They meant so
much. How she had fallen--how broken and spiritless must she
be--to have still the same old horror of Lassiter's guns and his
name, yet feel somehow a cold, shrinking protection in their law
and might and use.
"Did you trail Venters--find his wonderful valley?" she asked,
eagerly.
"Yes, an' I reckon it's sure a wonderful place."
"Is he safe there?"
"That's been botherin' me some. I tracked him an' part of the
trail was the hardest I ever tackled. Mebbe there's a rustler or
somebody in this country who's as good at trackin' as I am. If
that's so Venters ain't safe."
"Well--tell me all about Bern and his valley."
To Jane's surprise Lassiter showed disinclination for further
talk about his trip. He appeared to be extremely fatigued. Jane
reflected that one hundred and twenty miles, with probably a
great deal of climbing on foot, all in three days, was enough to
tire any rider. Moreover, it presently developed that Lassiter
had returned in a mood of singular sadness and preoccupation. She
put it down to a moodiness over the loss of her white herd and
the now precarious condition of her fortune.
Several days passed, and as nothing happened, Jane's spirits
began to brighten. Once in her musings she thought that this
tendency of hers to rebound was as sad as it was futile.
Meanwhile, she had resumed her walks through the grove with
little Fay.
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