Riders of the Purple Sage HTML version

During all these waiting days Venters, with the exception of the afternoon when
he had built the gate in the gorge, had scarcely gone out of sight of camp and
never out of hearing. His desire to explore Surprise Valley was keen, and on the
morning after his long talk with the girl he took his rifle and, calling Ring, made a
move to start. The girl lay back in a rude chair of boughs he had put together for
her. She had been watching him, and when he picked up the gun and called the
dog Venters thought she gave a nervous start.
"I'm only going to look over the valley," he said.
"Will you be gone long?"
"No," he replied, and started off. The incident set him thinking of his former
impression that, after her recovery from fever, she did not seem at ease unless
he was close at hand. It was fear of being alone, due, he concluded, most likely
to her weakened condition. He must not leave her much alone.
As he strode down the sloping terrace, rabbits scampered before him, and the
beautiful valley quail, as purple in color as the sage on the uplands, ran fleetly
along the ground into the forest. It was pleasant under the trees, in the gold-
flecked shade, with the whistle of quail and twittering of birds everywhere. Soon
he had passed the limit of his former excursions and entered new territory. Here
the woods began to show open glades and brooks running down from the slope,
and presently he emerged from shade into the sunshine of a meadow. The
shaking of the high grass told him of the running of animals, what species he
could not tell, but from Ring's manifest desire to have a chase they were
evidently some kind wilder than rabbits. Venters approached the willow and
cottonwood belt that he had observed from the height of slope. He penetrated it
to find a considerable stream of water and great half-submerged mounds of
brush and sticks, and all about him were old and new gnawed circles at the base
of the cottonwoods.
"Beaver!" he exclaimed. "By all that's lucky! The meadow's full of beaver! How
did they ever get here?"
Beaver had not found a way into the valley by the trail of the cliff-dwellers, of that
he was certain; and he began to have more than curiosity as to the outlet or inlet
of the stream. When he passed some dead water, which he noted was held by a
beaver dam, there was a current in the stream, and it flowed west. Following its
course, he soon entered the oak forest again, and passed through to find himself
before massed and jumbled ruins of cliff wall. There were tangled thickets of wild
plum-trees and other thorny growths that made passage extremely laborsome.
He found innumerable tracks of wildcats and foxes. Rustlings in the thick
undergrowth told him of stealthy movements of these animals. At length his
further advance appeared futile, for the reason that the stream disappeared in a
split at the base of immense rocks over which he could not climb. To his relief he
concluded that though beaver might work their way up the narrow chasm where
the water rushed, it would be impossible for men to enter the valley there.