They made me a gun-man. An' that suited me. In
all this time signs of the proselyter an' the giant with the
blue-ice eyes an' the gold beard seemed to fade dimmer out of the
trail. Only twice in ten years did I find a trace of that
mysterious man who had visited the proselyter at my home village.
What he had to do with Milly's fate was beyond all hope for me to
learn, unless my guidin' spirit led me to him! As for the other
man, I knew, as sure as I breathed en' the stars shone en' the
wind blew, that I'd meet him some day.
"Eighteen years I've been on the trail. An' it led me to the last
lonely villages of the Utah border. Eighteen years!...I feel
pretty old now. I was only twenty when I hit that trail. Well, as
I told you, back here a ways a Gentile said Jane Withersteen
could tell me about Milly Erne an' show me her grave!"
The low voice ceased, and Lassiter slowly turned his sombrero
round and round, and appeared to be counting the silver ornaments
on the band. Jane, leaning toward him, sat as if petrified,
listening intently, waiting to hear more. She could have
shrieked, but power of tongue and lips were denied her. She saw
only this sad, gray, passion-worn man, and she heard only the
faint rustling of the leaves.
"Well, I came to Cottonwoods," went on Lassiter, "an' you showed
me Milly's grave. An' though your teeth have been shut tighter 'n
them of all the dead men lyin' back along that trail, jest the
same you told me the secret I've lived these eighteen years to
hear! Jane, I said you'd tell me without ever me askin'.
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