Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Riders of the Purple Sage
    Riders of the Purple Sage
    Riders of the Purple Sage
    Ebook372 pages13 hours

    Riders of the Purple Sage

    By Zane Grey

    3.5/5

    ()

    Switch to audiobook
    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Riders of the Purple Sage is a classic of the Western genre. It is the story of Lassiter, a gunslinging avenger in black, who shows up in a remote Utah town just in time to save the young and beautiful rancher Jane Withersteen from having to marry a Mormon elder against her will.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWS
    Release dateApr 1, 2018
    ISBN9782291007289
    Author

    Zane Grey

    American author (Pearl Zane Grey) is best known as a pioneer of the Western literary genre, which idealized the Western frontier and the men and women who settled the region. Following in his father’s footsteps, Grey studied dentistry while on a baseball scholarship to the University of Pennsylvania. Grey’s athletic talent led to a short career in the American minor league before he established his dentistry practice. As an outlet to the tedium of dentistry, Grey turned to writing, and finally abandoned his dental practice to write full time. Over the course of his career Grey penned more than ninety books, including the best-selling Riders of the Purple Sage. Many of Grey’s novels were adapted for film and television. He died in 1939.

    Read more from Zane Grey

    Related authors

    Related to Riders of the Purple Sage

    Related ebooks

    Classics For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Table Talk in Austenworld

      May 17, 2018

      There are two traits in her character which are pleasing; namely, she admires Camilla, and drinks no cream in her tea. —Jane Austen in a letter to Cassandra, January 1796 The company was seated for dinner on the second night of the camp, and as we di

      5 min read

    • Article

      Pats On The Back

      Dec 12, 2019

      I AM writing this column from a prone position. Reclining on my sofa in the library, propped up with cushions like some latter-day Lady Ottoline Morrell, but without the wit, brilliance and patronage. I wish I could say my current condition arose fro

      3 min read

    • Article

      Great reads BOOKS THAT YOU CAN ENJOY.

      Oct 8, 2019

      When a family man is tortured, killed and left in front of his family home for all the world to see, Eve Dallas knows she is on the hunt for a particularly dangerous killer. But death uncovers secrets and the killer leaves a note revealing the victim

      1 min read

    • Article

      The Black Spider

      Nov 28, 2019

      The Black Spider
      22 min read

    • Article

      On The Shelf

      Nov 23, 2020

      On The Shelf
      2 min read

    • Article

      Four Of A Kind

      May 3, 2023

      Four Of A Kind
      4 min read

    • Article

      Books THAT CHANGED MY LIFE

      Mar 14, 2023

      Who is the wit who joked that we wouldn’t like to think Jane Austen disapprovedof us? In the painfully tender novelPersuasion, Anne Eliot is the lovely daughter of a foolish baronet who hasn’t the decency to live within his means. Their home must be

      1 min read

    • Article

      Make A Stand

      Jan 17, 2024

      Make A Stand
      6 min read

    • Article

      Restoring a Family Ghost

      Dec 19, 2018

      Restoring a Family Ghost
      4 min read

    • Article

      'Let Us Descend' Follows A Slave On A Painful Journey — Finding Some Hope On The Way

      Oct 24, 2023

      Jesmyn Ward's narrative forces readers to look at our country's ugly past and face the lingering effects of history — but it also tells a story of perseverance and the power of the spiritual world.

      3 min read

    • Article

      April’s BOOK CLUB

      Mar 1, 2024

      Diva by Daisy Goodwin (£20, HB, Bloomsbury) Hailed as one of the greatest opera singers of all time, Maria Callas’ life was as dramatic and fascinating as her vocal range. In this fictionalised historical story, Goodwin delves into the Greek soprano’

      5 min read

    • Article

      Excerpts From The Works Of The 2024 Whiting Award Winners

      Apr 10, 2024

      The 2024 Whiting Award winners were announced Wednesday night. Below are excerpts from their work.

      19 min read

    • Article

      The Wisdom of Women Shines in Najla Jraissaty Khoury’s ‘Pearls on a Branch: Oral Tales’

      Oct 22, 2018

      Long, long ago These things happened or maybe no. Let’s start with the image on the cover. Three women sit in a courtyard. One holds a long-handled pan over a coal brazier; the other two, one of whom has her back to us, hold small cups. They wear ide

      7 min read

    • Article

      Beyond the Mangrove Trees

      Aug 6, 2020

      No one expects their house to float away. Ethel certainly hadn’t. Our story begins in the sleepy village of Greenwood, where Ethel had spent her entire life. It was an overcast Sunday afternoon and Ethel watched the rain lash against the window from

      7 min read

    • Article

      Summer Reading Guide

      Jan 2, 2022

      Summer Reading Guide
      6 min read

    • Article

      Generations Of Mothers Are At The Center Of 'A Grandmother Begins A Story'

      Nov 29, 2023

      Métis writer Michelle Porter has created beauty from the ugliness of colonization, loss, addiction, abandonment, and grief in her debut novel that finds motherhood at its heart.

      3 min read

    • Article

      'Empire Of Wild' Tells A Small Story — But Not A Slight One

      Jul 29, 2020

      Cherie Dimaline's new novel seems small in scope — it's about a woman who loses her husband and is determined to bring him back, nothing more than that — but it's rich, tightly written and powerful.

      4 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Riders of the Purple Sage

    3.5/5

    348 ratings33 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 1/5
      Set in the Utah of 1871, it deals with a Mormon woman, heir to a ranch, resisting pressures to become a junior wife of a Mormon elder. I tried this because it's recommended on The Ultimate Reading List in the Western section. This is Zane Grey's most famous novel, supposedly one that set the mold for the Western genre and published way back in 1912--which doesn't make this a classic. Indeed, I'm afraid the "purple" in the title is sadly apt. Here's a snippet of the the puerile writing: "If you don't go it means your ruin," he said, sharply."Ruin!" exclaimed Venters, passionately. "Haven't you already ruined me? What do you call ruin? A year ago I was a rider. I had horses and cattle of my own. I had a good name in Cottonwoods. And now when I come into the village to see this woman you set your men on me. You hound me. You trail me as if I were a rustler. I've no more to lose—except my life.""Will you leave Utah?""Oh! I know," went on Venters, tauntingly, "it galls you, the idea of beautiful Jane Withersteen being friendly to a poor Gentile. You want her all yourself. You're a wiving Mormon. You have use for her—and Withersteen House and Amber Spring and seven thousand head of cattle!"Tull's hard jaw protruded, and rioting blood corded the veins of his neck."Once more. Will you go?""NO!"No worries--Venters doesn't get whipped, because a mysterious gunman--in black leather no less--appears. Really, the whole thing comes across as eye-rolling. And though I'm not enamored of the doctrine and practice of the Latter-Day-Saints, past or present, the way Mormons are presented here is just a bit much. They might as well all be twirling mustaches. Despite the fame of the novel, not I think worth the read. The best I can say for it is that it's beyond the bounds of copyright, and so can be tried for free online on Project Gutenberg.
    • 5/5
      I love this book. It started the Western genre. Wholly believable. The terrain is a significant character. It also reflects the popular opinion of Mormonism at the time. They were not the innocent practitioners that they appear to be today.
    • 3/5
      Jane Withersteen lives in Utah in the late 1890s and has the distinction of being one of the richest people in her town. When her father died, he left everything he owned to her. Although Jane is a devout Mormon, she doesn't agree with the leaders of her Mormon group and definitely does not want to marry them. Jane is "pure" of heart and wants to help everyone, Mormon and Gentile alike, which is what leads her to have trouble with the villains in the story. One afternoon, a rugged, handsome gunslinger rides into town and starts fighting for Jane and, of course, they fall in love despite their differences in religion (she's a Mormon and he's a Gentile).

