There was a little bunch of pale, sweet lavender daisies, doubtless planted there by Jane.
"I only come here to remember and to pray," she said.

"But I leave no trail!" A grave in the sage! How lonely this resting-place of Milly Erne! The cottonwoods or the alfalfa fields were not in sight, nor was there any rock or ridge or cedar to lend contrast to the monotony.

Gray slopes, tinging the purple, barren and wild, with the wind waving the sage, swept away to the dim horizon.
Lassiter looked at the grave and then out into space.

At that moment he seemed a figure of bronze.
Jane touched Venters's arm and led him back to the horses.
"Bern!" cried Jane, when they were out of hearing.

"Suppose Lassiter were Milly's husband--the father of that little girl lost so long ago!" "It might be, Jane.