Jane missed the rattle and trot, canter and gallop of the
incoming riders on the hard trails. Dusk shaded the grove where
she walked; the birds ceased singing; the wind sighed through the
leaves of the cottonwoods, and the running water murmured down
its stone-bedded channel. The glimmering of the first star was
like the peace and beauty of the night. Her faith welled up in
her heart and said that all would soon be right in her little
world. She pictured Venters about his lonely camp-fire sitting
between his faithful dogs. She prayed for his safety, for the
success of his undertaking.
Early the next morning one of Jane's women brought in word that
Judkins wished to speak to her. She hurried out, and in her
surprise to see him armed with rifle and revolver, she forgot her
intention to inquire about his wound.
"Judkins! Those guns? You never carried guns."
"It's high time, Miss Withersteen," he replied. "Will you come
into the grove? It ain't jest exactly safe for me to be seen
here."
She walked with him into the shade of the cottonwoods.
"What do you mean?"
"Miss Withersteen, I went to my mother's house last night. While
there, some one knocked, an' a man asked for me. I went to the
door. He wore a mask. He said I'd better not ride any more for
Jane Withersteen. His voice was hoarse an' strange, disguised I
reckon, like his face. He said no more, an' ran off in the
dark.
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