      In my mind, when one refers to the western genre, they're almost always referring to either a Louis Lamour or Zane Grey novel; but, I don't recall ever reading a Zane Grey novel before. The introduction to this novel calls Riders of the Purple Sage both the most popular western novel of all time and also one of the pioneering and definitive works of western literature. I must admit that there were some very compelling parts in this book. I can see how Zane Grey defined the genre. I feel like the characters could have been better developed but, it was 1912 and I'm not sure just how much character definition existed in novels then. I'm definitely glad I read the book although I don't think I'll be reading very more in the genre.
    • 4/5
      Can I call it a "pop classic?" Given its popularity, its place in the Western romance and adventure categories, and its place in the archives of the early 20th century, I will.
    • 3/5
      I was looking to learn about action writing. There were some examples in climbing rocks and horse riding, but the logic of the novel fell apart for me and I stopped.
    • 3/5
      All a bit silly, really. It may have invented a genre, but it's still just full of cartoons: hardened cowboys, flouncy fainting women and inexplicably wicked villains. The plot is driven along largely by coincidence, and doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Still fun.
    • 5/5
      I have to put this in my top ten. One of the greatest stories I have ever read. So many heros and villians.
    • 5/5
      We meet Lassiter and Jane Withersteen, Burn Vinters and, eventually, Elizabeth Ern.We discover Surprise Valley where Lassiter and Jane finally escape forever. It is a story of rustlers and Mormons. Never politically correct, Grey portrays the Mormons as evil and depraved oppressors of their women. Lassiter is the gunslinger who kills them. Withersteen is the devout Mormon woman whose indomitable spirit will not allow her to give herself to Tull, the Mormon leader. Her intransigence leads to a showdown in which she must lose all - except for the appearance of Lassiter, who saves her. Grey's beautiful descriptions of the the sage-covered land and the men of action who inhabit her are a joy to read.
    • 5/5
      Another great book! This is in Utah. He gives the most detailed descriptions of the terrain there. Lots of cowboys and horses in this one. I loved it!
    • 4/5
      good book a few point caought my attention but was a little boring to me
    • 3/5
      Lots of Mormon bashing in this. I wish that the heroine Jane was a more realistic character. Her attempts to "save" the various men were annoying and after declaring that she would do anything to get the child Fay back, including marrying the despicable Tull, she then proceeds to agree to fly with Lattimore without a word about Fay!
    • 4/5
      Review first posted on Audiobook Reviewer.

      Riders of the Purple Sage
      Written by: Zane Grey
      Narrated by: Ann M. Richardson
      Length: 11 hrs and 49 mins
      Series: Riders of the Purple Sage, Book 1
      Unabridged Audiobook
      Release Date:04-18-16
      Publisher: Post Hypnotic Press Inc.


      Riders of the Purple Sage is a classic western from author Zane Grey. It was published in 1912 and has remained in print and popular to this day. The story is set in 1871 in the Utah territory. There is no separation of church and state. The Mormon church and it’s patriarchal society hold all power.

      The main character Jane is very non-traditional for the time period and for Mormon women. She is unmarried in her late twenties. She is also wealthy because of inheriting her father’s estate. She further defies convention by refusing to marry one of the Mormon elders in the area who demand she get in line with church teachings. Worst of all, in the eyes of her Mormon neighbors, is her belief in treating all men, whether Mormon or Gentile (non-Mormon) with equal dignity.

      Her property is very valuable since it has a reliable water source. Her horses are also well known and sought after. Elder Tull wants to marry her, her wealth equal in his eyes to her beauty. The local Bishop, Dyer, supports Tull in his attempt to make Jane into a respectable Mormon wife. When Jane does not jump at the chance to become another of Tull’s wives, Tull and Dyer set about forcing her by attacking her Gentile ranch hands. Without her trusted hands, Jane cannot keep the ranch functioning.

      As Jane continues to fight for what she feels is right and not what the Mormon men tell her is right, help comes from an unexpected and very dangerous source. Lassiter, a gunman known for his antipathy towards Mormons and accused of killing several Mormon men, arrives at Jane’s ranch. His reputation proceeds him and causes the to resort to even more violence in an attempt to force Jane into marriage.

      Lassiter is an anti-hero. He is a man who has willingly killed other men. He has a very open hatred of all things Mormon. Yet he demonstrates more honor than the religious men trying to rob Jane of her independence and wealth. The pairing of a gunslinger and a Mormon woman drive the plot to an unexpected and thrilling conclusion.

      I enjoyed the book, the first Zane Grey I have read or listened to. My only disappointment was it took Jane so long to realize that the Elder and Bishop were not motivated by religion but by greed. She was naive. Other than that, all the characters were well rounded.

      I had previously listened to the version narrated by Mark Bramhall. I was interested to hear the book narrated by a woman, Ann M. Richardson. Different narrators can bring different tones or emphasis to the same book. I was very interested whether the gender of the narrator would affect the story itself. I found the gender of the narrator in this particular instance did not make a difference. Ms. Richardson did a very fine job of narrating the book. After listening to the same passages read by the two different narrators, I found I enjoyed them both. If this is an edge at all, it goes to Ms. Richardson. Her voice is very pleasant and she handles the range of voices, male/female, very well.

