riders of the purple sage-第9部分

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foot。　The　thick　grass　hid　his　trail；　the　dense　growth　of　oaks　in　the　opening　would　serve　as　a　barrier　to　keep　Wrangle　in；　if；　indeed；　the　luxuriant　browse　would　not　suffice　for　that。　So　Venters；　leaving　Whitie　with　the　horse；　called　Ring　to　his　side；　and；　rifle　in　hand；　worked　his　way　out　to　the　open。　A　careful　photographing　in　mind　of　the　formation　of　the　bold　outlines　of　rimrock　assured　him　he　would　be　able　to　return　to　his　retreat　even　in　the　dark。

Bunches　of　scattered　sage　covered　the　center　of　the　canyon；　and　among　these　Venters　threaded　his　way　with　the　step　of　an　Indian。　At　intervals　he　put　his　hand　on　the　dog　and　stopped　to　listen。　There　was　a　drowsy　hum　of　insects；　but　no　other　sound　disturbed　the　warm　midday　stillness。　Venters　saw　ahead　a　turn；　more　abrupt　than　any　yet。　Warily　he　rounded　this　corner；　once　again　to　halt　bewildered。

The　canyon　opened　fan…shaped　into　a　great　oval　of　green　and　gray　growths。　It　was　the　hub　of　an　oblong　wheel；　and　from　it；　at　regular　distances；　like　spokes；　ran　the　outgoing　canyons。　Here　a　dull　red　color　predominated　over　the　fading　yellow。　The　corners　of　wall　bluntly　rose；　scarred　and　scrawled；　to　taper　into　towers　and　serrated　peaks　and　pinnacled　domes。

Venters　pushed　on　more　heedfully　than　ever。　Toward　the　center　of　this　circle　the　sage…brush　grew　smaller　and　farther　apart　He　was　about　to　sheer　off　to　the　right；　where　thickets　and　jumbles　of　fallen　rock　would　afford　him　cover；　when　he　ran　right　upon　a　broad　cattle　trail。　Like　a　road　it　was；　more　than　a　trail；　and　the　cattle　tracks　were　fresh。　What　surprised　him　more；　they　were　wet！　He　pondered　over　this　feature。　It　had　not　rained。　The　only　solution　to　this　puzzle　was　that　the　cattle　had　been　driven　through　water；　and　water　deep　enough　to　wet　their　legs。

Suddenly　Ring　growled　low。　Venters　rose　cautiously　and　looked　over　the　sage。　A　band　of　straggling　horsemen　were　riding　across　the　oval。　He　sank　down；　startled　and　trembling。　〃Rustlers！〃　he　muttered。　Hurriedly　he　glanced　about　for　a　place　to　hide。　Near　at　hand　there　was　nothing　but　sage…brush。　He　dared　not　risk　crossing　the　open　patches　to　reach　the　rocks。　Again　he　peeped　over　the　sage。　The　rustlersfourfiveseveneight　in　all；　were　approaching；　but　not　directly　in　line　with　him。　That　was　relief　for　a　cold　deadness　which　seemed　to　be　creeping　inward　along　his　veins。　He　crouched　down　with　bated　breath　and　held　the　bristling　dog。

He　heard　the　click　of　iron…shod　hoofs　on　stone；　the　coarse　laughter　of　men；　and　then　voices　gradually　dying　away。　Long　moments　passed。　Then　he　rose。　The　rustlers　were　riding　into　a　canyon。　Their　horses　were　tired；　and　they　had　several　pack　animals；　evidently　they　had　traveled　far。　Venters　doubted　that　they　were　the　rustlers　who　had　driven　the　red　herd。　Olding's　band　had　split。　Venters　watched　these　horsemen　disappear　under　a　bold　canyon　wall。

The　rustlers　had　come　from　the　northwest　side　of　the　oval。　Venters　kept　a　steady　gaze　in　that　direction；　hoping；　if　there　were　more；　to　see　from　what　canyon　they　rode。　A　quarter　of　an　hour　went　by。　Reward　for　his　vigilance　came　when　he　descried　three　more　mounted　men；　far　over　to　the　north。　But　out　of　what　canyon　they　had　ridden　it　was　too　late　to　tell。　He　watched　the　three　ride　across　the　oval　and　round　the　jutting　red　corner　where　the　others　had　gone。

