RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
women hope and pray for the time when our men will soften."
"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am—that time will never come."
"Oh, it will! . . . Lassiter, do you think Mormon women wicked? Has your hand been against them, too?"
"No. I believe Mormon women are the best an' noblest, the most long-sufferin', and the blindest, unhappiest women on earth."
"Ah!" She gave him a grave, thoughtful look. "Then you will break bread with me?"
Lassiter had no ready response, and he uneasily shifted his weight from one leg to another, and turned his sombrero round and round in his hands. "Ma'am," he began, presently, "I reckon your kindness of heart makes you overlook things. Perhaps I ain't well known hereabouts, but back up North there's Mormons who'd rest oneasy in their graves at the idea of me sittin' to table with you."
"I dare say. But—will you do it anyway?" she asked.
"Mebbe you have a brother or relative who might drop in an' be offended, an' I wouldn't want to—"
"I've not a relative in Utah that I know of. There's no one with a right to question my actions." She turned smilingly to Venters. "You will come in, Bern, and Lassiter will come in. We'll eat and be merry while we may."
"I'm only wonderin' if Tull an' his men 'll raise a storm down in the village," said Lassiter, in his last weakening stand.
"Yes, he'll raise the storm—after he has prayed," replied Jane. "Come."
She led the way, with the bridle of Lassiter's horse over her arm. They entered a grove and walked down a wide path shaded by great low-branching cottonwoods. The last rays of the setting sun sent golden
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