When Lassiter reached her and laid his hand on Black Star’s mane, Jane could not find speech.

“Killed—­my—­hoss,” he panted.

“Oh!  I’m sorry,” cried Jane.  “Lassiter!  I know you can’t replace him, but I’ll give you any one of my racers—­Bells, or Night, even Black Star.”

“I’ll take a fast hoss, Jane, but not one of your favorites,” he replied.  “Only—­will you let me have Black Star now an’ ride him over there an’ head off them fellers who stampeded the herd?”

He pointed to several moving specks of black and puffs of dust in the purple sage.

“I can head them off with this hoss, an’ then—­”

“Then, Lassiter?”

“They’ll never stampede no more cattle.”

“Oh!  No!  No!...Lassiter, I won’t let you go!”

But a flush of fire flamed in her cheeks, and her trembling hands shook Black Star’s bridle, and her eyes fell before Lassiter’s.

CHAPTER VII.  THE DAUGHTER OF WITHERSTEEN

“Lassiter, will you be my rider?” Jane had asked him.

“I reckon so,” he had replied.

Few as the words were, Jane knew how infinitely much they implied.  She wanted him to take charge of her cattle and horse and ranges, and save them if that were possible.  Yet, though she could not have spoken aloud all she meant, she was perfectly honest with herself.  Whatever the price to be paid, she must keep Lassiter close to her; she must shield from him the man who had led Milly Erne to Cottonwoods.  In her fear she so controlled her mind that she did not whisper this Mormon’s name to her own soul, she did not even think it.  Besides, beyond this thing she regarded as a sacred obligation thrust upon her, was the need of a helper, of a friend, of a champion in this critical time.  If she could rule this gun-man, as Venters had called him, if she could even keep him from shedding blood, what strategy to play his flame and his presence against the game of oppression her churchmen were waging against her?  Never would she forget the effect on Tull and his men when Venters shouted Lassiter’s name.  If she could not wholly control Lassiter, then what she could do might put off the fatal day.

One of her safe racers was a dark bay, and she called him Bells because of the way he struck his iron shoes on the stones.  When Jerd led out this slender, beautifully built horse Lassiter suddenly became all eyes.  A rider’s love of a thoroughbred shone in them.  Round and round Bells he walked, plainly weakening all the time in his determination not to take one of Jane’s favorite racers.

“Lassiter, you’re half horse, and Bells sees it already,” said Jane, laughing.  “Look at his eyes.  He likes you.  He’ll love you, too.  How can you resist him?  Oh, Lassiter, but Bells can run!  It’s nip and tuck between him and Wrangle, and only Black Star can beat him.  He’s too spirited a horse for a woman.  Take him.  He’s yours.”