“Jane, I only heard things, rumors, stories, most of which I disbelieved.  At Glaze his name was known, but none of the riders or ranchers I knew there ever met him.  At Stone Bridge I never heard him mentioned.  But at Sterling and villages north of there he was spoken of often.  I’ve never been in a village which he had been known to visit.  There were many conflicting stories about him and his doings.  Some said he had shot up this and that Mormon village, and others denied it.  I’m inclined to believe he has, and you know how Mormons hide the truth.  But there was one feature about Lassiter upon which all agree—­that he was what riders in this country call a gun-man.  He’s a man with a marvelous quickness and accuracy in the use of a Colt.  And now that I’ve seen him I know more.  Lassiter was born without fear.  I watched him with eyes which saw him my friend.  I’ll never forget the moment I recognized him from what had been told me of his crouch before the draw.  It was then I yelled his name.  I believe that yell saved Tull’s life.  At any rate, I know this, between Tull and death then there was not the breadth of the littlest hair.  If he or any of his men had moved a finger downward—­”

Venters left his meaning unspoken, but at the suggestion Jane shuddered.

The pale afterglow in the west darkened with the merging of twilight into night.  The sage now spread out black and gloomy.  One dim star glimmered in the southwest sky.  The sound of trotting horses had ceased, and there was silence broken only by a faint, dry pattering of cottonwood leaves in the soft night wind.

Into this peace and calm suddenly broke the high-keyed yelp of a coyote, and from far off in the darkness came the faint answering note of a trailing mate.

“Hello! the sage-dogs are barking,” said Venters.

“I don’t like to hear them,” replied Jane.  “At night, sometimes when I lie awake, listening to the long mourn or breaking bark or wild howl, I think of you asleep somewhere in the sage, and my heart aches.”

“Jane, you couldn’t listen to sweeter music, nor could I have a better bed.”

“Just think!  Men like Lassiter and you have no home, no comfort, no rest, no place to lay your weary heads.  Well!...Let us be patient.  Tull’s anger may cool, and time may help us.  You might do some service to the village—­who can tell?  Suppose you discovered the long-unknown hiding-place of Oldring and his band, and told it to my riders?  That would disarm Tull’s ugly hints and put you in favor.  For years my riders have trailed the tracks of stolen cattle.  You know as well as I how dearly we’ve paid for our ranges in this wild country.  Oldring drives our cattle down into the network of deceiving canyons, and somewhere far to the north or east he drives them up and out to Utah markets.  If you will spend time in Deception Pass try to find the trails.”

“Jane, I’ve thought of that.  I’ll try.”