One morning she went as far as the sage. She had not seen the
slope since the beginning of the rains, and now it bloomed a rich
deep purple. There was a high wind blowing, and the sage tossed
and waved and colored beautifully from light to dark. Clouds
scudded across the sky and their shadows sailed darkly down the
sunny slope.
Upon her return toward the house she went by the lane to the
stables, and she had scarcely entered the great open space with
its corrals and sheds when she saw Lassiter hurriedly
approaching. Fay broke from her and, running to a corral fence,
began to pat and pull the long, hanging ears of a drowsy burro.
One look at Lassiter armed her for a blow.
Without a word he led her across the wide yard to the rise of the
ground upon which the stable stood.
"Jane--look!" he said, and pointed to the ground.
Jane glanced down, and again, and upon steadier vision made out
splotches of blood on the stones, and broad, smooth marks in the
dust, leading out toward the sage.
"What made these?" she asked.
"I reckon somebody has dragged dead or wounded men out to where
there was hosses in the sage."
"Dead--or--wounded--men!"
"I reckon--Jane, are you strong? Can you bear up?"
His hands were gently holding hers, and his eyes--suddenly she
could no longer look into them. "Strong?" she echoed, trembling.
"I--I will be.
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