"
Up on the stone-flag drive, nicked with the marks made by the
iron-shod hoofs of her racers, Lassiter led her, his grasp ever
growing firmer.
"Where's Blake--and--and Jerb?" she asked, haltingly.
"I don't know where Jerb is. Bolted, most likely," replied
Lassiter, as he took her through the stone door. "But Blake--poor
Blake! He's gone forever!...Be prepared, Jane."
With a cold prickling of her skin, with a queer thrumming in her
ears, with fixed and staring eyes, Jane saw a gun lying at her
feet with chamber swung and empty, and discharged shells
scattered near.
Outstretched upon the stable floor lay Blake, ghastly
white--dead--one hand clutching a gun and the other twisted in
his bloody blouse.
"Whoever the thieves were, whether your people or rustlers--Blake
killed some of them!" said Lassiter.
"Thieves?" whispered Jane.
"I reckon. Hoss-thieves!...Look!" Lassiter waved his hand toward
the stalls.
The first stall--Bells's stall--was empty. All the stalls were
empty. No racer whinnied and stamped greeting to her. Night was
gone! Black Star was gone!
CHAPTER XVI. GOLD
As Lassiter had reported to Jane, Venters "went through" safely,
and after a toilsome journey reached the peaceful shelter of
Surprise Valley. When finally he lay wearily down under the
silver spruces, resting from the strain of dragging packs and
burros up the slope and through the entrance to Surprise Valley,
he had leisure to think, and a great deal of the time went in
regretting that he had not been frank with his loyal friend, Jane
Withersteen.
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