As it made Jane happy to go among her own people, so it saddened her to come in contact with these Gentiles.  Yet that was not because she was unwelcome; here she was gratefully received by the women, passionately by the children.  But poverty and idleness, with their attendant wretchedness and sorrow, always hurt her.  That she could alleviate this distress more now than ever before proved the adage that it was an ill wind that blew nobody good.  While her Mormon riders were in her employ she had found few Gentiles who would stay with her, and now she was able to find employment for all the men and boys.  No little shock was it to have man after man tell her that he dare not accept her kind offer.

“It won’t do,” said one Carson, an intelligent man who had seen better days.  “We’ve had our warning.  Plain and to the point!  Now there’s Judkins, he packs guns, and he can use them, and so can the daredevil boys he’s hired.  But they’ve little responsibility.  Can we risk having our homes burned in our absence?”

Jane felt the stretching and chilling of the skin of her face as the blood left it.

“Carson, you and the others rent these houses?” she asked.

“You ought to know, Miss Withersteen.  Some of them are yours.”

“I know?...Carson, I never in my life took a day’s labor for rent or a yearling calf or a bunch of grass, let alone gold.”

“Bivens, your store-keeper, sees to that.”

“Look here, Carson,” went on Jane, hurriedly, and now her cheeks were burning.  “You and Black and Willet pack your goods and move your families up to my cabins in the grove.  They’re far more comfortable than these.  Then go to work for me.  And if aught happens to you there I’ll give you money—­gold enough to leave Utah!”

The man choked and stammered, and then, as tears welled into his eyes, he found the use of his tongue and cursed.  No gentle speech could ever have equaled that curse in eloquent expression of what he felt for Jane Withersteen.  How strangely his look and tone reminded her of Lassiter!

“No, it won’t do,” he said, when he had somewhat recovered himself.  “Miss Withersteen, there are things that you don’t know, and there’s not a soul among us who can tell you.”

“I seem to be learning many things, Carson.  Well, then, will you let me aid you—­say till better times?”

“Yes, I will,” he replied, with his face lighting up.  “I see what it means to you, and you know what it means to me.  Thank you!  And if better times ever come, I’ll be only too happy to work for you.”

“Better times will come.  I trust God and have faith in man.  Good day, Carson.”