THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT

A NOVEL

By Zane Grey

I. THE SIGN OF THE SUNSET

"BUT the man's almost dead. "

The words stung John Hare's fainting spirit into life. He opened hiseyes. The desert still stretched before him, the appalling thing thathad overpowered him with its deceiving purple distance. Near by stood asombre group of men. 

"Leave him here, " said one, addressing a gray-bearded giant. "He's thefellow sent into southern Utah to spy out the cattle thieves. He's allbut dead. Dene's outlaws are after him. Don't cross Dene. "

The stately answer might have come from a Scottish Covenanter or afollower of Cromwell. 

"Martin Cole, I will not go a hair's-breadth out of my way for Dene orany other man. You forget your religion. I see my duty to God. "

"Yes, August Naab, I know, " replied the little man, bitterly. "You wouldcast the Scriptures in my teeth, and liken this man to one who wentdown from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves. But I've sufferedenough at the hands of Dene. "

The formal speech, the Biblical references, recalled to the revivingHare that he was still in the land of the Mormons. As he lay there thestrange words of the Mormons linked the hard experience of the last fewdays with the stern reality of the present. 

"Martin Cole, I hold to the spirit of our fathers, " replied Naab, likeone reading from the Old Testament. "They came into this desert land toworship and multiply in peace. They conquered the desert; they prosperedwith the years that brought settlers, cattle-men, sheep-herders, allhostile to their religion and their livelihood. Nor did they everfail to succor the sick and unfortunate. What are our toils and perilscompared to theirs? Why should we forsake the path of duty, and turnfrom mercy because of a cut-throat outlaw? I like not the sign of thetimes, but I am a Mormon; I trust in God. "

"August Naab, I am a Mormon too, " returned Cole, "but my hands arestained with blood. Soon yours will be if you keep your water-holes andyour cattle. Yes, I know. You're strong, stronger than any of us, far off in your desert oasis, hemmed in by walls, cut off by canyons, guarded by your Navajo friends. But Holderness is creeping slowly onyou. He'll ignore your water rights and drive your stock. Soon Dene willsteal cattle under your very eyes. Don't make them enemies. "

"I can't pass by this helpless man, " rolled out August Naab's sonorousvoice. 

Suddenly, with livid face and shaking hand, Cole pointed westward. "There! Dene and his band! See, under the red wall; see the dust, notten miles away. See them?"

The desert, gray in the foreground, purple in the distance, sloped tothe west. Eyes keen as those of hawks searched the waste, and followedthe red mountain rampart, which, sheer in bold height and processionalin its craggy sweep, shut out the north. Far away little puffs of dustrose above the white sage, and creeping specks moved at a snail's pace. 

"See them? Ah! then look, August Naab, look in the heavens above formy prophecy, " cried Cole, fanatically. "The red sunset--the sign of thetimes--blood!"

A broad bar of dense black shut out the April sky, except in the extremewest, where a strip of pale blue formed background for several clouds ofstriking color and shape. They alone, in all that expanse, were dyed inthe desert's sunset crimson. The largest projected from behind the darkcloud-bank in the shape of a huge fist, and the others, small andround, floated below. To Cole it seemed a giant hand, clutching, with inexorable strength, a bleeding heart. His terror spread to hiscompanions as they stared. 

Then, as light surrendered to shade, the sinister color faded; thetracing of the closed hand softened; flush and glow paled, leaving thesky purple, as if mirroring the desert floor. One golden shaft shot up, to be blotted out by sudden darkening change, and the sun had set. 

"That may be God's will, " said August Naab. "So be it. Martin Cole, takeyour men and go. "

There was a word, half oath, half prayer, and then rattle of stirrups, the creak of saddles, and clink of spurs, followed by the driving rushof fiery horses. Cole and his men disappeared in a pall of yellow dust. 

A wan smile lightened John Hare's face as he spoke weakly: "I fearyour--generous act--can't save me. .. May bring you harm. I'd rather youleft me--seeing you have women in your party. "

"Don't try to talk yet, " said August Naab. "You're faint. Here--drink. "He stooped to Hare, who was leaning against a sage-bush, and held aflask to his lips. Rising, he called to his men: "Make camp, sons. We've an hour before the outlaws come up, and if they don't go round thesand-dune we'll have longer. "

Hare's flagging senses rallied, and he forgot himself in wonder. Whilethe bustle went on, unhitching of wagon-teams, hobbling and feeding ofhorses, unpacking of camp-supplies, Naab appeared to be lost in deepmeditation or prayer. Not once did he glance backward over the trail onwhich peril was fast approaching. His gaze was fastened on a ridge tothe east where desert line, fringed by stunted cedars, met the pale-bluesky, and for a long time he neither spoke nor stirred. At length heturned to the camp-fire; he raked out red coals, and placed the ironpots in position, by way of assistance to the women who were preparingthe evening meal. 

A cool wind blew in from the desert, rustling the sage, sifting thesand, fanning the dull coals to burning opals. Twilight failed and nightfell; one by one great stars shone out, cold and bright. From the zoneof blackness surrounding the camp burst the short bark, the hungrywhine, the long-drawn-out wail of desert wolves. 

"Supper, sons, " called Naab, as he replenished the fire with an armfulof grease-wood. 

Naab's sons had his stature, though not his bulk. They were wiry, rangymen, young, yet somehow old. The desert had multiplied their years. Harecould not have told one face from another, the bronze skin and steeleye and hard line of each were so alike. The women, one middle-aged, theothers young, were of comely, serious aspect. 

"Mescal, " called the Mormon. 

A slender girl slipped from one of the covered wagons; she was dark, supple, straight as an Indian. 

August Naab dropped to his knees, and, as the members of his familybowed their heads, he extended his hands over them and over the foodlaid on the ground. 

"Lord, we kneel in humble thanksgiving. Bless this food to our use. Strengthen us, guide us, keep us as Thou hast in the past. Bless thisstranger within our gates. Help us to help him. Teach us Thy ways, OLord--Amen. "

Hare found himself flushing and thrilling, found himself unable tocontrol a painful binding in his throat. In forty-eight hours he hadlearned to hate the Mormons unutterably; here, in the presence of thisaustere man, he felt that hatred wrenched from his heart, and in itsplace stirred something warm and living. He was glad, for if he had todie, as he believed, either from the deed of evil men, or from this laststruggle of his wasted body, he did not want to die in bitterness. Thatsimple prayer recalled the home he had long since left in Connecticut, and the time when he used to tease his sister and anger his father andhurt his mother while grace was being said at the breakfast-table. Nowhe was alone in the world, sick and dependent upon the kindness of thesestrangers. But they were really friends--it was a wonderful thought. 

"Mescal, wait on the stranger, " said August Naab, and the girl kneltbeside him, tendering meat and drink. His nerveless fingers refusedto hold the cup, and she put it to his lips while he drank. Hot coffeerevived him; he ate and grew stronger, and readily began to talk whenthe Mormon asked for his story. 

"There isn't much to tell. My name is Hare. I am twenty-four. My parentsare dead. I came West because the doctors said I couldn't live in theEast. At first I got better. But my money gave out and work became anecessity. I tramped from place to place, ending up ill in Salt LakeCity. People were kind to me there. Some one got me a job with a bigcattle company, and sent me to Marysvale, southward over the bleakplains. It was cold; I was ill when I reached Lund. Before I even knewwhat my duties were for at Lund I was to begin work--men called me aspy. A fellow named Chance threatened me. An innkeeper led me out theback way, gave me bread and water, and said: 'Take this road to Bane;it's sixteen miles. If you make it some one'll give you a lift North. 'I walked all night, and all the next day. Then I wandered on till Idropped here where you found me. "

"You missed the road to Bane, " said Naab. "This is the trail to WhiteSage. It's a trail of sand and stone that leaves no tracks, a luckything for you. Dene wasn't in Lund while you were there--else youwouldn't be here. He hasn't seen you, and he can't be certain of yourtrail. Maybe he rode to Bane, but still we may find a way--"

One of his sons whistled low, causing Naab to rise slowly, to peer intothe darkness, to listen intently. 

"Here, get up, " he said, extending a hand to Hare. "Pretty shaky, eh?Can you walk? Give me a hold--there. .. . Mescal, come. " The slender girlobeyed, gliding noiselessly like a shadow. "Take his arm. " Between themthey led Hare to a jumble of stones on the outer edge of the circle oflight. 

