“Miss Withersteen, it’s all simple enough,” said Judkins, earnestly.  “Now please listen—­an’ beggin’ your pardon—­jest turn thet deaf Mormon ear aside, an’ let me talk clear an’ plain in the other.  I went around to the saloons an’ the stores an’ the loafin’ places yesterday.  All your riders are in.  There’s talk of a vigilance band organized to hunt down rustlers.  They call themselves ‘The Riders.’  Thet’s the report—­thet’s the reason given for your riders leavin’ you.  Strange thet only a few riders of other ranchers joined the band!  An’ Tull’s man, Jerry Card—­ he’s the leader.  I seen him en’ his hoss.  He ’ain’t been to Glaze.  I’m not easy to fool on the looks of a hoss thet’s traveled the sage.  Tull an’ Jerry didn’t ride to Glaze!...Well, I met Blake en’ Dorn, both good friends of mine, usually, as far as their Mormon lights will let ’em go.  But these fellers couldn’t fool me, an’ they didn’t try very hard.  I asked them, straight out like a man, why they left you like thet.  I didn’t forget to mention how you nursed Blake’s poor old mother when she was sick, an’ how good you was to Dorn’s kids.  They looked ashamed, Miss Withersteen.  An’ they jest froze up—­thet dark set look thet makes them strange an’ different to me.  But I could tell the difference between thet first natural twinge of conscience an’ the later look of some secret thing.  An’ the difference I caught was thet they couldn’t help themselves.  They hadn’t no say in the matter.  They looked as if their bein’ unfaithful to you was bein’ faithful to a higher duty.  An’ there’s the secret.  Why it’s as plain as—­as sight of my gun here.”

“Plain!...My herds to wander in the sage—­to be stolen!  Jane Withersteen a poor woman!  Her head to be brought low and her spirit broken!...Why, Judkins, it’s plain enough.”

“Miss Withersteen, let me get what boys I can gather, an’ hold the white herd.  It’s on the slope now, not ten miles out—­three thousand head, an’ all steers.  They’re wild, an’ likely to stampede at the pop of a jack-rabbit’s ears.  We’ll camp right with them, en’ try to hold them.”

“Judkins, I’ll reward you some day for your service, unless all is taken from me.  Get the boys and tell Jerd to give you pick of my horses, except Black Star and Night.  But—­do not shed blood for my cattle nor heedlessly risk your lives.”

Jane Withersteen rushed to the silence and seclusion of her room, and there could not longer hold back the bursting of her wrath.  She went stone-blind in the fury of a passion that had never before showed its power.  Lying upon her bed, sightless, voiceless, she was a writhing, living flame.  And she tossed there while her fury burned and burned, and finally burned itself out.