riders of the purple sage-第59章

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as　different　from　Frank。　He　preached　some　other　kind　of　religion；　and　he　was　quick　an'　passionate；　where　Frank　was　slow　an'　mild。　He　went　after　people；　women　specially。　In　looks　he　couldn't　compare　to　Frank　Erne；　but　he　had　power　over　women。　He　had　a　voice；　an'　he　talked　an'　talked　an'　preached　an'　preached。　Milly　fell　under　his　influence。。　She　became　mightily　interested　in　his　religion。　Frank　had　patience　with　her；　as　was　his　way；　an'　let　her　be　as　interested　as　she　liked。　All　religions　were　devoted　to　one　God；　he　said；　an'　it　wouldn't　hurt　Milly　none　to　study　a　different　point　of　view。　So　the　new　preacher　often　called　on　Milly；　an'　sometimes　in　Frank's　absence。　Frank　was　a　cattle…man　between　Sundays。

〃Along　about　this　time　an　incident　come　off　that　I　couldn't　get　much　light　on。　A　stranger　come　to　town；　an'　was　seen　with　the　preacher。　This　stranger　was　a　big　man　with　an　eye　like　blue　ice；　an'　a　beard　of　gold。　He　had　money；　an'　he　'peered　a　man　of　mystery；　an'　the　town　went　to　buzzin'　when　he　disappeared　about　the　same　time　as　a　young　woman　known　to　be　mightily　interested　in　the　new　preacher's　religion。　Then；　presently；　along　comes　a　man　from　somewheres　in　Illinois；　en'　he　up　an'　spots　this　preacher　as　a　famous　Mormon　proselyter。　That　riled　Frank　Erne　as　nothin'　ever　before；　an'　from　rivals　they　come　to　be　bitter　enemies。　An'　it　ended　in　Frank　goin'　to　the　meetin'…house　where　Milly　was　listenin'；　en'　before　her　en'　everybody　else　he　called　that　preachercalled　him；　well；　almost　as　hard　as　Venters　called　Tull　here　sometime　back。　An'　Frank　followed　up　that　call　with　a　hosswhippin'；　en'　he　drove　the　proselyter　out　of　town。

〃People　noticed；　so　'twas　said；　that　Milly's　sweet　disposition　changed。　Some　said　it　was　because　she　would　soon　become　a　mother；　en'　others　said　she　was　pinin'　after　the　new　religion。　An'　there　was　women　who　said　right　out　that　she　was　pinin'　after　the　Mormon。　Anyway；　one　mornin'　Frank　rode　in　from　one　of　his　trips；　to　find　Milly　gone。　He　had　no　real　near　neighborslivin'　a　little　out　of　townbut　those　who　was　nearest　said　a　wagon　had　gone　by　in　the　night；　an'　they　though　it　stopped　at　her　door。　Well；　tracks　always　tell；　an'　there　was　the　wagon　tracks　an'　hoss　tracks　an'　man　tracks。　The　news　spread　like　wildfire　that　Milly　had　run　off　from　her　husband。　Everybody　but　Frank　believed　it　an'　wasn't　slow　in　tellin'　why　she　run　off。　Mother　had　always　hated　that　strange　streak　of　Milly's；　takin'　up　with　the　new　religion　as　she　had；　an'　she　believed　Milly　ran　off　with　the　Mormon。　That　hastened　mother's　death；　an'　she　died　unforgivin'。　Father　wasn't　the　kind　to　bow　down　under　disgrace　or　misfortune　but　he　had　surpassin'　love　for　Milly；　an'　the　loss　of　her　broke　him。

〃From　the　minute　I　heard　of　Milly's　disappearance　I　never　believed　she　went　off　of　her　own　free　will。　I　knew　Milly；　an'　I　knew　she　couldn't　have　done　that。　I　stayed　at　home　awhile；　tryin'　to　make　Frank　Erne　talk。　But　if　he　knowed　anythin'　then　he　wouldn't　tell　it。　So　I　set　out　to　find　Milly。　An'　I　tried　to　get　on　the　trail　of　that　proselyter。　I　knew　if　I　ever　struck　a　town　he'd　visited　that　I'd　get　a　trail。　I　knew；　too；　that　nothin'　short　of　hell　would　stop　his　proselytin'。　An'　I　rode　from　town　to　town。　I　had　a　blind　faith　that　somethin'　was　guidin'　me。　An'　as　the　weeks　an'　months　went　by　I　growed　into　a　strange　sort　of　a　man；　I　guess。　Anyway；　people　were　afraid　of　me。　Two　years　after　that；　way　over　in　a　corner　of　Texas；　I　struck　a　town　where　my　man　had　been。　He'd　jest　left。　People　said　he　came　to　that　town　without　a　woman。　I　back…trailed　my　man　through　Arkansas　an'　Mississippi；　an'　the　old　trail　got　hot　again　in　Texas。　I　found　the　town　where　he　first　went　after　leavin'　home。　An'　here　I　got　track　of　Milly。　I　found　a　cabin　where　she　had　given　birth　to　her　baby。　There　was　no　way　to　tell　whether　she'd　been　kept　a　prisoner　or　not。　The　feller　who　owned　the　place　was　a　mean；　silent　sort　of　a　skunk；　an'　as　I　was　leavin'　I　jest　took　a　chance　an'　left　my　mark　on　him。　Then　I　went　home　again。

