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

not a nod or shake of head, not so much as dropping eye or twitching lip⁠—nothing but a quiet, stony stare.

“Been under the knife? You’ve a fine knife-wielder here⁠—one Tull, I believe!⁠ ⁠… Maybe you’ve all had your tongues cut out?”

This passionate sarcasm of Venters brought no response, and the stony calm was as oil on the fire within him.

“I see some of you pack guns, too!” he added, in biting scorn. In the long, tense pause, strung keenly as a tight wire, he sat motionless on Black Star. “All right,” he went on. “Then let some of you take this message to Tull. Tell him I’ve seen Jerry Card!⁠ ⁠… Tell him Jerry Card will never return!”

Thereupon, in the same dead calm, Venters backed Black Star away from the curb, into the street, and out of range. He was ready now to ride up to Withersteen House and turn the racers over to Jane.

“Hello, Venters!” a familiar voice cried, hoarsely, and he saw a man running toward him. It was the rider Judkins who came up and gripped Venters’s hand. “Venters, I could hev dropped when I seen them hosses. But thet sight ain’t a marker to the looks of you. What’s wrong? Hev you gone crazy? You must be crazy to ride in here this way⁠—with them hosses⁠—talkie’ thet way about Tull en’ Jerry Card.”

“Jud, I’m not crazy⁠—only mad clean through,” replied Venters.

“Wal, now, Bern, I’m glad to hear some of your old self in your voice. Fer when you come up you looked like the corpse of a dead rider with fire fer eyes. You hed thet crowd too stiff fer throwin’ guns. Come, we’ve got to hev a talk. Let’s go up the lane. We ain’t much safe here.”

Judkins mounted Bells and rode with Venters up to the cottonwood grove. Here they dismounted and went among the trees.

“Let’s hear from you first,” said Judkins. “You fetched back them hosses. Thet is the trick. An’, of course, you got Jerry the same as you got Horne.”

“Horne!”

“Sure. He was found dead yesterday all chewed by coyotes, en’ he’d been shot plumb center.”

“Where was he found?”

“At the split down the trail⁠—you know where Oldring’s cattle trail runs off north from the trail to the pass.”

“That’s where I met Jerry and the rustlers. What was Horne doing with them? I thought Horne was an honest cattleman.”

“Lord⁠—Bern, don’t ask me thet! I’m all muddled now tryin’ to figure things.”

Venters told of the fight and the race with Jerry Card and its tragic conclusion.

“I knowed it! I knowed all along that Wrangle was the best hoss!” exclaimed Judkins, with his lean face working and his eyes lighting. “Thet was a race! Lord, I’d like to hev seen Wrangle jump the cliff with Jerry. An’ thet was goodbye to the grandest hoss an’ rider ever on the sage!⁠ ⁠… But, Bern, after you got the hosses why’d you want to bolt right in Tull’s face?”

“I want him to know. An’ if I can get to him I’ll⁠—”

“You can’t get near Tull,” interrupted Judkins. “Thet vigilante bunch hev taken to bein’ bodyguard for Tull an’ Dyer, too.”

“Hasn’t Lassiter made a break yet?” inquired Venters, curiously.

“Naw!” replied Judkins, scornfully. “Jane turned his head. He’s mad in love over her⁠—follers her like a dog. He ain’t no more Lassiter! He’s lost his nerve, he doesn’t look like the same feller. It’s village talk. Everybody knows it. He hasn’t thrown a gun, an’ he won’t!”

“Jud, I’ll bet he does,” replied Venters, earnestly. “Remember what I say. This Lassiter is something more than a gunman. Jud, he’s big⁠—he’s great!⁠ ⁠… I feel that in him. God help Tull and Dyer when Lassiter does go after them. For horses and riders and stone walls won’t save them.”

“Wal, hev it your way, Bern. I hope you’re right. Nat’rully I’ve been some sore on Lassiter fer gittin’ soft. But I ain’t denyin’ his nerve, or whatever’s great in him thet sort of paralyzes people. No later ’n this mornin’ I seen him saunterin’ down the lane, quiet an’ slow. An’ like his guns he comes black⁠—black, thet’s Lassiter. Wal, the crowd on the corner never batted an eye, en’ I’ll gamble my hoss thet there wasn’t one who hed a heartbeat till Lassiter got by. He went in Snell’s saloon, an’ as there wasn’t no gun play I had to go in, too. An’ there, darn my pictures, if Lassiter wasn’t standin’ to the bar, drinking en’ talkin’ with Oldrin’.”

“Oldring!” whispered Venters. His voice, as all fire and pulse within him, seemed to freeze.

“Let go my arm!” exclaimed Judkins. “Thet’s my bad arm. Sure it was Oldrin’. What the hell’s wrong with you, anyway? Venters, I tell you somethin’s wrong. You’re whiter’n a sheet. You can’t be scared of the rustler. I don’t believe you’ve got a scare in you. Wal, now, jest let me talk. You know I like to talk, an’ if I’m slow I allus git there sometime. As I said, Lassiter was talkie’ chummy with Oldrin’. There wasn’t no hard feelin’s. An’ the gang wasn’t payin’ no pertic’lar attention. But like a cat watchin’ a mouse I hed my eyes on them two fellers. It was strange to me, thet confab. I’m gittin’ to think a lot, fer a feller who doesn’t know much. There’s been some queer deals lately an’ this seemed to me the queerest. These men stood to the bar alone, an’ so close their big gun-hilts butted together. I seen Oldrin’ was some surprised at first, an’ Lassiter was cool as ice. They talked, an’ presently at somethin’ Lassiter said the rustler bawled out a curse, an’ then he jest fell up against the bar, an’ sagged there. The gang in the saloon looked around an’ laughed, an’ thet’s about all. Finally Oldrin’ turned, and it was easy to see somethin’ hed shook him. Yes, sir, thet big rustler⁠—you know he’s as broad as he is long, an’ the powerfulest build of a man⁠—yes, sir, the nerve