a shot, then, Venters told Tull that the friendship between you
an' him was all over, an' he was leaving your place. He said you'd
both of you broken off in the hope of propitiatin' your people, but you
hadn't changed your mind otherwise, an' never would.

"Next he spoke up for you. I ain't goin' to tell you what he said.
Only--no other woman who ever lived ever had such tribute! You had a
champion, Jane, an' never fear that those thick-skulled men don't know
you now. It couldn't be otherwise. He spoke the ringin', lightnin'
truth.... Then he accused Tull of the underhand, miserable robbery of a
helpless woman. He told Tull where the red herd was, of a deal made with
Oldrin', that Jerry Card had made the deal. I thought Tull was goin' to
drop, an' that little frog-legged cuss, he looked some limp an' white.
But Venters's voice would have kept anybody's legs from bucklin'. I was
stiff myself. He went on an' called Tull--called him every bad name ever
known to a rider, an' then some. He cursed Tull. I never hear a man
get such a cursin'. He laughed in scorn at the idea of Tull bein' a
minister. He said Tull an' a few more dogs of hell builded their
empire out of the hearts of such innocent an' God-fearin' women as Jane
Withersteen. He called Tull a binder of women, a callous beast who hid
behind a mock mantle of righteousness--an' the last an' lowest coward
on the face of the earth. To prey on weak women through their
religion--that was the last unspeakable crime!

"Then he finished, an' by this time he'd almost lost his voice. But his
whisper was enough. 'Tull,' he said, 'she begged me not to draw on you
to-day. She would pray for you if you burned her at the stake.... But
listen!... I swear if you and I ever come face to face again, I'll kill
you!'

"We backed out of the door then, an' up the road. But nobody follered
us."

Jane found herself weeping passionately. She had not been conscious of
it till Lassiter ended his story, and she experienced exquisite pain and
relief in shedding tears. Long had her eyes been dry, her grief deep;
long had her emotions been dumb. Lassiter's story put her on the rack;
the appalling nature of Venters's act and speech had no parallel as an
outrage; it was worse than bloodshed. Men like Tull had been shot, but
had one ever been so terribly denounced in public? Over-mounting her
horror, an uncontrollable, quivering passion shook her very soul. It was
sheer human glory in the deed of a