      Rating: Story (Plot) 4

      Rating: Performance 5

      Rating: Production Quality 5

      Rating: Attention Holding 4

      Rating 4.5

      ABR received this audiobook for free from the Publisher, Submitted in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect our opinion of the audiobook or the content of our review.
    • 4/5
      Though a reader's patience will well be tested by Jane Withersteen, Zane Grey's lush descriptions of Utah's wilderness carry the rather slow moving plot to a bunch of rip roaring endings.
    • 3/5
      This book sold 1 million copies in 1912 at the height of an anti-Mormon fever.Today, it seems bigoted and bombastic. However, the descriptions of Southern Utah mesa country and feats of horsemanship are great.
    • 3/5
      Although I'm not a fan of Westerns, Riders of the Purple Sage is a classic in the genre and I've wanted to read it for some time. A Zane Grey group read gave me the motivation I needed. I listened to the audio version read by Mark Bramhall and I'm almost certain that I enjoyed listening to Bramhall's narration more than I would have enjoyed reading the book. His voice for each character was just right, even for the women. A lot of the dialogue was dated, but somehow Bramhall managed to keep it from sounding corny.I wasn't as bothered as some were with the negative portrayal of Mormons. The book is set in Utah Territory in 1871, at a time when there was a great deal of mistrust between the Mormons and the non-Mormons who lived there. Brigham Young was still living and the church had not yet rejected polygamy.The thing that eventually got to me was Jane Withersteen's gun phobia. It seemed to be more than pacifism. She had a horror for guns, and she did everything she could to get the gunman Lassiter to give up his guns. Jane Withersteen was the owner of a large ranch with lots of livestock. Guns would be necessary for protecting the livestock from predators or for quickly putting fatally injured animals out of their misery. Jane needed to know how to use guns, and her employees needed access to guns. Her attitude toward guns made no sense for her position or life in that place and time.Westerns will never be a favorite genre for me. However, at some point I would like to try Grey's Frontier trilogy, starting with Betty Zane, since it's based on Grey's family history.
    • 3/5
      In several instances the characters act in an overly theatrical fashion that made me think of the exaggerated affect of characters in silent movies. Relatedly, there are also some plot devices that are cloying, going overboard playing on the reader's sympathies. There are a few undeveloped characters that are bumped off like the expendable crew on Star Trek. Who were they? Some of the scenes went on long after they had served their purpose.In spite of all these problems there was a strong plot line that maintained my interest. In addition, the main character's struggle to break free from the dysfunctional obedience of a stern religious upbringing was interesting. I also liked the description of the Utah landscape.
    • 5/5
      Riders of the Purple Sage by Zane GreyRecall a band by this name and love their music. This book starts out with a few men who tend to Jane Withersteen's horses that she's raising and selling after training them.In Utal the Mormoms rule the land and they want her land and round up men to steal her horses. Before she knows it a little come Fay comes to stay with her because the woman taking care of her has died.There are many trouble and upheavals during this book involving many different sets of people. Liked the scenery because it is so descriptive from the daybreak to the full sun and at dusk-the purple sage is always being described.Love how they band together and make a run for it. Learned so much about this area-even gold! Great Book.
    • 4/5
      Great story. I immediately downloaded the sequel because I wanted to know more about what happened to Jane and Lassiter and Bess and Venters ... and the horses. Good storytelling and lovely descriptive passages. Maybe some of the characters were a little stock, but it didn't keep you from caring about them.
    • 1/5
      Jane Withersteen is a Mormon woman who has inherited her father's ranch. She dares to defy the church and faces opposition in more ways than one from church leaders. The book has the elements one would expect in a typical Western novel. I just don't really enjoy the genre, and I never really enjoyed Westerns on television. My inability to get into this book and enjoy it is probably more of a reflection of my dislike of the genre than of the quality of writing. If you enjoy Westerns, give it a try in spite of my dislike. I made a comment to a friend of mine as I was reading the book that the negative comments one heard about Mormons during the Romney presidential campaign paled in comparison to the contempt for Mormons in the novel. I really only stuck with the book because of the group read.
    • 2/5
      Whew! Mostly a slog. There is a fabulous horse chase, and a fair amount of adventure staples, but the dialogue is brutally awkward and almost all the set up patently absurd. Horses that can go over 50 miles a day! And the horrifying specter of cute little girl Fay, had me gagging with the manipulative exploitation of her and her use in the plot.
    • 5/5
      A while ago I received a copy of the Oxford World’s Classics catalogue inviting me to ask for any books I’d like to review on my blog. Where to start! I could have chosen hundreds, but one in particular leapt out at me from a genre I’d never read before.The evocative title has a lot to do with it (and there’s a band called New Riders of the Purple Sage). I grew up with Westerns – The Virginian, Alias Smith & Jones and The High Chapparal on TV, John Wayne and Clint Eastwood on film. Having worked in a library for my Saturday job in the late 1970s, I had heard of Zane Grey, Louis Lamour, JT Edson and others – they were quite popular then, so the author’s distinctive name did ring a bell. Indeed, I’ve enjoyed modern novels in a similar vein too – Cormac McCarthy’s Border Trilogy was superb. Could this book, one of the originals in the genre, hold its own against all the above?Pearl Zane Grey (his real name) was born in Ohio in 1872. He won a baseball scholarship to Penn where he studied dentistry – but he always wanted to become a writer. He was a bit of a lad too, and would often disappear off hunting, fishing or visiting old girlfriends! However, with his wife’s help, he developed his writing career. Inspired by another classic western novel The Virginian by Owen Wister, Riders as I’ll call it for short, was Grey’s greatest novel; published in 1912 it was fairly early in his long career which made him a millionaire.The first few paragraphs set the scene beautifully…"A sharp clip-clop of iron-shod hoofs deadened and died away, and clouds of yellow dust drifted from under the cottonwoods out over the sage.Jane Withersteen gazed down the wide purple slope with dreamy and troubled eyes. A rider had just left her and it was his message that held her thoughtful and almost sad, awaiting the churchmen who were coming to resent and attack her right to befriend a Gentile.She wondered if the unrest and strife that had lately come to Cottonwoods was to involve her. And then she sighed, remembering that her father had founded this remotest border settlement of southern Utah and that he had left it to her. She owned all the ground and many of the cottages. Withersteen House was hers, and the great ranch, with its thousands of cattle, and swiftest horses of the sage. To her belonged Amber Spring, the water which gave verdure and beauty to the village and made living possible on that wild purple upland waste. She could not escape being involved by whatever befell Cottonwoods."That was enough to totally transport me into this frontier world – after a mere few pages I was totally hooked. You can see the landscape with its sagebrush, and coppery red canyons in the distance. What was particularly surprising, is that the main character is a woman – a strong one at that; but also that even in the frontier villages of the wild west there is intolerance – here between the Mormons and the Gentiles.Jane, being an heiress, is under immense pressure to wed the Mormon preacher, and he and his men don’t like the friendship she has with Bern Venters. They drive Venters out of town so to speak, but Jane is saved from enforced marriage by the arrival of the gunman Lassiter who stays to help, and has a quest of his own. The Mormons plan a war of attrition on Jane – their women spy on her, their men stop working for her, and one of her herds of cattle is rustled. Jane struggles with her religion, finding it hard to see evil, and always wanting to look after her folk, but it’s not until she adopts an orphan child of one of her tenants that her eyes are opened and she lets herself find true love. Meanwhile Venters who is hiding in the canyons, discovers the rustlers base of operations, and shoots one of them known as the Masked Rider – the identity of whom is another story.I won’t tell you any more of the plot to save spoiling it, but this novel has a bit of everything you could expect from a Western – cowboys, horses, rustlers, preachers, girls, ranches, cattle, gunfights, horse chases, kidnapping, and more, plus that beautiful landscape. If my initial surprise was over the shock of religion playing such a crucial part, a more pleasant one was due to the degree of romance in what was traditionally a ‘man’s novel’ – well every cowboy needs his girl, (at least until Brokeback Mountain - another truly fine Western movie). The characterisation was strong throughout and particularly interesting was that we got to see the inner life of Jane, Lassiter and Venter – their thoughts, their hopes, fears and desires. It’s not action all the way through, there’s also an appreciation of a civilised life lived on the edge.I think you can tell I was rather besotted by this book – loved it!
    • 2/5
      This is this month's selection of one of my book discussion groups, nominated with some insistence by our lone male member. The only Westerns I'd ever read are Appaloosa, Resolution, and Lonesome Dove. Riders of the Purple Sage, written in 1912, is one of the first of the genre and that makes it of historical interest, but I found the book awfully hard going, primarily because it was written in 1912, and the language used for novels those days was atrocious. More than half of the writing is description of the surroundings ("The West," with all its buttes and canons as they were spelled then) which, as evidenced by other reviews of this book, was appreciated by folks who like that kind of thing, but I do not. And am I right in saying "Riders" is the term for people we now call "Cowboys"? The plot isn't bad; it reminds me a little of a romance novel written from the male point of view, or what I think a romance novel written by a man would be like (I don't read romance novels either). I was surprised at the Mormon element -- boy, I bet the Mormons hated Zane Grey! I kept imagining what the book would be like If the same plot were used by a current, talented novelist....I'd want to read THAT book.
    • 5/5
      Zane Grey first published this Western novel back in 1912, and it has become the standard by which others are measured. I don't know that it would survive a politically correct editor today, but it remains a great and exciting read, with John Wayne-type good guys, some really sinister bad guys wrapped in religious privilege, and a strong and godly young woman as the protagonist.Jane Withersteen has inherited a vast ranch with huge herds of cattle from her Mormon pioneer father. She is successfully managing the ranch and her employees as well as helping poor families wherever she sees a need. But the Mormon elder who has been courting her determines to break her financially when she rejects his offer to become one of his several wives.Jane's help comes from some Gentile (non Mormon) Cowboys who are not intimidated by the Mormon leaders, though even they may not be able to overcome the many wiles of the Mormon leadership, which holds strong spiritual and psychological authority over the Mormon families who make up the community as a whole.Greg's descriptions of the wild and rugged plains, high cliffs and deep valleys of Utah transport the reader back so effectively that one can almost smell the sage, feel the speed and power of the horses they ride, and the raw fear and excitement engendered by stampeding cattle. Oh, and there is a love story or two as well to enrich the adventure. Thoroughly enjoyed it and think you will too!
    • 3/5
      Digital audiobook read by John Bolen.From the book jacket: Cottonwoods, Utah, 1871. A woman stands accused. A man, sentenced to whipping. In … rides … Lassiter, a notorious gunman who’s come to avenge his sister’s death. It deoesn’t take Lassiter long to see that this once-peaceful Mormon community is controlled by the corrupt Deacon Tull – a powerful elder who’s trying to take the woman’s land by forcing her to marry him, branding her foreman a dangerous “outsider.” Lassiter vows to help them. But when the ranch is attacked by horse thieves, cattle rustlers, and a mysterious Masked Rider, he realizes they’re up against something bigger, and more brutal, than the land itself…My reactionsI hardly know what to write about this classic of the Western genre. It’s full of adventure, violence, strong men and women, tenderness, brutality and an abiding sense of justice. And, of course, there is the landscape, which Grey paints so vividly it is practically a character. Yes, the storyline and dialogue are a bit melodramatic. But Grey’s story still captured this reader’s imagination with its sense of drama, almost non-stop action, and bold characters. I was reminded of the many western movies I watched with my Daddy in the ‘50s and ‘60s. They were exciting and the good guys always won. Clearly those movies (and other books of the genre) had Grey’s strong foundation on which to build. I’m glad I finally read it.The digital audio available through my library’s Overdrive system was read by John Bolen. I was not a great fan of his delivery, which seemed overly dramatic to me. I might have enjoyed this better had I read the text.
    • 2/5
      I never got into this novel. It does have some attractive elements, mostly those that came to be hallmarks of the Western genre: strong attention to place, elaborate landscape visuals, loneliness, nostalgia, a mystical awe of nature and open spaces. While these were conveyed well, they tended to be drowned out by the more Victorian elements. The novel is dominated by emotionally stunted people romancing each other at an agonizingly slow pace, which never carried any appeal for me. And while I've been guilty of poking fun at their faith, I still found the level of hatred directed at Mormons in this book to be unsettling.
    • 3/5
      Zane Grey never allowed political correctness or historical accuracy to interfere in his storytelling but in the case of the overly dramatic, downright cheesy Riders of the Purple Sage, he should have. I am a fan of Grey’s and have enjoyed other books of his that I have read, but I really had trouble sticking with this story to the end. This is a book that should have disappeared, stored away up in grandpa’s dusty attic years ago. It is certainly not a book that should be used today to represent Zane Grey’s work.I had hoped that Riders of the Purple Sage would be a straight forward “cowboy story”, instead it is a strange blend of Morman bashing and romance. The plot points sound good on paper: Cattle rustlers, two couples falling in love and overcoming many obstacles to be together, along with horse stealing, a mysterious masked rider and a little orphan girl, but the one point the readers will take away from this book is the low opinion of Mormon’s that the author must have had. The one area that I felt Zane Grey excelled in was his beautiful descriptive writing. Although it seemed a little over-blown at times, I have travelled in this area of Southern Utah and the colors and scenery are incredible.Riders of the Purple Sage was originally published in 1912 and unfortunately just doesn’t hold up well today.
    • 4/5
      I listen to books via audio versions and like Audible.com's version of this book.