〃It　was　to　find　I　hadn't　any　home；　no　more。　Father　had　been　dead　a　year。　Frank　Erne　still　lived　in　the　house　where　Milly　had　left　him。　I　stayed　with　him　awhile；　an'　I　grew　old　watchin'　him。　His　farm　had　gone　to　weed；　his　cattle　had　strayed　or　been　rustled；　his　house　weathered　till　it　wouldn't　keep　out　rain　nor　wind。　An'　Frank　set　on　the　porch　and　whittled　sticks；　an'　day　by　day　wasted　away。　There　was　times　when　he　ranted　about　like　a　crazy　man；　but　mostly　he　was　always　sittin'　an'　starin'　with　eyes　that　made　a　man　curse。　I　figured　Frank　had　a　secret　fear　that　I　needed　to　know。　An'　when　I　told　him　I'd　trailed　Milly　for　near　three　years　an'　had　got　trace　of　her；　an'　saw　where　she'd　had　her　baby；　I　thought　he　would　drop　dead　at　my　feet。　An'　when　he'd　come　round　more　natural…like　he　begged　me　to　give　up　the　trail。　But　he　wouldn't　explain。　So　I　let　him　alone；　an'　watched　him　day　en'　night。

〃An'　I　found　there　was　one　thing　still　precious　to　him；　an'　it　was　a　little　drawer　where　he　kept　his　papers。　This　was　in　the　room　where　he　slept。　An'　it　'peered　he　seldom　slept。　But　after　bein'　patient　I　got　the　contents　of　that　drawer　an'　found　two　letters　from　Milly。　One　was　a　long　letter　written　a　few　months　after　her　disappearance。　She　had　been　bound　an'　gagged　an'　dragged　away　from　her　home　by　three　men；　an'　she　named　themHurd；　Metzger；　Slack。　They　was　strangers　to　her。　She　was　taken　to　the　little　town　where　I　found　trace　of　her　two　years　after。　But　she　didn't　send　the　letter　from　that　town。　There　she　was　penned　in。　'Peared　that　the　proselytes；　who　had；　of　course；　come　on　the　scene；　was　not　runnin'　any　risks　of　losin'　her。　She　went　on　to　say　that　for　a　time　she　was　out　of　her　head；　an'　when　she　got　right　again　all　that　kept　her　alive　was　the　baby。　It　was　a　beautiful　baby；　she　said；　an'　all　she　thought　an'　dreamed　of　was　somehow　to　get　baby　back　to　its　father；　an'　then　she'd　thankfully　lay　down　and　die。　An'　the　letter　ended　abrupt；　in　the　middle　of　a　sentence；　en'　it　wasn't　signed。

〃The　second　letter　was　written　more　than　two　years　after　the　first。　It　was　from　Salt　Lake　City。　It　simply　said　that　Milly　had　heard　her　brother　was　on　her　trail。　She　asked　Frank　to　tell　her　brother　to　give　up　the　search　because　if　he　didn't　she　would　suffer　in　a　way　too　horrible　to　tell。　She　didn't　beg。　She　just　stated　a　fact　an'　made　the　simple　request。　An'　she　ended　that　letter　by　sayin'　she　would　soon　leave　Salt　Lake　City　with　the　man　she　had　come　to　love；　en'　would　never　be　heard　of　again。

〃I　recognized　Milly's　handwritin'；　an'　I　recognized　her　way　of　puttin'　things。　But　that　second　letter　told　me　of　some　great　change　in　her。　Ponderin'　over　it；　I　felt　at　last　she'd　either　come　to　love　that　feller　an'　his　religion；　or　some　terrible　fear　made　her　lie　an'　say　so。　I　couldn't　be　sure　which。　But；　of　course；　I　meant　to　find　out。　I'll　say　here；　if　I'd　known　Mormons　then　as　I　do　now　I'd　left　Milly　to　her　fate。　For　mebbe　she　was　right　about　what　she'd　suffer　if　I　kept　on　her　trail。　But　I　was　young　an'　wild　them　days。　First　I　went　to　the　town　where　she'd　first　been　taken；　an'　I　went　to　the　place　where　she'd　been　kept。　I　got　that　skunk　who　owned　the　place；　an'　took　him　out　in　the　woods；　an'　made　him　tell　all　he　knowed。　That　wasn't　much　as　to　length；　but　it　was　pure　hell's…fire　in　substance。　This　time　I　left　him　some　incapacitated　for　any　more　skunk　work　short　of　hell。　Then　I　hit　the　trail　for　Utah。

〃That　was　fourteen　years　ago。　I　saw　the　incomin'　of　most　of　the　Mormons。　It　was　a　wild　country　an'　a　wild　time。　I　rode　from　town　to　town；　village　to　village；　ranch　to　ranch；　camp　to　camp。　I　never　stayed　long　in　one　place。　I　never　had　but　one　idea。　I　never　rested。　Four　years　went　by；　an'　I　knowed　every　trail　in　northern　Utah。　I　kept　on　an'　as　time　went　by；　an'　I'd　begun　to　grow　old　in　my　search；　I　had　firmer；　blinder　faith　in　whatever　was　guidin'　me。　Once　I　read　about　a　feller　who　sailed　the　seven　seas　an'　traveled　the　world；　an'　he　had　a　story　to　tell；　an'　whenever　he　seen　the　man　to　whom　he　must　tell　that　story　he　knowed　him　on　sight。　I　was　like　that；　only　I　had　a　question　to　ask。　An'　always　I　knew　the　man　of　whom　I　must　ask。　So　I　never　really　lost　the　trail；　though　for　many　years　it　was　the　dimmest　trail　ever　followed