〃Up　that　canyon！〃　exclaimed　Venters。　〃Oldring's　den！　I've　found　it！〃

A　knotty　point　for　Venters　was　the　fact　that　the　cattle　tracks　all　pointed　west。　The　broad　trail　came　from　the　direction　of　the　canyon　into　which　the　rustlers　had　ridden；　and　undoubtedly　the　cattle　had　been　driven　out　of　it　across　the　oval。　There　were　no　tracks　pointing　the　other　way。　It　had　been　in　his　mind　that　Oldring　had　driven　the　red　herd　toward　the　rendezvous；　and　not　from　it。　Where　did　that　broad　trail　come　down　into　the　pass；　and　where　did　it　lead？　Venters　knew　he　wasted　time　in　pondering　the　question；　but　it　held　a　fascination　not　easily　dispelled。　For　many　years　Oldring's　mysterious　entrance　and　exit　to　Deception　Pass　had　been　all…absorbing　topics　to　sage…riders。

All　at　once　the　dog　put　an　end　to　Venters's　pondering。　Ring　sniffed　the　air；　turned　slowly　in　his　tracks　with　a　whine；　and　then　growled。　Venters　wheeled。　Two　horsemen　were　within　a　hundred　yards；　coming　straight　at　him。　One；　lagging　behind　the　other；　was　Oldring's　Masked　Rider。

Venters　cunningly　sank；　slowly　trying　to　merge　into　sage…brush。　But；　guarded　as　his　action　was；　the　first　horse　detected　it。　He　stopped　short；　snorted；　and　shot　up　his　ears。　The　rustler　bent　forward；　as　if　keenly　peering　ahead。　Then；　with　a　swift　sweep；　he　jerked　a　gun　from　its　sheath　and　fired。

The　bullet　zipped　through　the　sage…brush。　Flying　bits　of　wood　struck　Venters；　and　the　hot；　stinging　pain　seemed　to　lift　him　in　one　leap。　Like　a　flash　the　blue　barrel　of　his　rifle　gleamed　level　and　he　shot　oncetwice。

The　foremost　rustler　dropped　his　weapon　and　toppled　from　his　saddle；　to　fall　with　his　foot　catching　in　a　stirrup。　The　horse　snorted　wildly　and　plunged　away；　dragging　the　rustler　through　the　sage。

The　Masked　Rider　huddled　over　his　pommel　slowly　swaying　to　one　side；　and　then；　with　a　faint；　strange　cry；　slipped　out　of　the　saddle。



CHAPTER　V。　THE　MASKED　RIDER

Venters　looked　quickly　from　the　fallen　rustlers　to　the　canyon　where　the　others　had　disappeared。　He　calculated　on　the　time　needed　for　running　horses　to　return　to　the　open；　if　their　riders　heard　shots。　He　waited　breathlessly。　But　the　estimated　time　dragged　by　and　no　riders　appeared。　Venters　began　presently　to　believe　that　the　rifle　reports　had　not　penetrated　into　the　recesses　of　the　canyon；　and　felt　safe　for　the　immediate　present。

He　hurried　to　the　spot　where　the　first　rustler　had　been　dragged　by　his　horse。　The　man　lay　in　deep　grass；　dead；　jaw　fallen；　eyes　protrudinga　sight　that　sickened　Venters。　The　first　man　at　whom　he　had　ever　aimed　a　weapon　he　had　shot　through　the　heart。　With　the　clammy　sweat　oozing　from　every　pore　Venters　dragged　the　rustler　in　among　some　boulders　and　covered　him　with　slabs　of　rock。　Then　he　smoothed　out　the　crushed　trail　in　grass　and　sage。　The　rustler's　horse　had　stopped　a　quarter　of　a　mile　off　and　was　grazing。

When　Venters　rapidly　strode　toward　the　Masked　Rider　not　even　the　cold　nausea　that　gripped　him　could　wholly　banish　curiosity。　For　he　had　shot　Oldring's　infamous　lieutenant；　whose　face　had　never　been　seen。　Venters　experienced　a　grim　pride　in　the　feat。　What　would　Tull　say　to　this　achievement　of　the　outcast　who　rode　too　often　to　Deception　Pass？

Venters's　curious　eagerness　and　expectation　had　not　prepared　him　for　the　shock　he　received　when　he　stood　over　a　slight；　dark　figure。　The　rustler　wore　the　black　mask　that　had　given　him　his　name；　but　he　had　no　weapons。　Venters　glanced　at　the　drooping　horse；　there　were　no　gun…sheaths　on　the　saddle。

〃A　rustler　who　didn't　pack　guns！〃　muttered　Venters。　〃He　wears　no　belt。　He　couldn't　pack　guns　in　that　rig。。。。Strange！〃

