“I—­I d rather not say,” he replied.

“Tell me.  Whatever you’ll tell me I’ll keep to myself.  I’m beginning to worry about more than the loss of a herd of cattle.  Venters hinted of—­ but tell me, Judkins.”

“Well, Miss Withersteen, I think as Venters thinks—­your riders have been called in.”

“Judkins!...By whom?”

“You know who handles the reins of your Mormon riders.”

“Do you dare insinuate that my churchmen have ordered in my riders?”

“I ain’t insinuatin’ nothin’, Miss Withersteen,” answered Judkins, with spirit.  “I know what I’m talking about.  I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Oh, I can’t believe that!  I’ll not believe it!  Would Tull leave my herds at the mercy of rustlers and wolves just because—­because—?  No, no!  It’s unbelievable.”

“Yes, thet particular thing’s onheard of around Cottonwoods But, beggin’ pardon, Miss Withersteen, there never was any other rich Mormon woman here on the border, let alone one thet’s taken the bit between her teeth.”

That was a bold thing for the reserved Judkins to say, but it did not anger her.  This rider’s crude hint of her spirit gave her a glimpse of what others might think.  Humility and obedience had been hers always.  But had she taken the bit between her teeth?  Still she wavered.  And then, with quick spurt of warm blood along her veins, she thought of Black Star when he got the bit fast between his iron jaws and ran wild in the sage.  If she ever started to run!  Jane smothered the glow and burn within her, ashamed of a passion for freedom that opposed her duty.

“Judkins, go to the village,” she said, “and when you have learned anything definite about my riders please come to me at once.”

When he had gone Jane resolutely applied her mind to a number of tasks that of late had been neglected.  Her father had trained her in the management of a hundred employees and the working of gardens and fields; and to keep record of the movements of cattle and riders.  And beside the many duties she had added to this work was one of extreme delicacy, such as required all her tact and ingenuity.  It was an unobtrusive, almost secret aid which she rendered to the Gentile families of the village.  Though Jane Withersteen never admitted so to herself, it amounted to no less than a system of charity.  But for her invention of numberless kinds of employment, for which there was no actual need, these families of Gentiles, who had failed in a Mormon community, would have starved.

In aiding these poor people Jane thought she deceived her keen churchmen, but it was a kind of deceit for which she did not pray to be forgiven.  Equally as difficult was the task of deceiving the Gentiles, for they were as proud as they were poor.  It had been a great grief to her to discover how these people hated her people; and it had been a source of great joy that through her they had come to soften in hatred.  At any time this work called for a clearness of mind that precluded anxiety and worry; but under the present circumstances it required all her vigor and obstinate tenacity to pin her attention upon her task.