      I believe a few of this book's genre merit reading by anyone today. This is probably one of the best of these books. It deals with the Mormon community rather pointedly, in that our lady-in-distress is having trouble fending off the affections of a Mormon leader, who is already married several times over, now wanting her.
    • 3/5
      For all its fame as a western novel, this is really a love story (two, actually) that never quite makes it to being a tragedy.A soap opera in which everyone turns out to be something more than they appear at first, this was a bit of a surprise at first, but I was rooting for the good guys the whole way through. Disturbing bit of writing - two of the main 'western confrontation' scenes, in which the good guys ride to town to confront the bad guys, are told by secondary characters after the fact. Disappointing use of the narrative, to say the least.
    • 3/5
      I'm currently researching the western genre for my own writing, and this book reads through and through like a classic western. Riders, rustlers, gunfights and runaway cattle -- it's all here. While the duels are riveting and certain characters (Lassiter!) are memorable, it certainly drags on in the middle. Still, if you're patient with it, this is a decent read.
    • 2/5
      This was my first experience with a classic western by Zane Grey ... and my last if I have anything to say about it. I'm just not into westerns. I don't have much else to say other than it's not my thing - I don't like the environment, the 'cowboy' perspective, etc. etc. I tried.

    Book preview

    Riders of the Purple Sage - Zane Grey

    Riders of the Purple Sage

    Riders of the Purple Sage

    Zane Grey

     Copyright © 2018 by OPU

    All rights reserved.

    No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

    Chapter 1

    LASSITER

    A sharp clip-crop of iron-shod hoofs deadened and died away, and clouds of yellow dust drifted from under the cottonwoods out over the sage.

    Jane Withersteen gazed down the wide purple slope with dreamy and troubled eyes. A rider had just left her and it was his message that held her thoughtful and almost sad, awaiting the churchmen who were coming to resent and attack her right to befriend a Gentile.

    She wondered if the unrest and strife that had lately come to the little village of Cottonwoods was to involve her. And then she sighed, remembering that her father had founded this remotest border settlement of southern Utah and that he had left it to her. She owned all the ground and many of the cottages. Withersteen House was hers, and the great ranch, with its thousands of cattle, and the swiftest horses of the sage. To her belonged Amber Spring, the water which gave verdure and beauty to the village and made living possible on that wild purple upland waste. She could not escape being involved by whatever befell Cottonwoods.

    That year, 1871, had marked a change which had been gradually coming in the lives of the peace-loving Mormons of the border. Glaze—Stone Bridge—Sterling, villages to the north, had risen against the invasion of Gentile settlers and the forays of rustlers. There had been opposition to the one and fighting with the other. And now Cottonwoods had begun to wake and bestir itself and grown hard.

    Jane prayed that the tranquillity and sweetness of her life would not be permanently disrupted. She meant to do so much more for her people than she had done. She wanted the sleepy quiet pastoral days to last always. Trouble between the Mormons and the Gentiles of the community would make her unhappy. She was Mormon-born, and she was a friend to poor and unfortunate Gentiles. She wished only to go on doing good and being happy. And she thought of what that great ranch meant to her. She loved it all—the grove of cottonwoods, the old stone house, the amber-tinted water, and the droves of shaggy, dusty horses and mustangs, the sleek, clean-limbed, blooded racers, and the browsing herds of cattle and the lean, sun-browned riders of the sage.

    While she waited there she forgot the prospect of untoward change. The bray of a lazy burro broke the afternoon quiet, and it was comfortingly suggestive of the drowsy farmyard, and the open corrals, and the green alfalfa fields. Her clear sight intensified the purple sage-slope as it rolled before her. Low swells of prairie-like ground sloped up to the west. Dark, lonely cedar-trees, few and far between, stood out strikingly, and at long distances ruins of red rocks. Farther on, up the gradual slope, rose a broken wall, a huge monument, looming dark purple and stretching its solitary, mystic way, a wavering line that faded in the north. Here to the westward was the light and color and beauty. Northward the slope descended to a dim line of canyons from which rose an up-Hinging of the earth, not mountainous, but a vast heave of purple uplands, with ribbed and fan-shaped walls, castle-crowned cliffs, and gray escarpments. Over it all crept the lengthening, waning afternoon shadows.

    The rapid beat of hoofs recalled Jane Withersteen to the question at hand. A group of riders cantered up the lane, dismounted, and threw their bridles. They were seven in number, and Tull, the leader, a tall, dark man, was an elder of Jane's church.

    Did you get my message? he asked, curtly.

    Yes, replied Jane.

    I sent word I'd give that rider Venters half an hour to come down to the village. He didn't come.

    He knows nothing of it; said Jane. I didn't tell him. I've been waiting here for you.

    Where is Venters?

    I left him in the courtyard.

    Here, Jerry, called Tull, turning to his men, take the gang and fetch Venters out here if you have to rope him.

    The dusty-booted and long-spurred riders clanked noisily into the grove of cottonwoods and disappeared in the shade.

    Elder Tull, what do you mean by this? demanded Jane. If you must arrest Venters you might have the courtesy to wait till he leaves my home. And if you do arrest him it will be adding insult to injury. It's absurd to accuse Venters of being mixed up in that shooting fray in the village last night. He was with me at the time. Besides, he let me take charge of his guns. You're only using this as a pretext. What do you mean to do to Venters?

    I'll tell you presently, replied Tull. But first tell me why you defend this worthless rider?

    Worthless! exclaimed Jane, indignantly. He's nothing of the kind. He was the best rider I ever had. There's not a reason why I shouldn't champion him and every reason why I should. It's no little shame to me, Elder Tull, that through my friendship he has roused the enmity of my people and become an outcast. Besides I owe him eternal gratitude for saving the life of little Fay.

    I've heard of your love for Fay Larkin and that you intend to adopt her. But—Jane Withersteen, the child is a Gentile!

    Yes. But, Elder, I don't love the Mormon children any less because I love a Gentile child. I shall adopt Fay if her mother will give her to me.

    I'm not so much against that. You can give the child Mormon teaching, said Tull. But I'm sick of seeing this fellow Venters hang around you. I'm going to put a stop to it. You've so much love to throw away on these beggars of Gentiles that I've an idea you might love Venters.

    Tull spoke with the arrogance of a Mormon whose power could not be brooked and with the passion of a man in whom jealousy had kindled a consuming fire.

    Maybe I do love him, said Jane. She felt both fear and anger stir her heart. I'd never thought of that. Poor fellow! he certainly needs some one to love him.

    This'll be a bad day for Venters unless you deny that, returned Tull, grimly.

    Tull's men appeared under the cottonwoods and led a young man out into the lane. His ragged clothes were those of an outcast. But he stood tall and straight, his wide shoulders flung back, with the muscles of his bound arms rippling and a blue flame of defiance in the gaze he bent on Tull.

    For the first time Jane Withersteen felt Venters's real spirit. She wondered if she would love this splendid youth. Then her emotion cooled to the sobering sense of the issue at stake.

