded in morning mist, a dim blue low down along the terraces, a creamy, moving cloud along the ramparts.  The oak forest in the center was a plumed and tufted oval of gold.