Riders of the Purple Sage by Zane Grey (best thriller books to read .TXT) 📕

“Wait⁠—here,” he said.

Before her rose a bulge of stone, nicked with little cut steps, and above that a corner of yellow wall, and overhanging that a vast, ponderous cliff.

The dogs pattered up, disappeared round the corner. Lassiter mounted the steps with Fay, and he swayed like a drunken man, and he too disappeared. But instantly he returned alone, and half ran, half slipped down to her.

Then from below pealed up hoarse shouts of angry men. Tull and several of his riders had reached the spot where Lassiter had parted with his guns.

“You’ll need that breath⁠—mebbe!” said Lassiter, facing downward, with glittering eyes.

“Now, Jane, the last pull,” he went on. “Walk up them little steps. I’ll follow an’ steady you. Don’t think. Jest go. Little Fay’s above. Her eyes are open. She jest said to me, ‘Where’s muvver Jane?’ ”

Without a fear or a tremor or a slip or a touch of Lassiter’s hand Jane Withersteen walked up that ladder of cut steps.

He pushed her round the corner of the wall. Fay lay, with wide staring eyes, in the shade of a gloomy wall. The dogs waited. Lassiter picked up the child and turned into a dark cleft. It zigzagged. It widened. It opened. Jane was amazed at a wonderfully smooth and steep incline leading up between ruined, splintered, toppling walls. A red haze from the setting sun filled this passage. Lassiter climbed with slow, measured steps, and blood dripped from him to make splotches on the white stone. Jane tried not to step in his blood, but was compelled, for she found no other footing. The saddlebag began to drag her down; she gasped for breath, she thought her heart was bursting. Slower, slower yet the rider climbed, whistling as he breathed. The incline widened. Huge pinnacles and monuments of stone stood alone, leaning fearfully. Red sunset haze shone through cracks where the wall had split. Jane did not look high, but she felt the overshadowing of broken rims above. She felt that it was a fearful, menacing place. And she climbed on in heartrending effort. And she fell beside Lassiter and Fay at the top of the incline in a narrow, smooth divide.

He staggered to his feet⁠—staggered to a huge, leaning rock that rested on a small pedestal. He put his hand on it⁠—the hand that had been shot through⁠—and Jane saw blood drip from the ragged hole. Then he fell.

“Jane⁠—I⁠—can’t⁠—do⁠—it!” he whispered.

“What?”

“Roll the⁠—stone!⁠ ⁠… All my⁠—life I’ve loved⁠—to roll stones⁠—en’ now I⁠—can’t!”

“What of it? You talk strangely. Why roll that stone?”

“I planned to⁠—fetch you here⁠—to roll this stone. See! It’ll smash the crags⁠—loosen the walls⁠—close the outlet!”

As Jane Withersteen gazed down that long incline, walled in by crumbling cliffs, awaiting only the slightest jar to make them fall asunder, she saw Tull appear at the bottom and begin to climb. A rider followed him⁠—another⁠—and another.

“See! Tull! The riders!”

“Yes⁠—they’ll get us⁠—now.”

“Why? Haven’t you strength left to roll the stone?”

“Jane⁠—it ain’t that⁠—I’ve lost my nerve!”

“You!⁠ ⁠… Lassiter!”

“I wanted to roll it⁠—meant to⁠—but I⁠—can’t. Venters’s valley is down behind here. We could⁠—live there. But if I roll the stone⁠—we’re shut in for always. I don’t dare. I’m thinkin’ of you!”

“Lassiter! Roll the stone!” she cried.

He arose, tottering, but with set face, and again he placed the bloody hand on the Balancing Rock. Jane Withersteen gazed from him down the passageway. Tull was climbing. Almost, she thought, she saw his dark, relentless face. Behind him more riders climbed. What did they mean for Fay⁠—for Lassiter⁠—for herself?

“Roll the stone!⁠ ⁠… Lassiter, I love you!”

Under all his deathly pallor, and the blood, and the iron of seared cheek and lined brow, worked a great change. He placed both hands on the rock and then leaned his shoulder there and braced his powerful body.

“Roll the stone!”

It stirred, it groaned, it grated, it moved, and with a slow grinding, as of wrathful relief, began to lean. It had waited ages to fall, and now was slow in starting. Then, as if suddenly instinct with life, it leaped hurtlingly down to alight on the steep incline, to bound more swiftly into the air, to gather momentum, to plunge into the lofty leaning crag below. The crag thundered into atoms. A wave of air⁠—a splitting shock! Dust shrouded the sunset red of shaking rims; dust shrouded Tull as he fell on his knees with uplifted arms. Shafts and monuments and sections of wall fell majestically.

From the depths there rose a long-drawn rumbling roar. The outlet to Deception Pass closed forever.

Riders of the Purple Sage
was published in 1912 by
Zane Grey.

This ebook was produced for
Standard Ebooks
by
Jason DeCock,
and is based on a transcription produced in 1998 by
Bill Brewer, Rick Fane, and David Widger
for
Project Gutenberg
and on digital scans available at the
Internet Archive.

The cover page is adapted from
Cliffs of the Upper Colorado River, Wyoming Territory,
a painting completed in 1882 by
Thomas Moran.
The cover and title pages feature the
League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy
typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by
The League of Moveable Type.

The first edition of this ebook was released on
December 31, 2021, 8:02 p.m.
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