"It wouldn't do to hide, " continued Naab, lowering his voice to a swiftwhisper, "that might be fatal. You're in sight from the camp-fire, butindistinct. By-and-by the outlaws will get here, and if any of themprowl around close, you and Mescal must pretend to be sweethearts. Understand? They'll pass by Mormon love-making without a second look. Now, lad, courage. .. Mescal, it may save his life. "

Naab returned to the fire, his shadow looming in gigantic proportionson the white canopy of a covered wagon. Fitful gusts of wind fretted theblaze; it roared and crackled and sputtered, now illuminating the stillforms, then enveloping them in fantastic obscurity. Hare shivered, perhaps from the cold air, perhaps from growing dread. Westward lay thedesert, an impenetrable black void; in front, the gloomy mountain walllifted jagged peaks close to the stars; to the right rose the ridge, the rocks and stunted cedars of its summit standing in weird relief. Suddenly Hare's fugitive glance descried a dark object; he watchedintently as it moved and rose from behind the summit of the ridge tomake a bold black figure silhouetted against the cold clearness of sky. He saw it distinctly, realized it was close, and breathed hard as thewind-swept mane and tail, the lean, wild shape and single plume resolvedthemselves into the unmistakable outline of an Indian mustang and rider. 

"Look!" he whispered to the girl. "See, a mounted Indian, there on theridge--there, he's gone--no, I see him again. But that's another. Look!there are more. " He ceased in breathless suspense and stared fearfullyat a line of mounted Indians moving in single file over the ridge tobecome lost to view in the intervening blackness. A faint rattling ofgravel and the peculiar crack of unshod hoof on stone gave reality tothat shadowy train. 

"Navajos, " said Mescal. 

"Navajos!" he echoed. "I heard of them at Lund; 'desert hawks' the mencalled them, worse than Piutes. Must we not alarm the men?--You--aren'tyou afraid?

"No. "

"But they are hostile. "

"Not to him. " She pointed at the stalwart figure standing against thefirelight. 

"Ah! I remember. The man Cole spoke of friendly Navajos. They must beclose by. What does it mean?"

"I'm not sure. I think they are out there in the cedars, waiting. "

"Waiting! For what?"

"Perhaps for a signal. "

"Then they were expected?"

"I don't know; I only guess. We used to ride often to White Sage andLund; now we go seldom, and when we do there seem to be Navajos nearthe camp at night, and riding the ridges by day. I believe Father Naabknows. "

"Your father's risking much for me. He's good. I wish I could show mygratitude. "

"I call him Father Naab, but he is not my father. "

"A niece or granddaughter, then?"

"I'm no relation. Father Naab raised me in his family. My mother was aNavajo, my father a Spaniard. "

"Why!" exclaimed Hare. "When you came out of the wagon I took you foran Indian girl. But the moment you spoke--you talk so well--no one woulddream--"

"Mormons are well educated and teach the children they raise, " she said, as he paused in embarrassment. 

He wanted to ask if she were a Mormon by religion, but the questionseemed curious and unnecessary. His interest was aroused; he realizedsuddenly that he had found pleasure in her low voice; it was new andstrange, unlike any woman's voice he had ever heard; and he regardedher closely. He had only time for a glance at her straight, clean-cutprofile, when she turned startled eyes on him, eyes black as the night. And they were eyes that looked through and beyond him. She held up ahand, slowly bent toward the wind, and whispered:

"Listen. "

Hare heard nothing save the barking of coyotes and the breeze in thesage. He saw, however, the men rise from round the camp-fire to face thenorth, and the women climb into the wagon, and close the canvas flaps. And he prepared himself, with what fortitude he could command for theapproach of the outlaws. He waited, straining to catch a sound. Hisheart throbbed audibly, like a muffled drum, and for an endless momenthis ears seemed deadened to aught else. Then a stronger puff of windwhipped in, banging the rhythmic beat of flying hoofs. Suspense ended. Hare felt the easing of a weight upon him. Whatever was to be his fate, it would be soon decided. The sound grew into a clattering roar. A blackmass hurled itself over the border of opaque circle, plunged into thelight, and halted. 

August Naab deliberately threw a bundle of grease-wood upon thecamp-fire. A blaze leaped up, sending abroad a red flare. "Who comes?"he called. 

"Friends, Mormons, friends, " was the answer. 

"Get down--friends--and come to the fire. "

Three horsemen advanced to the foreground; others, a troop of eight orten, remained in the shadow, a silent group. 

Hare sank back against the stone. He knew the foremost of those horsementhough he had never seen him. 

"Dene, " whispered Mescal, and confirmed his instinctive fear. 

Hare was nervously alive to the handsome presence of the outlaw. Glimpses that he had caught of "bad" men returned vividly as he notedthe clean-shaven face, the youthful, supple body, the cool, carelessmien. Dene's eyes glittered as he pulled off his gauntlets and beat thesand out of them; and but for that quick fierce glance his leisurelyfriendly manner would have disarmed suspicion. 

"Are you the Mormon Naab?" he queried. 

"August Naab, I am. "

"Dry camp, eh? Hosses tired, I reckon. Shore it's a sandy trail. Where'sthe rest of you fellers?"

"Cole and his men were in a hurry to make White Sage to-night. They weretravelling light; I've heavy wagons. "

"Naab, I reckon you shore wouldn't tell a lie?"

"I have never lied. "

"Heerd of a young feller thet was in Lund--pale chap--lunger, we'd callhim back West?"

"I heard that he had been mistaken for a spy at Lund and had fled towardBane. "

"Hadn't seen nothin' of him this side of Lund?"

"No. "

"Seen any Navvies?"

"Yes. "

The outlaw stared hard at him. Apparently he was about to speak ofthe Navajos, for his quick uplift of head at Naab's blunt affirmativesuggested the impulse. But he checked himself and slowly drew on hisgloves. 

"Naab, I'm shore comin' to visit you some day. Never been over thetrange. Heerd you hed fine water, fine cattle. An' say, I seen thetlittle Navajo girl you have, an' I wouldn't mind seein' her again. "

August Naab kicked the fire into brighter blaze. "Yes fine range, " hepresently replied, his gaze fixed on Dene. "Fine water, fine cattle, fine browse. I've a fine graveyard, too; thirty graves, and not one awoman's. Fine place for graves, the canyon country. You don't have todig. There's one grave the Indians never named; it's three thousand feetdeep. "

"Thet must be in hell, " replied Dene, with a smile, ignoring the covertmeaning. He leisurely surveyed Naab's four sons, the wagons and horses, till his eye fell upon Hare and Mescal. With that he swung in his saddleas if to dismount. 

"I shore want a look around. "

"Get down, get down, " returned the Mormon. The deep voice, unwelcoming, vibrant with an odd ring, would have struck a less suspicious man thanDene. The outlaw wrung his leg back over the pommel, sagged in thesaddle, and appeared to be pondering the question. Plainly he wasuncertain of his ground. But his indecision was brief. 

"Two-Spot, you look 'em over, " he ordered. 

The third horseman dismounted and went toward the wagons. 

Hare, watching this scene, became conscious that his fear hadintensified with the recognition of Two-Spot as Chance, the outlaw whomhe would not soon forget. In his excitement he moved against Mescal andfelt her trembling violently. 

"Are you afraid?" he whispered. 

"Yes, of Dene. "

The outlaw rummaged in one of the wagons, pulled aside the canvas flapsof the other, laughed harshly, and then with clinking spurs trampedthrough the camp, kicking the beds, overturning a pile of saddles, andmaking disorder generally, till he spied the couple sitting on the stonein the shadow. 

As the outlaw lurched that way, Hare, with a start of recollection, tookMescal in his arms and leaned his head against hers. He felt one of herhands lightly brush his shoulder and rest there, trembling. 

Shuffling footsteps scraped the sand, sounded nearer and nearer, slowedand paused. 

"Sparkin'! Dead to the world. Ham! Haw! Haw!"

The coarse laugh gave place to moving footsteps. The rattling clink ofstirrup and spur mingled with the restless stamp of horse. Chance hadmounted. Dene's voice drawled out: "Good-bye, Naab, I shore will seeyou all some day. " The heavy thuds of many hoofs evened into a roar thatdiminished as it rushed away. 

In unutterable relief Hare realized his deliverance. He tried to rise, but power of movement had gone from him. 

He was fainting, yet his sensations were singularly acute. Mescal's handdropped from his shoulder; her cheek, that had been cold against his, grew hot; she quivered through all her slender length. Confusion claimedhis senses. Gratitude and hope flooded his soul. Something sweet andbeautiful, the touch of this desert girl, rioted in his blood; his heartswelled in exquisite agony. Then he was whirling in darkness; and heknew no more. 

II. WHITE SAGE

THE night was as a blank to Hare; the morning like a drifting of hazyclouds before his eyes. He felt himself moving; and when he awakenedclearly to consciousness he lay upon a couch on the vine-covered porchof a cottage. He saw August Naab open a garden gate to admit MartinCole. They met as friends; no trace of scorn marred August's greeting, and Martin was not the same man who had shown fear on the desert. Hiswelcome was one of respectful regard for his superior. 

"Elder, I heard you were safe in, " he said, fervently. "We feared--Iknow not what. I was distressed till I got the news of your arrival. How's the young man?"

"He's very ill. But while there's life there's hope. "

"Will the Bishop administer to him?"

