For the first time Jane Withersteen felt Venters’s real spirit.  She wondered if she would love this splendid youth.  Then her emotion cooled to the sobering sense of the issue at stake.

“Venters, will you leave Cottonwoods at once and forever?” asked Tull, tensely.

“Why?” rejoined the rider.

“Because I order it.”

Venters laughed in cool disdain.

The red leaped to Tull’s dark cheek.

“If you don’t go it means your ruin,” he said, sharply.

“Ruin!” exclaimed Venters, passionately.  “Haven’t you already ruined me?  What do you call ruin?  A year ago I was a rider.  I had horses and cattle of my own.  I had a good name in Cottonwoods.  And now when I come into the village to see this woman you set your men on me.  You hound me.  You trail me as if I were a rustler.  I’ve no more to lose—­except my life.”

“Will you leave Utah?”

“Oh!  I know,” went on Venters, tauntingly, “it galls you, the idea of beautiful Jane Withersteen being friendly to a poor Gentile.  You want her all yourself.  You’re a wiving Mormon.  You have use for her—­and Withersteen House and Amber Spring and seven thousand head of cattle!”

Tull’s hard jaw protruded, and rioting blood corded the veins of his neck.

“Once more.  Will you go?”

“No!”

“Then I’ll have you whipped within an inch of your life,” replied Tull, harshly.  “I’ll turn you out in the sage.  And if you ever come back you’ll get worse.”

Venters’s agitated face grew coldly set and the bronze changed

Jane impulsively stepped forward.  “Oh!  Elder Tull!” she cried. 
“You won’t do that!”

Tull lifted a shaking finger toward her.

“That’ll do from you.  Understand, you’ll not be allowed to hold this boy to a friendship that’s offensive to your Bishop.  Jane Withersteen, your father left you wealth and power.  It has turned your head.  You haven’t yet come to see the place of Mormon women.  We’ve reasoned with you, borne with you.  We’ve patiently waited.  We’ve let you have your fling, which is more than I ever saw granted to a Mormon woman.  But you haven’t come to your senses.  Now, once for all, you can’t have any further friendship with Venters.  He’s going to be whipped, and he’s got to leave Utah!”

“Oh!  Don’t whip him!  It would be dastardly!” implored Jane, with slow certainty of her failing courage.

Tull always blunted her spirit, and she grew conscious that she had feigned a boldness which she did not possess.  He loomed up now in different guise, not as a jealous suitor, but embodying the mysterious despotism she had known from childhood—­the power of her creed.

“Venters, will you take your whipping here or would you rather go out in the sage?” asked Tull.  He smiled a flinty smile that was more than inhuman, yet seemed to give out of its dark aloofness a gleam of righteousness.