fearless man. It was hot, primitive
instinct to live--to fight. It was a kind of mad joy in Venters's
chivalry. It was close to the wrath that had first shaken her in the
beginning of this war waged upon her.

"Well, well, Jane, don't take it that way," said Lassiter, in evident
distress. "I had to tell you. There's some things a feller jest can't
keep. It's strange you give up on hearin' that, when all this long time
you've been the gamest woman I ever seen. But I don't know women. Mebbe
there's reason for you to cry. I know this--nothin' ever rang in my soul
an' so filled it as what Venters did. I'd like to have done it, but--I'm
only good for throwin' a gun, en' it seems you hate that.... Well, I'll
be goin' now."

"Where?"

"Venters took Wrangle to the stable. The sorrel's shy a shoe, an' I've
got to help hold the big devil an' put on another."

"Tell Bern to come for the pack I want to give him--and--and to say
good-by," called Jane, as Lassiter went out.

Jane passed the rest of that day in a vain endeavor to decide what and
what not to put in the pack for Venters. This task was the last she
would ever perform for him, and the gifts were the last she would ever
make him. So she picked and chose and rejected, and chose again, and
often paused in sad revery, and began again, till at length she filled
the pack.

It was about sunset, and she and Fay had finished supper and were
sitting in the court, when Venters's quick steps rang on the stones.
She scarcely knew him, for he had changed the tattered garments, and
she missed the dark beard and long hair. Still he was not the Venters of
old. As he came up the steps she felt herself pointing to the pack,
and heard herself speaking words that were meaningless to her. He said
good-by; he kissed her, released her, and turned away. His tall figure
blurred in her sight, grew dim through dark, streaked vision, and then
he vanished.

Twilight fell around Withersteen House, and dusk and night. Little
Fay slept; but Jane lay with strained, aching eyes. She heard the wind
moaning in the cottonwoods and mice squeaking in the walls. The night
was interminably long, yet she prayed to hold back the dawn. What would
another day bring forth? The blackness of her room seemed blacker
for the sad, entering gray of morning light. She heard the chirp of
awakening birds, and fancied she caught a faint clatter of hoofs. Then
low, dull distant, throbbed a heavy gunshot. She had expect