"Gladly, if the young man's willing. Come, let's go in. "

"Wait, August, " said Cole. "Did you know your son Snap was in thevillage?"

"My son here!" August Naab betrayed anxiety. "I left him home with work. He shouldn't have come. Is--is he--"

"He's drinking and in an ugly mood. It seems he traded horses withJeff Larsen, and got the worst of the deal. There's pretty sure to be afight. "

"He always hated Larsen. "

"Small wonder. Larsen is mean; he's as bad as we've got and that'ssaying a good deal. Snap has done worse things than fight with Larsen. He's doing a worse thing now, August--he's too friendly with Dene. "

"I've heard--I've heard it before. But, Martin, what can I do?"

"Do? God knows. What can any of us do? Times have changed, August. Dene is here in White Sage, free, welcome in many homes. Some of ourneighbors, perhaps men we trust, are secret members of this rustler'sband. "

"You're right, Cole. There are Mormons who are cattle-thieves. To myeternal shame I confess it. Under cover of night they ride with Dene, and here in our midst they meet him in easy tolerance. Driven fromMontana he comes here to corrupt our young men. God's mercy!"

"August, some of our young men need no one to corrupt them. Dene had nogreat task to win them. He rode in here with a few outlaws and now hehas a strong band. We've got to face it. We haven't any law, but hecan be killed. Some one must kill him. Yet bad as Dene is, he doesn'tthreaten our living as Holderness does. Dene steals a few cattle, killsa man here and there. Holderness reaches out and takes our springs. Because we've no law to stop him, he steals the blood of ourlife--water--water--God's gift to the desert! Some one must killHolderness, too!"

"Martin, this lust to kill is a fearful thing. Come in, you must praywith the Bishop. "

"No, it's not prayer I need, Elder, " replied Cole, stubbornly. "I'mstill a good Mormon. What I want is the stock I've lost, and my fieldsgreen again. "

August Naab had no answer for his friend. A very old man with snow-whitehair and beard came out on the porch. 

"Bishop, brother Martin is railing again, " said Naab, as Cole bared hishead. 

"Martin, my son, unbosom thyself, " rejoined the Bishop. 

"Black doubt and no light, " said Cole, despondently. "I'm of the youngergeneration of Mormons, and faith is harder for me. I see signs you can'tsee. I've had trials hard to bear. I was rich in cattle, sheep, andwater. These Gentiles, this rancher Holderness and this outlaw Dene, have driven my cattle, killed my sheep, piped my water off my fields. Idon't like the present. We are no longer in the old days. Our young menare drifting away, and the few who return come with ideas opposed toMormonism. Our girls and boys are growing up influenced by the Gentilesamong us. They intermarry, and that's a death-blow to our creed. "

"Martin, cast out this poison from your heart. Return to your faith. Themillennium will come. Christ will reign on earth again. The ten tribesof Israel will be restored. The Book of Mormon is the Word of God. Thecreed will live. We may suffer here and die, but our spirits will gomarching on; and the City of Zion will be builded over our graves. "

Cole held up his hands in a meekness that signified hope if not faith. 

August Naab bent over Hare. "I would like to have the Bishop administerto you, " he said. 

"What's that?" asked Hare. 

"A Mormon custom, 'the laying on of hands. ' We know its efficacy introuble and illness. A Bishop of the Mormon Church has the gift oftongues, of prophecy, of revelation, of healing. Let him administer toyou. It entails no obligation. Accept it as a prayer. "

"I'm willing. " replied the young man. 

Thereupon Naab spoke a few low words to some one through the opendoor. Voices ceased; soft footsteps sounded without; women crossedthe threshold, followed by tall young men and rosy-checked girls andround-eyed children. A white-haired old woman came forward with solemndignity. She carried a silver bowl which she held for the Bishop as hestood close by Hare's couch. The Bishop put his hands into the bowl, anointing them with fragrant oil; then he placed them on the young man'shead, and offered up a brief prayer, beautiful in its simplicity andtremulous utterance. 

The ceremony ended, the onlookers came forward with pleasant words ontheir lips, pleasant smiles on their faces. The children filed byhis couch, bashful yet sympathetic; the women murmured, the young mengrasped his hand. Mescal flitted by with downcast eye, with shy smile, but no word. 

"Your fever is gone, " said August Naab, with his hand on Hare's cheek. 

"It comes and goes suddenly, " replied Hare. "I feel better now, only I'moppressed. I can't breathe freely. I want air, and I'm hungry. "

"Mother Mary, the lad's hungry. Judith, Esther, where are your wits?Help your mother. Mescal, wait on him, see to his comfort. "

Mescal brought a little table and a pillow, and the other girls soonfollowed with food and drink; then they hovered about, absorbed incaring for him. 

"They said I fell among thieves, " mused Hare, when he was once morealone. "I've fallen among saints as well. " He felt that he could neverrepay this August Naab. "If only I might live!" he ejaculated. Howrestful was this cottage garden! The green sward was a balm to his eyes. Flowers new to him, though of familiar springtime hue, lifted freshfaces everywhere; fruit-trees, with branches intermingling, blended thewhite and pink of blossoms. There was the soft laughter of children inthe garden. Strange birds darted among the trees. Their notes were new, but their song was the old delicious monotone--the joy of living andlove of spring. A green-bowered irrigation ditch led by the porch andunseen water flowed gently, with gurgle and tinkle, with music in itshurry. Innumerable bees murmured amid the blossoms. 

Hare fell asleep. Upon returning drowsily to consciousness he caughtthrough half-open eyes the gleam of level shafts of gold sunlight lowdown in the trees; then he felt himself being carried into the house tobe laid upon a bed. Some one gently unbuttoned his shirt at the neck, removed his shoes, and covered him with a blanket. Before he hadfully awakened he was left alone, and quiet settled over the house. Alanguorous sense of ease and rest lulled him to sleep again. In anothermoment, it seemed to him, he was awake; bright daylight streamed throughthe window, and a morning breeze stirred the faded curtain. 

The drag in his breathing which was always a forerunner of acoughing-spell warned him now; he put on coat and shoes and wentoutside, where his cough attacked him, had its sway, and left him. 

"Good-morning, " sang out August Naab's cheery voice. "Sixteen hours ofsleep, my lad!"

"I did sleep, didn't I? No wonder I feel well this morning. Apeculiarity of my illness is that one day I'm down, the next day up. "

"With the goodness of God, my lad, we'll gradually increase the days up. Go in to breakfast. Afterward I want to talk to you. This'll be a busyday for me, shoeing the horses and packing supplies. I want to start forhome to-morrow. "

Hare pondered over Naab's words while he ate. The suggestion in them, implying a relation to his future, made him wonder if the good Mormonintended to take him to his desert home. He hoped so, and warmed anewto this friend. But he had no enthusiasm for himself; his future seemedhopeless. 

Naab was waiting for him on the porch, and drew him away from thecottage down the path toward the gate. 

"I want you to go home with me. "

"You're kind--I'm only a sort of beggar--I've no strength left to workmy way. I'll go--though it's only to die. "

"I haven't the gift of revelation--yet somehow I see that you won't dieof this illness. You will come home with me. It's a beautiful place, myNavajo oasis. The Indians call it the Garden of Eschtah. If you can getwell anywhere it'll be there. "

"I'll go but I ought not. What can I do for you?

"No man can ever tell what he may do for another. The time maycome--well, John, is it settled?" He offered his huge broad hand. 

"It's settled--I--" Hare faltered as he put his hand in Naab's. TheMormon's grip straightened his frame and braced him. Strength andsimplicity flowed from the giant's toil-hardened palm. Hare swallowedhis thanks along with his emotion, and for what he had intended to sayhe substituted: "No one ever called me John. I don't know the name. Callme Jack. "

"Very well, Jack, and now let's see. You'll need some things from thestore. Can you come with me? It's not far. "

"Surely. And now what I need most is a razor to scrape the alkali andstubble off my face. "

The wide street, bordered by cottages peeping out of green and whiteorchards, stretched in a straight line to the base of the ascent whichled up to the Pink Cliffs. A green square enclosed a gray church, aschool-house and public hall. Farther down the main thoroughfare wereseveral weather-boarded whitewashed stores. Two dusty men were ridingalong, one on each side of the wildest, most vicious little horse Harehad ever seen. It reared and bucked and kicked, trying to escape fromtwo lassoes. In front of the largest store were a number of mustangs allstanding free, with bridles thrown over their heads and trailing on theground. The loungers leaning against the railing and about the doorswere lank brown men very like Naab's sons. Some wore sheepskin "chaps, "some blue overalls; all wore boots and spurs, wide soft hats, and intheir belts, far to the back, hung large Colt's revolvers. 

"We'll buy what you need, just as if you expected to ride the ranges forme to-morrow, " said Naab. "The first thing we ask a new man is, can heride? Next, can he shoot?"

