RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
"Son, where are you bound for?" asked Lassiter.
"Not safe—where I was—I'm—we're going out of Utah—back East," he found tongue to say.
"I reckon this meetin's the luckiest thing that ever happened to you an' to me—an' to Jane—an' to Bess," said Lassiter, coolly.
"Bess!" cried Jane, with a sudden leap of blood to her pale cheek.
It was entirely beyond Venters to see any luck in that meeting.
Jane Withersteen took one flashing, woman's glance at Bess's scarlet face, at her slender, shapely form.
"Venters! is this a girl—a woman?" she questioned, in a voice that stung.
"Yes."
"Did you have her in that wonderful valley?"
"Yes, but Jane—"
"All the time you were gone?"
"Yes, but I couldn't tell—"
"Was it for her you asked me to give you supplies? Was it for her that you wanted to make your valley a paradise?"
"Oh—Jane—"
"Answer me."
"Yes."
"Oh, you liar!" And with these passionate words Jane Withersteen succumbed to fury. For the second time in her life she fell into the ungovernable rage that had been her father's weakness. And it was worse than his, for she was a jealous woman—jealous even of her friends.
As best he could, he bore the brunt of her anger. It was not only his deceit to her that she visited upon him, but her betrayal by religion, by life itself.
Her passion, like fire at white heat, consumed itself in little time. Her physical strength failed, and still her spirit attempted to go on in magnificent denunciation of
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