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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"Riders of the Purple Sage"

Never had the climb from
terrace to bridge appeared so long.
Not till they reached the opening of the gorge did they stop to
rest and take one last look at the valley. The tremendous arch of
stone curved clear and sharp in outline against the morning sky.
And through it streaked the golden shaft. The valley seemed an
enchanted circle of glorious veils of gold and wraiths of white
and silver haze and dim, blue, moving shade--beautiful and wild
and unreal as a dream.
"We--we can--th--think of it--always--re--remember," sobbed Bess.
"Hush! Don't cry. Our valley has only fitted us for a better life
somewhere. Come!"
They entered the gorge and he closed the willow gate. From rosy,
golden morning light they passed into cool, dense gloom. The
burros pattered up the trail with little hollow-cracking steps.
And the gorge widened to narrow outlet and the gloom lightened to
gray. At the divide they halted for another rest. Venters's keen,
remembering gaze searched Balancing Rock, and the long incline,
and the cracked toppling walls, but failed to note the slightest
change.
The dogs led the descent; then came Bess leading her burro; then
Venters leading his. Bess kept her eyes bent downward. Venters,
however, had an irresistible desire to look upward at Balancing
Rock. It had always haunted him, and now he wondered if he were
really to get through the outlet before the huge stone thundered
down.


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