"I could ride before I got so weak. I've never handled a revolver, but Ican shoot a rifle. Never shot at anything except targets, and it seemedto come natural for me to hit them. "

"Good. We'll show you some targets--lions, bears, deer, cats, wolves. There's a fine forty-four Winchester here that my friend Abe has beentrying to sell. It has a long barrel and weighs eight pounds. Our desertriders like the light carbines that go easy on a saddle. Most of themustangs aren't weight-carriers. This rifle has a great range; I've shotit, and it's just the gun for you to use on wolves and coyotes. You'llneed a Colt and a saddle, too. "

"By-the-way, " he went on, as they mounted the store steps, "here's thekind of money we use in this country. " He handed Hare a slip of bluepaper, a written check for a sum of money, signed, but without registerof bank or name of firm. "We don't use real money, " he added. "There'svery little coin or currency in southern Utah. Most of the Gentileslately come in have money, and some of us Mormons have a bag or two ofgold, but scarcely any of it gets into circulation. We use these checks, which go from man to man sometimes for six months. The roundup of acheck means sheep, cattle, horses, grain, merchandise or labor. Everyman gets his real money's value without paying out an actual cent. "

"Such a system at least means honest men, " said Hare, laughing hissurprise. 

They went into a wide door to tread a maze of narrow aisles betweenboxes and barrels, stacks of canned vegetables, and piles of harnessand dry goods; they entered an open space where several men leaned on acounter. 

"Hello, Abe, " said Naab; "seen anything of Snap?"

"Hello, August. Yes, Snap's inside. So's Holderness. Says he rode in offthe range on purpose to see you. " Abe designated an open doorway fromwhich issued loud voices. Hare glanced into a long narrow room full ofsmoke and the fumes of rum. Through the haze he made out a crowd of menat a rude bar. Abe went to the door and called out: "Hey, Snap, your dadwants you. Holderness, here's August Naab. "

A man staggered up the few steps leading to the store and swayed in. Hislong face had a hawkish cast, and it was gray, not with age, but withthe sage-gray of the desert. His eyes were of the same hue, cold yetburning with little fiery flecks in their depths. He appeared shortof stature because of a curvature of the spine, but straightened up hewould have been tall. He wore a blue flannel shirt, and blue overalls;round his lean hips was a belt holding two Colt's revolvers, theirheavy, dark butts projecting outward, and he had on high boots withlong, cruel spurs. 

"Howdy, father?" he said. 

"I'm packing to-day, " returned August Naab. "We ride out to-morrow. Ineed your help. "

"All-l right. When I get my pinto from Larsen. "

"Never mind Larsen. If he got the better of you let the matter drop. "

"Jeff got my pinto for a mustang with three legs. If I hadn't been drunkI'd never have traded. So I'm looking for Jeff. "

He bit out the last words with a peculiar snap of his long teeth, a circumstance which caused Hare instantly to associate the savageclicking with the name he had heard given this man. August Naab lookedat him with gloomy eyes and stern shut mouth, an expression of righteousanger, helplessness and grief combined, the look of a man to whomobstacles had been nothing, at last confronted with crowning defeat. Hare realized that this son was Naab's first-born, best-loved, a thornin his side, a black sheep. 

"Say, father, is that the spy you found on the trail?" Snap's pale eyesgleamed on Hare and the little flames seemed to darken and leap. 

"This is John Hare, the young man I found. But he's not a spy. "

"You can't make any one believe that. He's down as a spy. Dene's spy!His name's gone over the ranges as a counter of unbranded stock. Denehas named him and Dene has marked him. Don't take him home, as you'vetaken so many sick and hunted men before. What's the good of it? Younever made a Mormon of one of them yet. Don't take him--unless you wantanother grave for your cemetery. Ha! Ha!"

Hare recoiled with a shock. Snap Naab swayed to the door, and steppeddown, all the time with his face over his shoulder, his baleful glanceon Hare; then the blue haze swallowed him. 

The several loungers went out; August engaged the storekeeper inconversation, introducing Hare and explaining their wants. Theyinspected the various needs of a range-rider, selecting, in the end, not the few suggested by Hare, but the many chosen by Naab. The lastpurchase was the rifle Naab had talked about. It was a beautiful weapon, finely polished and carved, entirely out of place among the plaincoarse-sighted and coarse-stocked guns in the rack. 

"Never had a chance to sell it, " said Abe. "Too long and heavy for theriders. I'll let it go cheap, half price, and the cartridges also, twothousand. "

"Taken, " replied Naab, quickly, with a satisfaction which showed heliked a bargain. 

"August, you must be going to shoot some?" queried Abe. "Somethingbigger than rabbits and coyotes. Its about time--even if you are anElder. We Mormons must--" he broke off, continuing in a low tone:"Here's Holderness now. "

Hare wheeled with the interest that had gathered with the reiteration ofthis man's name. A new-comer stooped to get in the door. He out-toppedeven Naab in height, and was a superb blond-bearded man, striding withthe spring of a mountaineer. 

"Good-day to you, Naab, " he said. "Is this the young fellow you pickedup?"

"Yes. Jack Hare, " rejoined Naab. 

"Well, Hare, I'm Holderness. You'll recall my name. You were sent toLund by men interested in my ranges. I expected to see you in Lund, butcouldn't get over. "

Hare met the proffered hand with his own, and as he had recoiledfrom Snap Naab so now he received another shock, different indeed butimpelling in its power, instinctive of some great portent. Hare wasimpressed by an indefinable subtlety, a nameless distrust, as colorlessas the clear penetrating amber lightness of the eyes that bent upon him. 

"Holderness, will you right the story about Hare?" inquired Naab. 

"You mean about his being a spy? Well, Naab, the truth is that was hisjob. I advised against sending a man down here for that sort of work. Itwon't do. These Mormons will steal each other's cattle, and they've gotto get rid of them; so they won't have a man taking account of stock, brands, and all that. If the Mormons would stand for it the rustlerswouldn't. I'll take Hare out to the ranch and give him work, if hewants. But he'd do best to leave Utah. "

"Thank you, no, " replied Hare, decidedly. 

"He's going with me, " said August Naab. 

Holderness accepted this with an almost imperceptible nod, and he sweptHare with eyes that searched and probed for latent possibilities. It wasthe keen intelligence of a man who knew what development meant on thedesert; not in any sense an interest in the young man at present. Thenhe turned his back. 

Hare, feeling that Holderness wished to talk with Naab, walked tothe counter, and began assorting his purchases, but he could not helphearing what was said. 

"Lungs bad?" queried Holderness. 

"One of them, " replied Naab. 

"He's all in. Better send him out of the country. He's got the name ofDene's spy and he'll never get another on this desert. Dene will killhim. This isn't good judgment, Naab, to take him with you. Even yourfriends don't like it, and it means trouble for you. "

"We've settled it, " said Naab, coldly. 

"Well, remember, I've warned you. I've tried to be friendly with you, Naab, but you won't have it. Anyway, I've wanted to see you lately tofind out how we stand. "

"What do you mean?"

"How we stand on several things--to begin with, there Mescal. "

"You asked me several times for Mescal, and I said no. "

"But I never said I'd marry her. Now I want her, and I will marry her. "

"No, " rejoined Naab, adding brevity to his coldness. 

"Why not?" demanded Holderness. "Oh, well, I can't take that as aninsult. I know there's not enough money in Utah to get a girl away froma Mormon. .. . About the offer for the water-rights--how do we stand?I'll give you ten thousand dollars for the rights to Seeping Springs andSilver Cup. "

"Ten thousand!" ejaculated Naab. "Holderness, I wouldn't take a hundredthousand. You might as well ask to buy my home, my stock, my range, twenty years of toil, for ten thousand dollars!"

"You refuse? All right. I think I've made you a fair proposition, "said Holderness, in a smooth, quick tone. "The land is owned by theGovernment, and though your ranges are across the Arizona line theyreally figure as Utah land. My company's spending big money, and theGovernment won't let you have a monopoly. No one man can control thewater-supply of a hundred miles of range. Times are changing. You wantto see that. You ought to protect yourself before it's too late. "

"Holderness, this is a desert. No men save Mormons could ever have madeit habitable. The Government scarcely knows of its existence. It'll befifty years before man can come in here to take our water. "

"Why can't he? The water doesn't belong to any one. Why can't he?"

"Because of the unwritten law of the desert. No Mormon would refuse youor your horse a drink, or even a reasonable supply for your stock. Butyou can't come in here and take our water for your own use, to supplantus, to parch our stock. Why, even an Indian respects desert law!"

"Bah! I'm not a Mormon or an Indian. I'm a cattleman. It's plainbusiness with me. Once more I make you the offer. "

Naab scorned to reply. The men faced each other for a silent moment, their glances scintillating. Then Holderness whirled on his heel, jostling into Hare. 

"Get out of my way, " said the rancher, in the disgust of intenseirritation. He swung his arm, and his open hand sent Hare reelingagainst the counter. 

