hair. If he or any of his men had moved a finger downward--"

Venters left his meaning unspoken, but at the suggestion Jane
shuddered.

The pale afterglow in the west darkened with the merging of
twilight into night. The sage now spread out black and gloomy.
One dim star glimmered in the southwest sky. The sound of
trotting horses had ceased, and there was silence broken only by
a faint, dry pattering of cottonwood leaves in the soft night
wind.

Into this peace and calm suddenly broke the high-keyed yelp of a
coyote, and from far off in the darkness came the faint answering
note of a trailing mate.

"Hello! the sage-dogs are barking," said Venters.

"I don't like to hear them," replied Jane. "At night, sometimes
when I lie awake, listening to the long mourn or breaking bark or
wild howl, I think of you asleep somewhere in the sage, and my
heart aches."

"Jane, you couldn't listen to sweeter music, nor could I have a
better bed."

"Just think! Men like Lassiter and you have no home, no comfort,
no rest, no place to lay your weary heads. Well!...Let us be
patient. Tull's anger may cool, and time may help us. You might
do some service to the village--who can tell? Suppose you