riders of the purple sage- 第43部分

He　was　very　near　to　the　ragged　edge　of　a　deep　canyon　into　which　the　trail　turned。　The　ground　lay　in　uneven　ridges　divided　by　washes；　and　these　sloped　into　the　canyon。　Following　the　canyon　line；　he　saw　where　its　rim　was　broken　by　other　intersecting　canyons；　and　farther　down　red　walls　and　yellow　cliffs　leading　toward　a　deep　blue　cleft　that　he　made　sure　was　Deception　Pass。　Walking　out　a　few　rods　to　a　promontory；　he　found　where　the　trail　went　down。　The　descent　was　gradual；　along　a　stone…walled　trail；　and　Venters　felt　sure　that　this　was　the　place　where　Oldring　drove　cattle　into　the　Pass。　There　was；　however；　no　indication　at　all　that　he　ever　had　driven　cattle　out　at　this　point。　Oldring　had　many　holes　to　his　burrow。

In　searching　round　in　the　little　hollows　Venters；　much　to　his　relief；　found　water。　He　composed　himself　to　rest　and　eat　some　bread　and　meat；　while　he　waited　for　a　sufficient　time　to　elapse　so　that　he　could　safely　give　the　horses　a　drink。　He　judged　the　hour　to　be　somewhere　around　noon。　Wrangle　lay　down　to　rest　and　Night　followed　suit。　So　long　as　they　were　down　Venters　intended　to　make　no　move。　The　longer　they　rested　the　better；　and　the　safer　it　would　be　to　give　them　water。　By　and　by　he　forced　himself　to　go　over　to　where　Black　Star　lay；　expecting　to　find　him　dead。　Instead　he　found　the　racer　partially　if　not　wholly　recovered。　There　was　recognition；　even　fire；　in　his　big　black　eyes。　Venters　was　overjoyed。　He　sat　by　the　black　for　a　long　time。　Black　Star　presently　labored　to　his　feet　with　a　heave　and　a　groan；　shook　himself；　and　snorted　for　water。　Venters　repaired　to　the　little　pool　he　had　found；　filled　his　sombrero；　and　gave　the　racer　a　drink。　Black　Star　gulped　it　at　one　draught；　as　if　it　were　but　a　drop；　and　pushed　his　nose　into　the　hat　and　snorted　for　more。　Venters　now　led　Night　down　to　drink；　and　after　a　further　time　Black　Star　also。　Then　the　blacks　began　to　graze。

The　sorrel　had　wandered　off　down　the　sage　between　the　trail　and　the　canyon。　Once　or　twice　he　disappeared　in　little　swales。　Finally　Venters　concluded　Wrangle　had　grazed　far　enough；　and；　taking　his　lasso；　he　went　to　fetch　him　back。　In　crossing　from　one　ridge　to　another　he　saw　where　the　horse　had　made　muddy　a　pool　of　water。　It　occurred　to　Venters　then　that　Wrangle　had　drunk　his　fill；　and　did　not　seem　the　worse　for　it；　and　might　be　anything　but　easy　to　catch。　And；　true　enough；　he　could　not　come　within　roping　reach　of　the　sorrel。　He　tried　for　an　hour；　and　gave　up　in　disgust。　Wrangle　did　not　seem　so　wild　as　simply　perverse。　In　a　quandary　Venters　returned　to　the　other　horses；　hoping　much；　yet　doubting　more；　that　when　Wrangle　had　grazed　to　suit　himself　he　might　be　caught。

As　the　afternoon　wore　away　Venters's　concern　diminished；　yet　he　kept　close　watch　on　the　blacks　and　the　trail　and　the　sage。　There　was　no　telling　of　what　Jerry　Card　might　be　capable。　Venters　sullenly　acquiesced　to　the　idea　that　the　rider　had　been　too　quick　and　too　shrewd　for　him。　Strangely　and　doggedly；　however；　Venters　clung　to　his　foreboding　of　Card's　downfall。

The　wind　died　away；　the　red　sun　topped　the　far　distant　western　rise　of　slope；　and　the　long；　creeping　purple　shadows　lengthened。　The　rims　of　the　canyons　gleamed　crimson　and　the　deep　clefts　appeared　to　belch　forth　blue　smoke。　Silence　enfolded　the　scene。

It　was　broken　by　a　horrid；　long…drawn　scream　of　a　horse　and　the　thudding　of　heavy　hoofs。　Venters　sprang　erect　and　wheeled　south。　Along　the　canyon　rim；　near　the　edge；　came　Wrangle；　once　more　in　thundering　flight。