"Jack, " said Naab, breathing hard, "Holderness showed his real selfto-day. I always knew it, yet I gave him the benefit of the doubt. .. . For him to strike you! I've not the gift of revelation, but I see--letus go. "

On the return to the Bishop's cottage Naab did not speak once; thetransformation which had begun with the appearance of his drunken sonhad reached a climax of gloomy silence after the clash with Holderness. Naab went directly to the Bishop, and presently the quavering voice ofthe old minister rose in prayer. 

Hare dropped wearily into the chair on the porch; and presently fellinto a doze, from which he awakened with a start. Naab's sons, withMartin Cole and several other men, were standing in the yard. Naabhimself was gently crowding the women into the house. When he got themall inside he closed the door and turned to Cole. 

"Was it a fair fight?"

"Yes, an even break. They met in front of Abe's. I saw the meeting. Neither was surprised. They stood for a moment watching each other. Thenthey drew--only Snap was quicker. Larsen's gun went off as he fell. Thattrick you taught Snap saved his life again. Larsen was no slouch on thedraw. "

"Where's Snap now?"

"Gone after his pinto. He was sober. Said he'd pack at once. Larsen'sfriends are ugly. Snap said to tell you to hurry out of the villagewith young Hare, if you want to take him at all. Dene has ridden in; heswears you won't take Hare away. "

"We're all packed and ready to hitch up, " returned Naab. "We could startat once, only until dark I'd rather take chances here than out on thetrail. "

"Snap said Dene would ride right into the Bishop's after Hare. "

"No. He wouldn't dare. "

"Father!" Dave Naab spoke sharply from where he stood high on a grassybank. "Here's Dene now, riding up with Culver, and some man I don'tknow. They're coming in. Dene's jumped the fence! Look out!"

A clatter of hoofs and rattling of gravel preceded the appearance of ablack horse in the garden path. His rider bent low to dodge the vines ofthe arbor, and reined in before the porch to slip out of the saddle withthe agility of an Indian. It was Dene, dark, smiling, nonchalant. 

"What do you seek in the house of a Bishop?" challenged August Naab, planting his broad bulk square before Hare. 

"Dene's spy!"

"What do you seek in the house of a Bishop?" repeated Naab. 

"I shore want to see the young feller you lied to me about, " returnedDene, his smile slowly fading. 

"No speech could be a lie to an outlaw. "

"I want him, you Mormon preacher!"

"You can't have him. "

"I'll shore get him. "

In one great stride Naab confronted and towered over Dene. 

The rustler's gaze shifted warily from Naab to the quiet Mormons andback again. Then his right hand quivered and shot downward. Naab'sact was even quicker. A Colt gleamed and whirled to the grass, and theoutlaw cried as his arm cracked in the Mormon's grasp. 

Dave Naab leaped off the bank directly in front of Dene's approachingcompanions, and faced them, alert and silent, his hand on his hip. 

August Naab swung the outlaw against the porch-post and held him therewith brawny arm. 

"Whelp of an evil breed!" he thundered, shaking his gray head. "Do youthink we fear you and your gunsharp tricks? Look! See this!" He releasedDene and stepped back with his hand before him. Suddenly it moved, quicker than sight, and a Colt revolver lay in his outstretched palm. Hedropped it back into the holster. "Let that teach you never to draw onme again. " He doubled his huge fist and shoved it before Dene's eyes. "One blow would crack your skull like an egg-shell. Why don't I dealit? Because, you mindless hell-hound, because there's a higher law thanman's--God's law--Thou shalt not kill! Understand that if you can. Leaveme and mine alone from this day. Now go!"

He pushed Dene down the path into the arms of his companions. 

"Out with you!" said Dave Naab. "Hurry! Get your horse. Hurry! I'm notso particular about God as Dad is!"

III. THE TRAIL OF THE RED WALL

AFTER the departure of Dene and his comrades Naab decided to leave WhiteSage at nightfall. Martin Cole and the Bishop's sons tried to persuadehim to remain, urging that the trouble sure to come could be more safelymet in the village. Naab, however, was obdurate, unreasonably so, Colesaid, unless there were some good reason why he wished to strike thetrail in the night. When twilight closed in Naab had his teams ready andthe women shut in the canvas-covered wagons. Hare was to ride in an openwagon, one that Naab had left at White Sage to be loaded with grain. When it grew so dark that objects were scarcely discernible a manvaulted the cottage fence. 

"Dave, where are the boys?" asked Naab. 

"Not so loud! The boys are coming, " replied Dave in a whisper. "Deneis wild. I guess you snapped a bone in his arm. He swears he'll kill usall. But Chance and the rest of the gang won't be in till late. We'vetime to reach the Coconina Trail, if we hustle. "

"Any news of Snap?"

"He rode out before sundown. "

Three more forms emerged from the gloom. 

"All right, boys. Go ahead, Dave, you lead. "

Dave and George Naab mounted their mustangs and rode through the gate;the first wagon rolled after them, its white dome gradually dissolvingin the darkness; the second one started; then August Naab stepped to hisseat on the third with a low cluck to the team. Hare shut the gate andclimbed over the tail-board of the wagon. 

A slight swish of weeds and grasses brushing the wheels was all thesound made in the cautious advance. A bare field lay to the left; tothe right low roofs and sharp chimneys showed among the trees; here andthere lights twinkled. No one hailed; not a dog barked. 

Presently the leaders turned into a road where the iron hoofs and wheelscracked and crunched the stones. 

Hare thought he saw something in the deep shade of a line ofpoplar-trees; he peered closer, and made out a motionless horse andrider, just a shade blacker than the deepest gloom. The next instantthey vanished, and the rapid clatter of hoofs down the road told Harehis eyes had not deceived him. 

"Getup, " growled Naab to his horses. "Jack, did you see that fellow?"

"Yes. What was he doing there?"

"Watching the road. He's one of Dene's scouts. "

"Will Dene--"

One of Naab's sons came trotting back. "Think that was Larsen's pal. Hewas laying in wait for Snap. "

"I thought he was a scout for Dene, " replied August. 

"Maybe he's that too. "

"Likely enough. Hurry along and keep the gray team going lively. They'vehad a week's rest. "

Hare watched the glimmering lights of the village vanish one by one, like Jack-o'-lanterns. The horses kept a steady, even trot on into thehuge windy hall of the desert night. Fleecy clouds veiled the stars, yettransmitted a wan glow. A chill crept over Hare. As he crawled underthe blankets Naab had spread for him his hand came into contact with apolished metal surface cold as ice. It was his rifle. Naab had placed itunder the blankets. Fingering the rifle Hare found the spring opening onthe right side of the breech, and, pressing it down, he felt the roundhead of a cartridge. Naab had loaded the weapon, he had placed it whereHare's hand must find it, yet he had not spoken of it. Hare did notstop to reason with his first impulse. Without a word, with silentinsistence, disregarding his shattered health, August Naab had givenhim a man's part to play. The full meaning lifted Hare out of hisself-abasement; once more he felt himself a man. 

Hare soon yielded to the warmth of the blankets; a drowsiness that heendeavored in vain to throw off smothered his thoughts; sleep glued hiseyelids tight. They opened again some hours later. For a moment he couldnot realize where he was; then the whip of the cold wind across hisface, the woolly feel and smell of the blankets, and finally the steadytrot of horses and the clink of a chain swinging somewhere under him, recalled the actuality of the night ride. He wondered how many miles hadbeen covered, how the drivers knew the direction and kept the horses inthe trail, and whether the outlaws were in pursuit. When Naab stoppedthe team and, climbing down, walked back some rods to listen, Hare feltsure that Dene was coming. He listened, too, but the movements of thehorses and the rattle of their harness were all the sounds he couldhear. Naab returned to his seat; the team started, now no longer in atrot; they were climbing. After that Hare fell into a slumber in whichhe could hear the slow grating whirr of wheels, and when it ceased heawoke to raise himself and turn his ear to the back trail. By-and-by hediscovered that the black night had changed to gray; dawn was not fardistant; he dozed and awakened to clear light. A rose-red horizonlay far below and to the eastward; the intervening descent was like arolling sea with league-long swells. 

"Glad you slept some, " was Naab's greeting. "No sign of Dene yet. If wecan get over the divide we're safe. That's Coconina there, Fire Mountainin Navajo meaning. It's a plateau low and narrow at this end, but itruns far to the east and rises nine thousand feet. It forms a hundredmiles of the north rim of the Grand Canyon. We're across the Arizonaline now. "

Hare followed the sweep of the ridge that rose to the eastward, butto his inexperienced eyes its appearance carried no sense of its nobleproportions. 