    Venters, will you leave Cottonwoods at once and forever? asked Tull, tensely.

    Why? rejoined the rider.

    Because I order it.

    Venters laughed in cool disdain.

    The red leaped to Tull's dark cheek.

    If you don't go it means your ruin, he said, sharply.

    Ruin! exclaimed Venters, passionately. Haven't you already ruined me? What do you call ruin? A year ago I was a rider. I had horses and cattle of my own. I had a good name in Cottonwoods. And now when I come into the village to see this woman you set your men on me. You hound me. You trail me as if I were a rustler. I've no more to lose—except my life.

    Will you leave Utah?

    Oh! I know, went on Venters, tauntingly, it galls you, the idea of beautiful Jane Withersteen being friendly to a poor Gentile. You want her all yourself. You're a wiving Mormon. You have use for her—and Withersteen House and Amber Spring and seven thousand head of cattle!

    Tull's hard jaw protruded, and rioting blood corded the veins of his neck.

    Once more. Will you go?

    NO!

    Then I'll have you whipped within an inch of your life, replied Tull, harshly. I'll turn you out in the sage. And if you ever come back you'll get worse.

    Venters's agitated face grew coldly set and the bronze changed

    Jane impulsively stepped forward. Oh! Elder Tull! she cried. You won't do that!

    Tull lifted a shaking finger toward her.

    That'll do from you. Understand, you'll not be allowed to hold this boy to a friendship that's offensive to your Bishop. Jane Withersteen, your father left you wealth and power. It has turned your head. You haven't yet come to see the place of Mormon women. We've reasoned with you, borne with you. We've patiently waited. We've let you have your fling, which is more than I ever saw granted to a Mormon woman. But you haven't come to your senses. Now, once for all, you can't have any further friendship with Venters. He's going to be whipped, and he's got to leave Utah!

    Oh! Don't whip him! It would be dastardly! implored Jane, with slow certainty of her failing courage.

    Tull always blunted her spirit, and she grew conscious that she had feigned a boldness which she did not possess. He loomed up now in different guise, not as a jealous suitor, but embodying the mysterious despotism she had known from childhood—the power of her creed.

    Venters, will you take your whipping here or would you rather go out in the sage? asked Tull. He smiled a flinty smile that was more than inhuman, yet seemed to give out of its dark aloofness a gleam of righteousness.

    I'll take it here—if I must, said Venters. But by God!—Tull you'd better kill me outright. That'll be a dear whipping for you and your praying Mormons. You'll make me another Lassiter!

    The strange glow, the austere light which radiated from Tull's face, might have been a holy joy at the spiritual conception of exalted duty. But there was something more in him, barely hidden, a something personal and sinister, a deep of himself, an engulfing abyss. As his religious mood was fanatical and inexorable, so would his physical hate be merciless.

    Elder, I—I repent my words, Jane faltered. The religion in her, the long habit of obedience, of humility, as well as agony of fear, spoke in her voice. Spare the boy! she whispered.

    You can't save him now, replied Tull stridently.

    Her head was bowing to the inevitable. She was grasping the truth, when suddenly there came, in inward constriction, a hardening of gentle forces within her breast. Like a steel bar it was stiffening all that had been soft and weak in her. She felt a birth in her of something new and unintelligible. Once more her strained gaze sought the sage-slopes. Jane Withersteen loved that wild and purple wilderness. In times of sorrow it had been her strength, in happiness its beauty was her continual delight. In her extremity she found herself murmuring, Whence cometh my help! It was a prayer, as if forth from those lonely purple reaches and walls of red and clefts of blue might ride a fearless man, neither creed-bound nor creed-mad, who would hold up a restraining hand in the faces of her ruthless people.

    The restless movements of Tull's men suddenly quieted down. Then followed a low whisper, a rustle, a sharp exclamation.

    Look! said one, pointing to the west.

    A rider!

    Jane Withersteen wheeled and saw a horseman, silhouetted against the western sky, coming riding out of the sage. He had ridden down from the left, in the golden glare of the sun, and had been unobserved till close at hand. An answer to her prayer!

    Do you know him? Does any one know him? questioned Tull, hurriedly.

    His men looked and looked, and one by one shook their heads.

    He's come from far, said one.

    Thet's a fine hoss, said another.

    A strange rider.

    Huh! he wears black leather, added a fourth.

    With a wave of his hand, enjoining silence, Tull stepped forward in such a way that he concealed Venters.

    The rider reined in his mount, and with a lithe forward-slipping action appeared to reach the ground in one long step. It was a peculiar movement in its quickness and inasmuch that while performing it the rider did not swerve in the slightest from a square front to the group before him.

    Look! hoarsely whispered one of Tull's companions. He packs two black-butted guns—low down—they're hard to see—black akin them black chaps.

    A gun-man! whispered another. Fellers, careful now about movin' your hands.

    The stranger's slow approach might have been a mere leisurely manner of gait or the cramped short steps of a rider unused to walking; yet, as well, it could have been the guarded advance of one who took no chances with men.

    Hello, stranger! called Tull. No welcome was in this greeting only a gruff curiosity.

    The rider responded with a curt nod. The wide brim of a black sombrero cast a dark shade over his face. For a moment he closely regarded Tull and his comrades, and then, halting in his slow walk, he seemed to relax.

    Evenin', ma'am, he said to Jane, and removed his sombrero with quaint grace.

    Jane, greeting him, looked up into a face that she trusted instinctively and which riveted her attention. It had all the characteristics of the range rider's—the leanness, the red burn of the sun, and the set changelessness that came from years of silence and solitude. But it was not these which held her, rather the intensity of his gaze, a strained weariness, a piercing wistfulness of keen, gray sight, as if the man was forever looking for that which he never found. Jane's subtle woman's intuition, even in that brief instant, felt a sadness, a hungering, a secret.

    Jane Withersteen, ma'am? he inquired.

    Yes, she replied.

    The water here is yours?

    Yes.

    May I water my horse?

    Certainly. There's the trough.

    But mebbe if you knew who I was— He hesitated, with his glance on the listening men. Mebbe you wouldn't let me water him—though I ain't askin' none for myself.

    Stranger, it doesn't matter who you are. Water your horse. And if you are thirsty and hungry come into my house.

    Thanks, ma'am. I can't accept for myself—but for my tired horse—

    Trampling of hoofs interrupted the rider. More restless movements on the part of Tull's men broke up the little circle, exposing the prisoner Venters.

    Mebbe I've kind of hindered somethin'—for a few moments, perhaps? inquired the rider.

    Yes, replied Jane Withersteen, with a throb in her voice.

    She felt the drawing power of his eyes; and then she saw him look at the bound Venters, and at the men who held him, and their leader.