Venters　gasped　in　amazement。　Had　the　wild　sorrel　gone　mad？　His　head　was　high　and　twisted；　in　a　most　singular　position　for　a　running　horse。　Suddenly　Venters　descried　a　frog…like　shape　clinging　to　Wrangle's　neck。　Jerry　Card！　Somehow　he　had　straddled　Wrangle　and　now　stuck　like　a　huge　burr。　But　it　was　his　strange　position　and　the　sorrel's　wild　scream　that　shook　Venters's　nerves。　Wrangle　was　pounding　toward　the　turn　where　the　trail　went　down。　He　plunged　onward　like　a　blind　horse。　More　than　one　of　his　leaps　took　him　to　the　very　edge　of　the　precipice。

Jerry　Card　was　bent　forward　with　his　teeth　fast　in　the　front　of　Wrangle's　nose！　Venters　saw　it；　and　there　flashed　over　him　a　memory　of　this　trick　of　a　few　desperate　riders。　He　even　thought　of　one　rider　who　had　worn　off　his　teeth　in　this　terrible　hold　to　break　or　control　desperate　horses。　Wrangle　had　indeed　gone　mad。　The　marvel　was　what　guided　him。　Was　it　the　half…brute；　the　more　than　half…horse　instinct　of　Jerry　Card？　Whatever　the　mystery；　it　was　true。　And　in　a　few　more　rods　Jerry　would　have　the　sorrel　turning　into　the　trail　leading　down　into　the　canyon。

〃NoJerry！〃　whispered　Venters；　stepping　forward　and　throwing　up　the　rifle。　He　tried　to　catch　the　little　humped；　frog…like　shape　over　the　sights。　It　was　moving　too　fast；　it　was　too　small。　Yet　Venters　shot　once　。。。twice。。。the　third　time。。。four　times。。。five！　all　wasted　shots　and　precious　seconds！

With　a　deep…muttered　curse　Venters　caught　Wrangle　through　the　sights　and　pulled　the　trigger。　Plainly　he　heard　the　bullet　thud。　Wrangle　uttered　a　horrible　strangling　sound。　In　swift　death　action　he　whirled；　and　with　one　last　splendid　leap　he　cleared　the　canyon　rim。　And　he　whirled　downward　with　the　little　frog…like　shape　clinging　to　his　neck！

There　was　a　pause　which　seemed　never　ending；　a　shock；　and　an　instant　s　silence。

Then　up　rolled　a　heavy　crash；　a　long　roar　of　sliding　rocks　dying　away　in　distant　echo；　then　silence　unbroken。

Wrangle's　race　was　run。



CHAPTER　XVIII。　OLDRING'S　KNELL

Some　forty　hours　or　more　later　Venters　created　a　commotion　in　Cottonwoods　by　riding　down　the　main　street　on　Black　Star　and　leading　Bells　and　Night。　He　had　come　upon　Bells　grazing　near　the　body　of　a　dead　rustler；　the　only　incident　of　his　quick　ride　into　the　village。

Nothing　was　farther　from　Venters's　mind　than　bravado。　No　thought　came　to　him　of　the　defiance　and　boldness　of　riding　Jane　Withersteen's　racers　straight　into　the　arch…plotter's　stronghold。　He　wanted　men　to　see　the　famous　Arabians；　he　wanted　men　to　see　them　dirty　and　dusty；　bearing　all　the　signs　of　having　been　driven　to　their　limit；　he　wanted　men　to　see　and　to　know　that　the　thieves　who　had　ridden　them　out　into　the　sage　had　not　ridden　them　back。　Venters　had　come　for　that　and　for　morehe　wanted　to　meet　Tull　face　to　face；　if　not　Tull；　then　Dyer；　if　not　Dyer；　then　anyone　in　the　secret　of　these　master　conspirators。　Such　was　Venters's　passion。　The　meeting　with　the　rustlers；　the　unprovoked　attack　upon　him；　the　spilling　of　blood；　the　recognition　of　Jerry　Card　and　the　horses；　the　race；　and　that　last　plunge　of　mad　Wrangleall　these　things；　fuel　on　fuel　to　the　smoldering　fire；　had　kindled　and　swelled　and　leaped　into　living　flame。　He　could　have　shot　Dyer　in　the　midst　of　his　religious　services　at　the　altar；　he　could　have　killed　Tull　in　front　of　wives　and　babes。