"Don't form any ideas of distance and size yet a while, " said Naab, reading Hare's expression. "They'd only have to be made over as soon asyou learn what light and air are in this country. It looks only halfa mile to the top of the divide; well, if we make it by midday we'relucky. There, see a black spot over this way, far under the red wall?Look sharp. Good! That's Holderness's ranch. It's thirty miles fromhere. Nine Mile Valley heads in there. Once it belonged to Martin Cole. Holderness stole it. And he's begun to range over the divide. "

The sun rose and warmed the chill air. Hare began to notice theincreased height and abundance of the sagebrush, which was darker incolor. The first cedar-tree, stunted in growth, dead at the top, was thehalf-way mark up the ascent, so Naab said; it was also the forerunnerof other cedars which increased in number toward the summit. At lengthHare, tired of looking upward at the creeping white wagons, closed hiseyes. The wheels crunched on the stones; the horses heaved and labored;Naab's "Getup" was the only spoken sound; the sun beamed down warm, thenhot; and the hours passed. Some unusual noise roused Hare out of hislethargy. The wagon was at a standstill. Naab stood on the seat withoutstretched arm. George and Dave were close by their mustangs, and SnapNaab, mounted on a cream-colored pinto, reined him under August's arm, and faced the valley below. 

"Maybe you'll make them out, " said August. "I can't, and I've watchedthose dust-clouds for hours. George can't decide, either. "

Hare, looking at Snap, was attracted by the eyes from which his fatherand brothers expected so much. If ever a human being had the eyes of ahawk Snap Naab had them. The little brown flecks danced in clear paleyellow. Evidently Snap had not located the perplexing dust-clouds, forhis glance drifted. Suddenly the remarkable vibration of his pupilsceased, and his glance grew fixed, steely, certain. 

"That's a bunch of wild mustangs, " he said. 

Hare gazed till his eyes hurt, but could see neither clouds of dust normoving objects. No more was said. The sons wheeled their mustangs androde to the fore; August Naab reseated himself and took up the reins;the ascent proceeded. 

But it proceeded leisurely, with more frequent rests. At the end of anhour the horses toiled over the last rise to the summit and entered alevel forest of cedars; in another hour they were descending gradually. 

"Here we are at the tanks, " said Naab. 

Hare saw that they had come up with the other wagons. George Naab wasleading a team down a rocky declivity to a pool of yellow water. Theother boys were unharnessing and unsaddling. 

"About three, " said Naab, looking at the sun. "We're in good time. Jack, get out and stretch yourself. We camp here. There's the Coconina Trailwhere the Navajos go in after deer. "

It was not a pretty spot, this little rock-strewn glade where the whitehard trail forked with the road. The yellow water with its green scummade Hare sick. The horses drank with loud gulps. Naab and his sonsdrank of it. The women filled a pail and portioned it out in basins andwashed their faces and hands with evident pleasure. Dave Naab whistledas he wielded an axe vigorously on a cedar. It came home to Hare thatthe tension of the past night and morning had relaxed. Whether toattribute that fact to the distance from White Sage or to the arrivalat the water-hole he could not determine. But the certainty was shownin August's cheerful talk to the horses as he slipped bags of grain overtheir noses, and in the subdued laughter of the women. Hare sent up anunspoken thanksgiving that these good Mormons had apparently escapedfrom the dangers incurred for his sake. He sat with his back to a cedarand watched the kindling of fires, the deft manipulating of biscuitdough in a basin, and the steaming of pots. The generous meal was spreadon a canvas cloth, around which men and women sat cross-legged, afterthe fashion of Indians. Hare found it hard to adapt his long legs to theposture, and he wondered how these men, whose legs were longer than his, could sit so easily. It was the crown of a cheerful dinner after hoursof anxiety and abstinence to have Snap Naab speak civilly to him, and tosee him bow his head meekly as his father asked the blessing. Snap ateas though he had utterly forgotten that he had recently killed a man; tohear the others talk to him one would suppose that they had forgotten italso. 

All had finished eating, except Snap and Dave Naab, when one of themustangs neighed shrilly. Hare would not have noticed it but for looksexchanged among the men. The glances were explained a few minutes laterwhen a pattering of hoofs came from the cedar forest, and a stream ofmounted Indians poured into the glade. 

The ugly glade became a place of color and action. The Navajos rodewiry, wild-looking mustangs and drove ponies and burros carrying packs, most of which consisted of deer-hides. Each Indian dismounted, andunstrapping the blanket which had served as a saddle headed his mustangfor the water-hole and gave him a slap. Then the hides and packswere slipped from the pack-train, and soon the pool became a kicking, splashing melee. Every cedar-tree circling the glade and every branchserved as a peg for deer meat. Some of it was in the haunch, the bulk indark dried strips. The Indians laid their weapons aside. Every sagebushand low stone held a blanket. A few of these blankets were of solidcolor, most of them had bars of white and gray and red, the last colorpredominating. The mustangs and burros filed out among the cedars, nipping at the sage and the scattered tufts of spare grass. A group offires, sending up curling columns of blue smoke, and surrounded by acircle of lean, half-naked, bronze-skinned Indians, cooking and eating, completed a picture which afforded Hare the satisfying fulfilment ofboyish dreams. What a contrast to the memory of a camp-site on theConnecticut shore, with boy friends telling tales in the glow of thefire, and the wash of the waves on the beach!

The sun sank low in the west, sending gleams through the gnarledbranches of the cedars, and turning the green into gold. At preciselythe moment of sunset, the Mormon women broke into soft song which hadthe element of prayer; and the lips of the men moved in silent harmony. Dave Naab, the only one who smoked, removed his pipe for the moment'sgrace to dying day. 

This simple ceremony over, one of the boys put wood on the fire, andSnap took a jews'-harp out of his pocket and began to extract dolefuldiscords from it, for which George kicked at him in disgust, finallycausing him to leave the circle and repair to the cedars, where hetwanged with supreme egotism. 

"Jack, " said August Naab, "our friends the Navajo chiefs, Scarbreastand Eschtah, are coming to visit us. Take no notice of them at first. They've great dignity, and if you entered their hogans they'd sit forsome moments before appearing to see you. Scarbreast is a war-chief. Eschtah is the wise old chief of all the Navajos on the Painted Desert. It may interest you to know he is Mescal's grandfather. Some day I'lltell you the story. "

Hare tried very hard to appear unconscious when two tall Indians stalkedinto the circle of Mormons; he set his eyes on the white heart of thecamp-fire and waited. For several minutes no one spoke or even moved. The Indians remained standing for a time; then seated themselves. Presently August Naab greeted them in the Navajo language. This was asignal for Hare to use his eyes and ears. Another interval of silencefollowed before they began to talk. Hare could see only their blanketedshoulders and black heads. 

"Jack, come round here, " said Naab at length. "I've been telling themabout you. These Indians do not like the whites, except my own family. Ihope you'll make friends with them. "

"How do?" said the chief whom Naab had called Eschtah, a stately, keen-eyed warrior, despite his age. 

The next Navajo greeted him with a guttural word. This was a warriorwhose name might well have been Scarface, for the signs of conflict werethere. It was a face like a bronze mask, cast in the one expression ofuntamed desert fierceness. 

Hare bowed to each and felt himself searched by burning eyes, which weredoubtful, yet not unfriendly. 

"Shake, " finally said Eschtah, offering his hand. 

"Ugh!" exclaimed Scarbreast, extending a bare silver-braceleted arm. 

This sign of friendship pleased Naab. He wished to enlist the sympathiesof the Navajo chieftains in the young man's behalf. In his ensuingspeech, which was plentifully emphasized with gestures, he lapsed ofteninto English, saying "weak--no strong" when he placed his hand on Hare'slegs, and "bad" when he touched the young man's chest, concluding withthe words "sick--sick. "

Scarbreast regarded Hare with great earnestness, and when Naab hadfinished he said: "Chineago--ping!" and rubbed his hand over hisstomach. 

"He says you need meat--lots of deer-meat, " translated Naab. 

"Sick, " repeated Eschtah, whose English was intelligible. He appearedto be casting about in his mind for additional words to express hisknowledge of the white man's tongue, and, failing, continued in Navajo:"Tohodena--moocha--malocha. "

Hare was nonplussed at the roar of laughter from the Mormons. Augustshook like a mountain in an earthquake. 

"Eschtah says, 'you hurry, get many squaws--many wives. '"

Other Indians, russet-skinned warriors, with black hair held close bybands round their foreheads, joined the circle, and sitting before thefire clasped their knees and talked. Hare listened awhile, and then, being fatigued, he sought the cedar-tree where he had left his blankets. The dry mat of needles made an odorous bed. He placed a sack of grainfor a pillow, and doubling up one blanket to lie upon, he pulled theothers over him. Then he watched and listened. The cedar-wood burnedwith a clear flame, and occasionally snapped out a red spark. The voicesof the Navajos, scarcely audible, sounded "toa's" and "taa's"--syllableshe soon learned were characteristic and dominant--in low, deep murmurs. It reminded Hare of something that before had been pleasant to his ear. Then it came to mind: a remembrance of Mescal's sweet voice, and thatrecalled the kinship between her and the Navajo chieftain. He lookedabout, endeavoring to find her in the ring of light, for he felt inher a fascination akin to the charm of this twilight hour. Dusky formspassed to and fro under the trees; the tinkle of bells on hobbledmustangs rang from the forest; coyotes had begun their night questwith wild howls; the camp-fire burned red, and shadows flickered on theblanketed Indians; the wind now moaned, now lulled in the cedars. 