    In this here country all the rustlers an' thieves an' cut-throats an' gun-throwers an' all-round no-good men jest happen to be Gentiles. Ma'am, which of the no-good class does that young feller belong to?

    He belongs to none of them. He's an honest boy.

    You KNOW that, ma'am?

    Yes—yes.

    Then what has he done to get tied up that way?

    His clear and distinct question, meant for Tull as well as for Jane Withersteen, stilled the restlessness and brought a momentary silence.

    Ask him, replied Jane, her voice rising high.

    The rider stepped away from her, moving out with the same slow, measured stride in which he had approached, and the fact that his action placed her wholly to one side, and him no nearer to Tull and his men, had a penetrating significance.

    Young feller, speak up, he said to Venters.

    Here stranger, this's none of your mix, began Tull. Don't try any interference. You've been asked to drink and eat. That's more than you'd have got in any other village of the Utah border. Water your horse and be on your way.

    Easy—easy—I ain't interferin' yet, replied the rider. The tone of his voice had undergone a change. A different man had spoken. Where, in addressing Jane, he had been mild and gentle, now, with his first speech to Tull, he was dry, cool, biting. I've lest stumbled onto a queer deal. Seven Mormons all packin' guns, an' a Gentile tied with a rope, an' a woman who swears by his honesty! Queer, ain't that?

    Queer or not, it's none of your business, retorted Tull.

    Where I was raised a woman's word was law. I ain't quite outgrowed that yet.

    Tull fumed between amaze and anger.

    Meddler, we have a law here something different from woman's whim—Mormon law!… Take care you don't transgress it.

    To hell with your Mormon law!

    The deliberate speech marked the rider's further change, this time from kindly interest to an awakening menace. It produced a transformation in Tull and his companions. The leader gasped and staggered backward at a blasphemous affront to an institution he held most sacred. The man Jerry, holding the horses, dropped the bridles and froze in his tracks. Like posts the other men stood watchful-eyed, arms hanging rigid, all waiting.

    Speak up now, young man. What have you done to be roped that way?

    It's a damned outrage! burst out Venters. I've done no wrong. I've offended this Mormon Elder by being a friend to that woman.

    Ma'am, is it true—what he says? asked the rider of Jane, but his quiveringly alert eyes never left the little knot of quiet men.

    True? Yes, perfectly true, she answered.

    Well, young man, it seems to me that bein' a friend to such a woman would be what you wouldn't want to help an' couldn't help… . What's to be done to you for it?

    They intend to whip me. You know what that means—in Utah!

    I reckon, replied the rider, slowly.

    With his gray glance cold on the Mormons, with the restive bit-champing of the horses, with Jane failing to repress her mounting agitations, with Venters standing pale and still, the tension of the moment tightened. Tull broke the spell with a laugh, a laugh without mirth, a laugh that was only a sound betraying fear.

    Come on, men! he called.

    Jane Withersteen turned again to the rider.

    Stranger, can you do nothing to save Venters?

    Ma'am, you ask me to save him—from your own people?

    Ask you? I beg of you!

    But you don't dream who you're askin'.

    Oh, sir, I pray you—save him!

    These are Mormons, an' I…

    At—at any cost—save him. For I—I care for him!

    Tull snarled. You love-sick fool! Tell your secrets. There'll be a way to teach you what you've never learned… . Come men out of here!

    Mormon, the young man stays, said the rider.

    Like a shot his voice halted Tull.

    What!

    Who'll keep him? He's my prisoner! cried Tull, hotly. Stranger, again I tell you—don't mix here. You've meddled enough. Go your way now or—

    Listen!… He stays.

    Absolute certainty, beyond any shadow of doubt, breathed in the rider's low voice.

    Who are you? We are seven here.

    The rider dropped his sombrero and made a rapid movement, singular in that it left him somewhat crouched, arms bent and stiff, with the big black gun-sheaths swung round to the fore.

    LASSITER!

    It was Venters's wondering, thrilling cry that bridged the fateful connection between the rider's singular position and the dreaded name.

    Tull put out a groping hand. The life of his eyes dulled to the gloom with which men of his fear saw the approach of death. But death, while it hovered over him, did not descend, for the rider waited for the twitching fingers, the downward flash of hand that did not come. Tull, gathering himself together, turned to the horses, attended by his pale comrades.

    Chapter 2

    COTTONWOODS

    Venters appeared too deeply moved to speak the gratitude his face expressed. And Jane turned upon the rescuer and gripped his hands. Her smiles and tears seemingly dazed him. Presently as something like calmness returned, she went to Lassiter's weary horse.

    I will water him myself, she said, and she led the horse to a trough under a huge old cottonwood. With nimble fingers she loosened the bridle and removed the bit. The horse snorted and bent his head. The trough was of solid stone, hollowed out, moss-covered and green and wet and cool, and the clear brown water that fed it spouted and splashed from a wooden pipe.

    He has brought you far to-day?

    Yes, ma'am, a matter of over sixty miles, mebbe seventy.

    A long ride—a ride that—Ah, he is blind!

    Yes, ma'am, replied Lassiter.

    What blinded him?

    Some men once roped an' tied him, an' then held white-iron close to his eyes.

    Oh! Men? You mean devils… . Were they your enemies—Mormons?

    Yes, ma'am.

    To take revenge on a horse! Lassiter, the men of my creed are unnaturally cruel. To my everlasting sorrow I confess it. They have been driven, hated, scourged till their hearts have hardened. But we women hope and pray for the time when our men will soften.

    Beggin' your pardon, ma'am—that time will never come.

    Oh, it will!… Lassiter, do you think Mormon women wicked? Has your hand been against them, too?

    No. I believe Mormon women are the best and noblest, the most long-sufferin', and the blindest, unhappiest women on earth.

    Ah! She gave him a grave, thoughtful look. Then you will break bread with me?

    Lassiter had no ready response, and he uneasily shifted his weight from one leg to another, and turned his sombrero round and round in his hands. Ma'am, he began, presently, I reckon your kindness of heart makes you overlook things. Perhaps I ain't well known hereabouts, but back up North there's Mormons who'd rest uneasy in their graves at the idea of me sittin' to table with you.

    I dare say. But—will you do it, anyway? she asked.

    Mebbe you have a brother or relative who might drop in an' be offended, an' I wouldn't want to—

    I've not a relative in Utah that I know of. There's no one with a right to question my actions. She turned smilingly to Venters. You will come in, Bern, and Lassiter will come in. We'll eat and be merry while we may.

    I'm only wonderin' if Tull an' his men'll raise a storm down in the village, said Lassiter, in his last weakening stand.

    Yes, he'll raise the storm—after he has prayed, replied Jane. Come.