He　walked　the　three　racers　down　the　broad；　green…bordered　village　road。　He　heard　the　murmur　of　running　water　from　Amber　Spring。　Bitter　waters　for　Jane　Withersteen！　Men　and　women　stopped　to　gaze　at　him　and　the　horses。　All　knew　him；　all　knew　the　blacks　and　the　bay。　As　well　as　if　it　had　been　spoken；　Venters　read　in　the　faces　of　men　the　intelligence　that　Jane　Withersteen's　Arabians　had　been　known　to　have　been　stolen。　Venters　reined　in　and　halted　before　Dyer's　residence。　It　was　a　low；　long；　stone　structure　resembling　Withersteen　House。　The　spacious　front　yard　was　green　and　luxuriant　with　grass　and　flowers；　gravel　walks　led　to　the　huge　porch；　a　well…trimmed　hedge　of　purple　sage　separated　the　yard　from　the　church　grounds；　birds　sang　in　the　trees；　water　flowed　musically　along　the　walks；　and　there　were　glad；　careless　shouts　of　children。　For　Venters　the　beauty　of　this　home；　and　the　serenity　and　its　apparent　happiness；　all　turned　red　and　black。　For　Venters　a　shade　overspread　the　lawn；　the　flowers；　the　old　vine…clad　stone　house。　In　the　music　of　the　singing　birds；　in　the　murmur　of　the　running　water；　he　heard　an　ominous　sound。　Quiet　beautysweet　musicinnocent　laughter！　By　what　monstrous　abortion　of　fate　did　these　abide　in　the　shadow　of　Dyer？

Venters　rode　on　and　stopped　before　Tull's　cottage。　Women　stared　at　him　with　white　faces　and　then　flew　from　the　porch。　Tull　himself　appeared　at　the　door；　bent　low；　craning　his　neck。　His　dark　face　flashed　out　of　sight；　the　door　banged；　a　heavy　bar　dropped　with　a　hollow　sound。

Then　Venters　shook　Black　Star's　bridle；　and；　sharply　trotting；　led　the　other　horses　to　the　center　of　the　village。　Here　at　the　intersecting　streets　and　in　front　of　the　stores　he　halted　once　more。　The　usual　lounging　atmosphere　of　that　prominent　corner　was　not　now　in　evidence。　Riders　and　ranchers　and　villagers　broke　up　what　must　have　been　absorbing　conversation。　There　was　a　rush　of　many　feet；　and　then　the　walk　was　lined　with　faces。

Venters's　glance　swept　down　the　line　of　silent　stone…faced　men。　He　recognized　many　riders　and　villagers；　but　none　of　those　he　had　hoped　to　meet。　There　was　no　expression　in　the　faces　turned　toward　him。　All　of　them　knew　him；　most　were　inimical；　but　there　were　few　who　were　not　burning　with　curiosity　and　wonder　in　regard　to　the　return　of　Jane　Withersteen's　racers。　Yet　all　were　silent。　Here　were　the　familiar　characteristicsmasked　feelingstrange　secretivenessexpressionless　expression　of　mystery　and　hidden　power。

〃Has　anybody　here　seen　Jerry　Card？〃　queried　Venters；　in　a　loud　voice。

In　reply　there　came　not　a　word；　not　a　nod　or　shake　of　head；　not　so　much　as　dropping　eye　or　twitching　lipnothing　but　a　quiet；　stony　stare。

〃Been　under　the　knife？　You've　a　fine　knife…wielder　hereone　Tull；　I　believe！。。。Maybe　you've　all　had　your　tongues　cut　out？〃

This　passionate　sarcasm　of　Venters　brought　no　response；　and　the　stony　calm　was　as　oil　on　the　fire　within　him。

〃I　see　some　of　you　pack　guns；　too！〃　he　added；　in　biting　scorn。　In　the　long；　tense　pause；　strung　keenly　as　a　tight　wire；　he　sat　motionless　on　Black　Star。　〃All　right；〃　he　went　on。　〃Then　let　some　of　you　take　this　message　to　Tull。　Tell　him　I've　seen　Jerry　Card！　Tell　him　Jerry　Card　will　never　return！〃

Thereupon；　in　the　same　dead　calm；　Venters　backed　Black　Star　away　from　the　curb；　into　the　street；　and　out　of　range。　He　was　ready　now　to　ride　up　to　Withersteen　House　and　turn　the　racers　over　to　Jane。

〃Hello；　Venters！〃　a　familiar　vo