Hare lay back in his blankets and saw lustrous stars through the networkof branches. With their light in his face and the cold wind wavinghis hair on his brow he thought of the strangeness of it all, of itsremoteness from anything ever known to him before, of its inexpressiblewildness. And a rush of emotion he failed wholly to stifle proved tohim that he could have loved this life if--if he had not of late come tobelieve that he had not long to live. Still Naab's influence exorcisedeven that one sad thought; and he flung it from him in resentment. 

Sleep did not come so readily; he was not very well this night; theflush of fever was on his cheek, and the heat of feverish blood burnedhis body. He raised himself and, resolutely seeking for distraction, once more stared at the camp-fire. Some time must have passed during hisdreaming, for only three persons were in sight. Naab's broad back wasbowed and his head nodded. Across the fire in its ruddy flicker satEschtah beside a slight, dark figure. At second glance Hare recognizedMescal. Surprise claimed him, not more for her presence there than forthe white band binding her smooth black tresses. She had not worn suchan ornament before. That slender band lent her the one touch which madeher a Navajo. Was it worn in respect to her aged grandfather? Whatdid this mean for a girl reared with Christian teaching? Was it desertblood? Hare had no answers for these questions. They only increasedthe mystery and romance. He fell asleep with the picture in his mind ofEschtah and Mescal, sitting in the glow of the fire, and of August Naab, nodding silently. 

"Jack, Jack, wake up. " The words broke dully into his slumbers; wearilyhe opened his eyes. August Naab bent over him, shaking him gently. 

"Not so well this morning, eh? Here's a cup of coffee. We're all packedand starting. Drink now, and climb aboard. We expect to make SeepingSprings to-night. "

Hare rose presently and, laboring into the wagon, lay down on the sacks. He had one of his blind, sickening headaches. The familiar lumbering ofwheels began, and the clanking of the wagon-chain. Despite jar and jolthe dozed at times, awakening to the scrape of the wheel on the leathernbrake. After a while the rapid descent of the wagon changed to a roll, without the irritating rattle. He saw a narrow valley; on one sidethe green, slow-swelling cedar slope of the mountain; on the other theperpendicular red wall, with its pinnacles like spears against the sky. All day this backward outlook was the same, except that each time heopened aching eyes the valley had lengthened, the red wall and greenslope had come closer together in the distance. By and by there camea halt, the din of stamping horses and sharp commands, the bustle andconfusion of camp. Naab spoke kindly to him, but he refused any food, lay still and went to sleep. 

Daylight brought him the relief of a clear head and cooled blood. Thecamp had been pitched close under the red wall. A lichen-covered cliff, wet with dripping water, overhung a round pool. A ditch led the waterdown the ridge to a pond. Cattle stood up to their knees drinking;others lay on the yellow clay, which was packed as hard as stone; stillothers were climbing the ridge and passing down on both sides. 

"You look as if you enjoyed that water, " remarked Naab, when Harepresented himself at the fire. "Well, it's good, only a little salty. Seeping Springs this is, and it's mine. This ridge we call The Saddle;you see it dips between wall and mountain and separates two valleys. This valley we go through to-day is where my cattle range. At the otherend is Silver Cup Spring, also mine. Keep your eyes open now, my lad. "

How different was the beginning of this day! The sky was as blue as thesea; the valley snuggled deep in the embrace of wall and mountain. Haretook a place on the seat beside Naab and faced the descent. The line ofNavajos, a graceful straggling curve of color on the trail, led the wayfor the white-domed wagons. 

Naab pointed to a little calf lying half hidden under a bunch of sage. "That's what I hate to see. There's a calf, just born; its mother hasgone in for water. Wolves and lions range this valley. We lose hundredsof calves that way. "

As far as Hare could see red and white and black cattle speckled thevalley. 

"If not overstocked, this range is the best in Utah, " said Naab. "I sayUtah, but it's really Arizona. The Grand Canyon seems to us Mormons tomark the line. There's enough browse here to feed a hundred thousandcattle. But water's the thing. In some seasons the springs go almostdry, though Silver Cup holds her own well enough for my cattle. "

Hare marked the tufts of grass lying far apart on the yellow earth;evidently there was sustenance enough in every two feet of ground tosupport only one tuft. 

"What's that?" he asked, noting a rolling cloud of dust with blackbobbing borders. 

"Wild mustangs, " replied Naab. "There are perhaps five thousand on themountain, and they are getting to be a nuisance. They're almost as badas sheep on the browse; and I should tell you that if sheep pass overa range once the cattle will starve. The mustangs are getting tooplentiful. There are also several bands of wild horses. "

"What's the difference between wild horses and mustangs?"

"I haven't figured that out yet. Some say the Spaniards left horses inhere three hundred years ago. Wild? They are wilder than any naturallywild animal that ever ran on four legs. Wait till you get a look atSilvermane or Whitefoot. "

"What are they?"

"Wild stallions. Silvermane is an iron gray, with a silver mane, themost beautiful horse I ever saw. Whitefoot's an old black shaggy demon, with one white foot. Both stallions ought to be killed. They fight myhorses and lead off the mares. I had a chance to shoot Silvermane on theway over this trip, but he looked so splendid that I just laid down myrifle. "

"Can they run?" asked Hare eagerly, with the eyes of a man who loved ahorse. 

"Run? Whew! Just you wait till you see Silvermane cover ground! He canlook over his shoulder at you and beat any horse in this country. TheNavajos have given up catching him as a bad job. Why--here! Jack! quick, get out your rifle--coyotes!"

Naab pulled on the reins, and pointed to one side. Hare discerned threegrayish sharp-nosed beasts sneaking off in the sage, and he reached backfor the rifle. Naab whistled, stopping the coyotes; then Hare shot. Theball cut a wisp of dust above and beyond them. They loped away into thesage. 

"How that rifle spangs!" exclaimed Naab. "It's good to hear it. Jack, you shot high. That's the trouble with men who have never shot at game. They can't hold low enough. Aim low, lower than you want. Ha! There'sanother--this side--hold ahead of him and low, quick!--too high again. "

It was in this way that August and Hare fell far behind the otherwagons. The nearer Naab got to his home the more genial he became. Whenhe was not answering Hare's queries he was giving information of hisown accord, telling about the cattle and the range, the mustangs, theNavajos, and the desert. Naab liked to talk; he had said he had not thegift of revelation, but he certainly had the gift of tongues. 

The sun was in the west when they began to climb a ridge. A shortascent, and a long turn to the right brought them under a bold spur ofthe mountain which shut out the northwest. Camp had been pitched in agrove of trees of a species new to Hare. From under a bowlder gushed thesparkling spring, a grateful sight and sound to desert travellers. In aniche of the rock hung a silver cup. 

"Jack, no man knows how old this cup is, or anything about it. We namedthe spring after it--Silver Cup. The strange thing is that the cup hasnever been lost nor stolen. But--could any desert man, or outlaw, orIndian, take it away, after drinking here?"

The cup was nicked and battered, bright on the sides, moss-green on thebottom. When Hare drank from it he understood. 

That evening there was rude merriment around the campfire. Snap Naabbuzzed on his jews'-harp and sang. He stirred some of the youngerbraves to dancing, and they stamped and swung their arms, singing, "hoya-heeya-howya, " as they moved in and out of the firelight. 

Several of the braves showed great interest in Snap's jews'-harp andrepeatedly asked him for it. Finally the Mormon grudgingly lent it toa curious Indian, who in trying to play it went through such awkwardmotions and made such queer sounds that his companions set upon him andfought for possession of the instrument. Then Snap, becoming solicitousfor its welfare, jumped into the fray. They tussled for it amid theclamor of a delighted circle. Snap, passing from jest to earnest, grew so strenuous in his efforts to regain the harp that he tossed theNavajos about like shuttle-cocks. He got the harp and, concealing it, sought to break away. But the braves laid hold upon him, threw himto the ground, and calmly sat astride him while they went through hispockets. August Naab roared his merriment and Hare laughed till hecried. The incident was as surprising to him as it was amusing. Theseserious Mormons and silent Navajos were capable of mirth. 

Hare would have stayed up as late as any of them, but August's saying tohim, "Get to bed: to-morrow will be bad!" sent him off to his blankets, where he was soon fast asleep. Morning found him well, hungry, eager toknow what the day would bring. 

"Wait, " said August, soberly. 