A　low；　gasping　intake　of　breath　and　a　sudden　twitching　of　body　told　Venters　the　rider　still　lived。

〃He's　alive！。。。I've　got　to　stand　here　and　watch　him　die。　And　I　shot　an　unarmed　man。〃

Shrinkingly　Venters　removed　the　rider's　wide　sombrero　and　the　black　cloth　mask。　This　action　disclosed　bright　chestnut　hair；　inclined　to　curl；　and　a　white；　youthful　face。　Along　the　lower　line　of　cheek　and　jaw　was　a　clear　demarcation；　where　the　brown　of　tanned　skin　met　the　white　that　had　been　hidden　from　the　sun。

〃Oh；　he's　only　a　boy！。。。What！　Can　he　be　Oldring's　Masked　Rider？〃

The　boy　showed　signs　of　returning　consciousness。　He　stirred；　his　lips　moved；　a　small　brown　hand　clenched　in　his　blouse。

Venters　knelt　with　a　gathering　horror　of　his　deed。　His　bullet　had　entered　the　rider's　right　breast；　high　up　to　the　shoulder。　With　hands　that　shook；　Venters　untied　a　black　scarf　and　ripped　open　the　blood…wet　blouse。

First　he　saw　a　gaping　hole；　dark　red　against　a　whiteness　of　skin；　from　which　welled　a　slender　red　stream。　Then　the　graceful；　beautiful　swell　of　a　woman's　breast！

〃A　woman！〃　he　cried。　〃A　girl！。。。I've　killed　a　girl！〃

She　suddenly　opened　eyes　that　transfixed　Venters。　They　were　fathomless　blue。　Consciousness　of　death　was　there；　a　blended　terror　and　pain；　but　no　consciousness　of　sight。　She　did　not　see　Venters。　She　stared　into　the　unknown。

Then　came　a　spasm　of　vitality。　She　writhed　in　a　torture　of　reviving　strength；　and　in　her　convulsions　she　almost　tore　from　Ventner's　grasp。　Slowly　she　relaxed　and　sank　partly　back。　The　ungloved　hand　sought　the　wound；　and　pressed　so　hard　that　her　wrist　half　buried　itself　in　her　bosom。　Blood　trickled　between　her　spread　fingers。　And　she　looked　at　Venters　with　eyes　that　saw　him。

He　cursed　himself　and　the　unerring　aim　of　which　he　had　been　so　proud。　He　had　seen　that　look　in　the　eyes　of　a　crippled　antelope　which　he　was　about　to　finish　with　his　knife。　But　in　her　it　had　infinitely　morea　revelation　of　mortal　spirit。　The　instinctive　bringing　to　life　was　there；　and　the　divining　helplessness　and　the　terrible　accusation　of　the　stricken。

〃Torgive　me！　I　didn't　know！〃　burst　out　Venters。

〃You　shot　meyou've　killed　me！〃　she　whispered；　in　panting　gasps。　Upon　her　lips　appeared　a　fluttering；　bloody　froth。　By　that　Venters　knew　the　air　in　her　lungs　was　mixing　with　blood。　〃Oh；　I　knewit　wouldcomesome　day！。。。Oh；　the　burn！。。。Hold　meI'm　sinkingit's　all　dark。。。。Ah；　God！。。。Mercy〃

Her　rigidity　loosened　in　one　long　quiver　and　she　lay　back　limp；　still；　white　as　snow；　with　closed　eyes。

Venters　thought　then　that　she　died。　But　the　faint　pulsation　of　her　breast　assured　him　that　life　yet　lingered。　Death　seemed　only　a　matter　of　moments；　for　the　bullet　had　gone　clear　through　her。　Nevertheless；　he　tore　sageleaves　from　a　bush；　and；　pressing　them　tightly　over　her　wounds；　he　bound　the　black　scarf　round　her　shoulder；　tying　it　securely　under　her　arm。　Then　he　closed　the　blouse；　hiding　from　his　sight　that　blood…stained；　accusing　breast。

〃Whatnow？〃　he　questioned；　with　flying　mind。　〃I　must　get　out　of　here。　She's　dyingbut　I　can't　leave　her。〃

He　rapidly　surveyed　the　sage　to　the　north　and　made　out　no　animate　object。　Then　he　picked　up　the　girl's　sombrero　and　the　mask。　This　time　the　mask　gave　him　as　great　a　shock　as　when　he　first　removed　it　from　her　face。　For　in　the　woman　he　had　forgotten　the　rustler；