Riders of the Purple Sage
6. The Mill-Wheel Of Steers
Meantime, at the ranch, when Judkins's news had sent Venters on the trail of the
rustlers, Jane Withersteen led the injured man to her house and with skilled
fingers dressed the gunshot wound in his arm.
"Judkins, what do you think happened to my riders?"
"I--I d rather not say," he replied.
"Tell me. Whatever you'll tell me I'll keep to myself. I'm beginning to worry about
more than the loss of a herd of cattle. Venters hinted of-- but tell me, Judkins."
"Well, Miss Withersteen, I think as Venters thinks--your riders have been called
"You know who handles the reins of your Mormon riders."
"Do you dare insinuate that my churchmen have ordered in my riders?"
"I ain't insinuatin' nothin', Miss Withersteen," answered Judkins, with spirit. "I
know what I'm talking about. I didn't want to tell you."
"Oh, I can't believe that! I'll not believe it! Would Tull leave my herds at the mercy
of rustlers and wolves just because--because--? No, no! It's unbelievable."
"Yes, thet particular thing's onheard of around Cottonwoods But, beggin' pardon,
Miss Withersteen, there never was any other rich Mormon woman here on the
border, let alone one thet's taken the bit between her teeth."
That was a bold thing for the reserved Judkins to say, but it did not anger her.
This rider's crude hint of her spirit gave her a glimpse of what others might think.
Humility and obedience had been hers always. But had she taken the bit
between her teeth? Still she wavered. And then, with quick spurt of warm blood
along her veins, she thought of Black Star when he got the bit fast between his
iron jaws and ran wild in the sage. If she ever started to run! Jane smothered the
glow and burn within her, ashamed of a passion for freedom that opposed her
"Judkins, go to the village," she said, "and when you have learned anything
definite about my riders please come to me at once."
When he had gone Jane resolutely applied her mind to a number of tasks that of
late had been neglected. Her father had trained her in the management of a
hundred employees and the working of gardens and fields; and to keep record of
the movements of cattle and riders. And beside the many duties she had added
to this work was one of extreme delicacy, such as required all her tact and
ingenuity. It was an unobtrusive, almost secret aid which she rendered to the
Gentile families of the village. Though Jane Withersteen never admitted so to
herself, it amounted to no less than a system of charity. But for her invention of
numberless kinds of employment, for which there was no actual need, these
families of Gentiles, who had failed in a Mormon community, would have starved.
In aiding these poor people Jane thought she deceived her keen churchmen, but
it was a kind of deceit for which she did not pray to be forgiven. Equally as
difficult was the task of deceiving the Gentiles, for they were as proud as they
were poor. It had been a great grief to her to discover how these people hated