The inner strife ceased, and the hideous roar and crash.

Movement went on in the outer circle, and that, too, gradually stilled.

The white herd had come to a stop, and the pall of yellow dust began to drift away on the wind.
Jane Withersteen waited on the ridge with full and grateful heart.
Lassiter appeared, making his weary way toward her through the sage.

And up on the slope Judkins rode into sight with his troop of boys.

For the present, at least, the white herd would be looked after.
When Lassiter reached her and laid his hand on Black Star's mane, Jane could not find speech.
"Killed--my--hoss," he panted.
"Oh! I'm sorry," cried Jane.