RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
terrace, climbed the weathered slope, and passed under the stone bridge before either spoke again.
Then Lassiter put a great hand on Venters's shoulder and wheeled him to meet a smoldering fire of gray eyes.
"Lassiter, I couldn't tell Jane! I couldn't!" burst out Venters, reading his friend's mind. "I tried. But I couldn't. She wouldn't understand, and she has troubles enough. And I love the girl!"
"Venters, I reckon this beats me. I've seen some queer things in my time, too. This girl—who is she?"
"I don't know."
"Don't know! What is she, then?"
"I don't know that, either. Oh, it's the strangest story you ever heard. I must tell you. But you'll never believe."
"Venters, women were always puzzles to me. But for all that, if this girl ain't a child, an' as innocent, I'm no fit person to think of virtue an' goodness in anybody. Are you goin' to be square with her?"
"I am—so help me God!"
"I reckoned so. Mebbe my temper oughtn't led me to make sure. But, man, she's a woman in all but years. She's sweeter'n the sage."
"Lassiter, I know, I know. And the hell of it is that in spite of her innocence and charm she's—she's not what she seems!"
"I wouldn't want to—of course, I couldn't call you a liar. Venters," said the older man.
"What's more, she was Oldring's Masked Rider!"
Venters expected to floor his friend with that statement, but he was not in any way prepared for the shock his words gave. For an instant he was astounded to see Lassiter stunned; then his own passionate eagerness to unbosom himself, to tell the wonderful story, precluded any other thought.
"Son, tell me all about this," presently said Lassiter,
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