ion; he
affirmed.

"I promised Jane Withersteen I'd try to avoid Tull. I'll keep my word.
But sooner or later Tull and I will meet. As I feel now, if he even
looks at me I'll draw!"

"I reckon so. There'll be hell down there, presently." He paused a
moment and flicked a sage-brush with his quirt. "Venters, seein' as
you're considerable worked up, tell me Milly Erne's story."

Venters's agitation stilled to the trace of suppressed eagerness in
Lassiter's query.

"Milly Erne's story? Well, Lassiter, I'll tell you what I know. Milly
Erne had been in Cottonwoods years when I first arrived there, and most
of what I tell you happened before my arrival. I got to know her pretty
well. She was a slip of a woman, and crazy on religion. I conceived an
idea that I never mentioned--I thought she was at heart more Gentile
than Mormon. But she passed as a Mormon, and certainly she had the
Mormon woman's locked lips. You know, in every Mormon village there are
women who seem mysterious to us, but about Milly there was more than
the ordinary mystery. When she came to Cottonwoods she had a beautiful
little girl whom she loved passionately. Milly was not known openly in
Cottonwoods as a Mormon wife. That she really was a Mormon wife I have
no doubt. Perhaps the Mormon's other wife or wives would not acknowledge
Milly. Such things happen in these villages. Mormon wives wear
yokes, but they get jealous. Well, whatever had brought Milly to this
country--love or madness of religion--she repented of it. She gave up
teaching the village school. She quit the church. And she began to
fight Mormon upbringing for her baby girl. Then the Mormons put on the
screws--slowly, as is their way. At last the child disappeared. 'Lost'
was the report. The child was stolen, I know that. So do you. That
wrecked Milly Erne. But she lived on in hope. She became a slave. She
worked her heart and soul and life out to get back her child. She never
heard of it again. Then she sank.... I can see her now, a frail thing, so
transparent you could almost look through her--white like ashes--and her
eyes!... Her eyes have always haunted me. She had one real friend--Jane
Withersteen. But Jane couldn't mend a broken heart, and Milly died."

For moments Lassiter did not speak, or turn his head.

"The man!" he exclaimed, presently, in husky accents.

"I haven't the slightest idea who the Mormon was," replied Venters; "nor
has any Gentile in Cottonwoods."

"Does Jane W