    She led the way, with the bridle of Lassiter's horse over her arm. They entered a grove and walked down a wide path shaded by great low-branching cottonwoods. The last rays of the setting sun sent golden bars through the leaves. The grass was deep and rich, welcome contrast to sage-tired eyes. Twittering quail darted across the path, and from a tree-top somewhere a robin sang its evening song, and on the still air floated the freshness and murmur of flowing water.

    The home of Jane Withersteen stood in a circle of cottonwoods, and was a flat, long, red-stone structure with a covered court in the center through which flowed a lively stream of amber-colored water. In the massive blocks of stone and heavy timbers and solid doors and shutters showed the hand of a man who had builded against pillage and time; and in the flowers and mosses lining the stone-bedded stream, in the bright colors of rugs and blankets on the court floor, and the cozy corner with hammock and books and the clean-linened table, showed the grace of a daughter who lived for happiness and the day at hand.

    Jane turned Lassiter's horse loose in the thick grass. You will want him to be near you, she said, or I'd have him taken to the alfalfa fields. At her call appeared women who began at once to bustle about, hurrying to and fro, setting the table. Then Jane, excusing herself, went within.

    She passed through a huge low ceiled chamber, like the inside of a fort, and into a smaller one where a bright wood-fire blazed in an old open fireplace, and from this into her own room. It had the same comfort as was manifested in the home-like outer court; moreover, it was warm and rich in soft hues.

    Seldom did Jane Withersteen enter her room without looking into her mirror. She knew she loved the reflection of that beauty which since early childhood she had never been allowed to forget. Her relatives and friends, and later a horde of Mormon and Gentile suitors, had fanned the flame of natural vanity in her. So that at twenty-eight she scarcely thought at all of her wonderful influence for good in the little community where her father had left her practically its beneficent landlord, but cared most for the dream and the assurance and the allurement of her beauty. This time, however, she gazed into her glass with more than the usual happy motive, without the usual slight conscious smile. For she was thinking of more than the desire to be fair in her own eyes, in those of her friend; she wondered if she were to seem fair in the eyes of this Lassiter, this man whose name had crossed the long, wild brakes of stone and plains of sage, this gentle-voiced, sad-faced man who was a hater and a killer of Mormons. It was not now her usual half-conscious vain obsession that actuated her as she hurriedly changed her riding-dress to one of white, and then looked long at the stately form with its gracious contours, at the fair face with its strong chin and full firm lips, at the dark-blue, proud, and passionate eyes.

    If by some means I can keep him here a few days, a week—he will never kill another Mormon, she mused. Lassiter!… I shudder when I think of that name, of him. But when I look at the man I forget who he is—I almost like him. I remember only that he saved Bern. He has suffered. I wonder what it was—did he love a Mormon woman once? How splendidly he championed us poor misunderstood souls! Somehow he knows—much.

    Jane Withersteen joined her guests and bade them to her board. Dismissing her woman, she waited upon them with her own hands. It was a bountiful supper and a strange company. On her right sat the ragged and half-starved Venters; and though blind eyes could have seen what he counted for in the sum of her happiness, yet he looked the gloomy outcast his allegiance had made him, and about him there was the shadow of the ruin presaged by Tull. On her left sat black-leather-garbed Lassiter looking like a man in a dream. Hunger was not with him, nor composure, nor speech, and when he twisted in frequent unquiet movements the heavy guns that he had not removed knocked against the table-legs. If it had been otherwise possible to forget the presence of Lassiter those telling little jars would have rendered it unlikely. And Jane Withersteen talked and smiled and laughed with all the dazzling play of lips and eyes that a beautiful, daring woman could summon to her purpose.

    When the meal ended, and the men pushed back their chairs, she leaned closer to Lassiter and looked square into his eyes.

    Why did you come to Cottonwoods?

    Her question seemed to break a spell. The rider arose as if he had just remembered himself and had tarried longer than his wont.

    Ma'am, I have hunted all over the southern Utah and Nevada for—somethin'. An' through your name I learned where to find it—here in Cottonwoods.

    My name! Oh, I remember. You did know my name when you spoke first. Well, tell me where you heard it and from whom?

    At the little village—Glaze, I think it's called—some fifty miles or more west of here. An' I heard it from a Gentile, a rider who said you'd know where to tell me to find—

    What? she demanded, imperiously, as Lassiter broke off.

    Milly Erne's grave, he answered low, and the words came with a wrench.

    Venters wheeled in his chair to regard Lassiter in amazement, and Jane slowly raised herself in white, still wonder.

    Milly Erne's grave? she echoed, in a whisper. What do you know of Milly Erne, my best-beloved friend—who died in my arms? What were you to her?

    Did I claim to be anythin'? he inquired. I know people—relatives—who have long wanted to know where she's buried, that's all.

    Relatives? She never spoke of relatives, except a brother who was shot in Texas. Lassiter, Milly Erne's grave is in a secret burying-ground on my property.

    Will you take me there?… You'll be offendin' Mormons worse than by breakin' bread with me.

    Indeed yes, but I'll do it. Only we must go unseen. To-morrow, perhaps.

    Thank you, Jane Withersteen, replied the rider, and he bowed to her and stepped backward out of the court.

    Will you not stay—sleep under my roof? she asked.

    No, ma'am, an' thanks again. I never sleep indoors. An' even if I did there's that gatherin' storm in the village below. No, no. I'll go to the sage. I hope you won't suffer none for your kindness to me.

    Lassiter, said Venters, with a half-bitter laugh, my bed too, is the sage. Perhaps we may meet out there.

    Mebbe so. But the sage is wide an' I won't be near. Good night.

    At Lassiter's low whistle the black horse whinnied, and carefully picked his blind way out of the grove. The rider did not bridle him, but walked beside him, leading him by touch of hand and together they passed slowly into the shade of the cottonwoods.

    Jane, I must be off soon, said Venters. Give me my guns. If I'd had my guns—

    Either my friend or the Elder of my church would be lying dead, she interposed.

    Tull would be—surely.

    Oh, you fierce-blooded, savage youth! Can't I teach you forebearance, mercy? Bern, it's divine to forgive your enemies. 'Let not the sun go down upon thy wrath.'

    Hush! Talk to me no more of mercy or religion—after to-day. To-day this strange coming of Lassiter left me still a man, and now I'll die a man!… Give me my guns.

    Silently she went into the house, to return with a heavy cartridge-belt and gun-filled sheath and a long rifle; these she handed to him, and as he buckled on the belt she stood before him in silent eloquence.

    Jane, he said, in gentler voice, "don't look so. I'm not going out to murder your churchman. I'll try to avoid him and all his men. But can't you see I've reached the end of my rope? Jane, you're a wonderful woman. Never was there a woman so unselfish and good. Only

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1