RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
"I remember that day I—I met you in the Pass—how dusty you were, how tired your horse looked. Were you always riding?"
"Oh, no. Sometimes not for months, when I was shut up in the cabin."
Venters tried to subdue a hot tingling.
"You were shut up, then?" he asked, carelessly.
"When Oldring went away on his long trips—he was gone for months sometimes—he shut me up in the cabin."
"What for?"
"Perhaps to keep me from running away. I always threatened that. Mostly, though, because the men got drunk at the villages. But they were always good to me. I wasn’t afraid."
"A prisoner! That must have been hard on you?"
"I liked that. As long as I can remember I've been locked up there at times, and those times were the only happy ones I ever had. It's a big cabin high up on a cliff, and I could look out. Then I had dogs and pets I had tamed, and books. There was a spring inside, and food stored, and the men brought me fresh meat. Once I was there one whole winter."
It now required deliberation on Venters's part to persist in his unconcern and to keep at work. He wanted to look at her, to volley questions at her.
"As long as you can remember—you've lived in Deception Pass?" he went on.
"I've a dim memory of some other place, and women and children; but I can't make anything of it. Sometimes I think till I'm weary."
"Then you can read—you have books?"
"Oh yes, I can read, and write, too, pretty well, Oldring is educated. He taught me, and years ago an old rustler lived with us, and he had been something different once. He was always teaching me."
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