Lassiter, though kinder and gentler than ever, had parted with his quaint humor and his coldness and his tranquillity to become a restless and unhappy man.

Whatever the power of his deadly intent toward Mormons, that passion now had a rival, the one equally burning and consuming.

Jane Withersteen had one moment of exultation before the dawn of a strange uneasiness.

What if she had made of herself a lure, at tremendous cost to him and to her, and all in vain! That night in the moonlit grove she summoned all her courage and, turning suddenly in the path, she faced Lassiter and leaned close to him, so that she touched him and her eyes looked up to his.
"Lassiter!...

Will you do anything for me ?" In the moonlight she saw his dark, worn face change, and by that change she seemed to feel him immovable as a wall of stone.
Jane slipped her hands down to the swinging gun-sheaths, and when she had locked her fingers around the huge, cold handles of the guns, she trembled as with a chilling ripple over all her body.
"May I take your guns ?" "Why ?" he asked, and for the first time to her his voice carried a harsh note.