een a sight of horses. Now, ma'am, if you was wantin' to make a long
an' fast ride across the sage--say to elope--"

Lassiter ended there with dry humor, yet behind that was meaning. Jane
blushed and made arch eyes at him.

"Take care, Lassiter, I might think that a proposal," she replied,
gaily. "It's dangerous to propose elopement to a Mormon woman. Well,
I was expecting you. Now will be a good hour to show you Milly Erne's
grave. The day-riders have gone, and the night-riders haven't come in.
Bern, what do you make of that? Need I worry? You know I have to be made
to worry."

"Well, it's not usual for the night shift to ride in so late," replied
Venters, slowly, and his glance sought Lassiter's. "Cattle are usually
quiet after dark. Still, I've known even a coyote to stampede your white
herd."

"I refuse to borrow trouble. Come," said Jane.

They mounted, and, with Jane in the lead, rode down the lane, and,
turning off into a cattle trail, proceeded westward. Venters's dogs
trotted behind them. On this side of the ranch the outlook was different
from that on the other; the immediate foreground was rough and the sage
more rugged and less colorful; there were no dark-blue lines of canyons
to hold the eye, nor any uprearing rock walls. It was a long roll and
slope into gray obscurity. Soon Jane left the trail and rode into the
sage, and presently she dismounted and threw her bridle. The men did
likewise. Then, on foot, they followed her, coming out at length on the
rim of a low escarpment. She passed by several little ridges of earth to
halt before a faintly defined mound. It lay in the shade of a sweeping
sage-brush close to the edge of the promontory; and a rider could have
jumped his horse over it without recognizing a grave.

"Here!"

She looked sad as she spoke, but she offered no explanation for the
neglect of an unmarked, uncared-for grave. There was a little bunch of
pale, sweet lavender daisies, doubtless planted there by Jane.

"I only come here to remember and to pray," she said. "But I leave no
trail!"

A grave in the sage! How lonely this resting-place of Milly Erne! The
cottonwoods or the alfalfa fields were not in sight, nor was there any
rock or ridge or cedar to lend contrast to the monotony. Gray slopes,
tinging the purple, barren and wild, with the wind waving the sage,
swept away to the dim horizon.

Lassiter looked at the grave and then out into space. At that moment he
seemed a figure