They rode out of the gray pocket in the ridge and began to climb. Harehad not noticed the rise till they were started, and then, as the horsesclimbed steadily he grew impatient at the monotonous ascent. There wasnothing to see; frequently it seemed that they were soon to reach thesummit, but still it rose above them. Hare went back to his comfortableplace on the sacks. 

"Now, Jack, " said August. 

Hare gasped. He saw a red world. His eyes seemed bathed in blood. Redscaly ground, bare of vegetation, sloped down, down, far down to a vastirregular rent in the earth, which zigzagged through the plain beneath. To the right it bent its crooked way under the brow of a black-timberedplateau; to the left it straightened its angles to find a V-shaped ventin the wall, now uplifted to a mountain range. Beyond this earth-rivenline lay something vast and illimitable, a far-reaching vision of whitewastes, of purple plains, of low mesas lost in distance. It was theshimmering dust-veiled desert. 

"Here we come to the real thing, " explained Naab. "This is Windy Slope;that black line is the Grand Canyon of Arizona; on the other side is thePainted Desert where the Navajos live; Coconina Mountain shows hisflat head there to the right, and the wall on our left rises to theVermillion Cliffs. Now, look while you can, for presently you'll not beable to see. "

"Why?"

"Wind, sand, dust, gravel, pebbles--watch out for your eyes!"

Naab had not ceased speaking when Hare saw that the train of Indianstrailing down the slope was enveloped in red clouds. Then the whitewagons disappeared. Soon he was struck in the back by a gust whichjustified Naab's warning. It swept by; the air grew clear again; oncemore he could see. But presently a puff, taking him unawares, filled hiseyes with dust difficult of removal. Whereupon he turned his back to thewind. 

The afternoon grew apace; the sun glistened on the white patches ofCoconina Mountain; it set; and the wind died. 

"Five miles of red sand, " said Naab. "Here's what kills the horses. Getup. "

There was no trail. All before was red sand, hollows, slopes, levels, dunes, in which the horses sank above their fetlocks. The wheelsploughed deep, and little red streams trailed down from the tires. Naabtrudged on foot with the reins in his hands. Hare essayed to walk also, soon tired, and floundered behind till Naab ordered him to ride again. Twilight came with the horses still toiling. 

"There! thankful I am when we get off that strip! But, Jack, thattrailless waste prevents a night raid on my home. Even the Navajos shunit after dark. We'll be home soon. There's my sign. See? Night or day wecall it the Blue Star. "

High in the black cliff a star-shaped, wind-worn hole let the blue skythrough. 

There was cheer in Naab's "Getup, " now, and the horses quickenedwith it. Their iron-shod hoofs struck fire from the rosy road. "Easy, easy--soho!" cried Naab to his steeds. In the pitchy blackness under theshelving cliff they picked their way cautiously, and turned a corner. Lights twinkled in Hare's sight, a fresh breeze, coming from water, dampened his cheek, and a hollow rumble, a long roll as of distantthunder, filled his ears. 

"What's that?" he asked. 

"That, my lad, is what I always love to hear. It means I'm home. It'sthe roar of the Colorado as she takes her first plunge into the Canyon. "

IV. THE OASIS

AUGUST NAAB'S oasis was an oval valley, level as a floor, green withleaf and white with blossom, enclosed by a circle of colossal cliffs ofvivid vermilion hue. At its western curve the Colorado River split thered walls from north to south. When the wind was west a sullen roar, remote as of some far-off driving mill, filled the valley; when itwas east a dreamy hollow hum, a somnolent song, murmured through thecottonwoods; when no wind stirred, silence reigned, a silence not ofserene plain or mountain fastness, but shut in, compressed, strange, andbreathless. Safe from the storms of the elements as well as of the worldwas this Garden of Eschtah. 

Naab had put Hare to bed on the unroofed porch of a log house, butrouted him out early, and when Hare lifted the blankets a shower ofcotton-blossoms drifted away like snow. A grove of gray-barked treesspread green canopy overhead, and through the intricate web shonecrimson walls, soaring with resistless onsweep up and up to shut out allbut a blue lake of sky. 

"I want you to see the Navajos cross the river, " said Naab. 

Hare accompanied him out through the grove to a road that flanked thefirst rise of the red wall; they followed this for half a mile, andturning a corner came into an unobstructed view. A roar of rushingwaters had prepared Hare, but the river that he saw appalled him. Itwas red and swift; it slid onward like an enormous slippery snake; itsconstricted head raised a crest of leaping waves, and disappeared in adark chasm, whence came a bellow and boom. 

"That opening where she jumps off is the head of the Grand Canyon, " saidNaab. "It's five hundred feet deep there, and thirty miles below it'sfive thousand. Oh, once in, she tears in a hurry! Come, we turn up thebank here. "

Hare could find no speech, and he felt immeasurably small. All that hehad seen in reaching this isolated spot was dwarfed in comparison. This"Crossing of the Fathers, " as Naab called it, was the gateway of thedesert. This roar of turbulent waters was the sinister monotone of themighty desert symphony of great depths, great heights, great reaches. 

On a sandy strip of bank the Navajos had halted. This was as far as theycould go, for above the wall jutted out into the river. From here thehead of the Canyon was not visible, and the roar of the rapids wasaccordingly lessened in volume. But even in this smooth water the riverspoke a warning. 

"The Navajos go in here and swim their mustangs across to that sandbar, " explained Naab. "The current helps when she's high, and there's athree-foot raise on now. "

"I can't believe it possible. What danger they must run--those littlemustangs!" exclaimed Hare. 

"Danger? Yes, I suppose so, " replied Naab, as if it were a new idea. "Mylad, the Mormons crossed here by the hundreds. Many were drowned. Thistrail and crossing were unknown except to Indians before the Mormonexodus. "

The mustangs had to be driven into the water. Scarbreast led, and hismustang, after many kicks and reluctant steps, went over his depth, wetting the stalwart chief to the waist. Bare-legged Indians waded inand urged their pack-ponies. Shouts, shrill cries, blows mingled withsnorts and splashes. 

Dave and George Naab in flat boats rowed slowly on the down-streamside of the Indians. Presently all the mustangs and ponies were in, theprocession widening out in a triangle from Scarbreast, the leader. Thepack-ponies appeared to swim better than the mounted mustangs, or elsethe packs of deer-pelts made them more buoyant. When one-third wayacross the head of the swimming train met the current, and the line ofprogress broke. Mustang after mustang swept down with a rapidity whichshowed the power of the current. Yet they swam steadily with flanksshining, tails sometimes afloat, sometimes under, noses up, and ridersholding weapons aloft. But the pack-ponies labored when the currentstruck them, and whirling about, they held back the Indians who wereleading them, and blocked those behind. The orderly procession of thestart became a broken line, and then a rout. Here and there a Navajoslipped into the water and swam, leading his mustang; others pulledon pack-ponies and beat their mounts; strong-swimming mustangs forgedahead; weak ones hung back, and all obeyed the downward will of thecurrent. 

While Hare feared for the lives of some of the Navajos, and pitied theladen ponies, he could not but revel in the scene, in its vivid actionand varying color, in the cries and shrill whoops of the Indians, andthe snorts of the frightened mustangs, in Naab's hoarse yells to hissons, and the ever-present menacing roar from around the bend. Thewildness of it all, the necessity of peril and calm acceptance of it, stirred within Hare the call, the awakening, the spirit of the desert. 

August Naab's stentorian voice rolled out over the river. "Ho! Dave--theyellow pinto--pull him loose--George, back this way--there's a packslipping--down now, downstream, turn that straggler in--Dave, in thattangle--quick! There's a boy drowning--his foot's caught--he's beenkicked--Hurry! Hurry!--pull him in the boat--There's a pony under--Toolate, George, let that one go--let him go, I tell you!"

So the crossing of the Navajos proceeded, never an instant free fromdanger in that churning current. The mustangs and ponies flounderedsomewhat on the sand-bar and then parted the willows and appeared on atrail skirting the red wall. Dave Naab moored his boat on that side ofthe river, and returned with George. 

"We'll look over my farm, " said August, as they retraced their steps. Heled Hare through fields of alfalfa, in all stages of growth, explainingthat it yielded six crops a year. Into one ten-acre lot pigs and cowshad been turned to feed at will. Everywhere the ground was soggy;little streams of water trickled down ditches. Next to the fields wasan orchard, where cherries were ripe, apricots already large, plum-treesshedding their blossoms, and apple-trees just opening into bloom. Naabexplained that the products of his oasis were abnormal; the ground wasexceedingly rich and could be kept always wet; the reflection of the sunfrom the walls robbed even winter of any rigor, and the spring, summer, and autumn were tropical. He pointed to grape-vines as large as a man'sthigh and told of bunches of grapes four feet long; he showed sproutingplants on which watermelons and pumpkins would grow so large that oneman could not lift them; he told of one pumpkin that held a record oftaking two men to roll it. 

"I can raise any kind of fruit in such abundance that it can't be used. My garden is prodigal. But we get little benefit, except for our ownuse, for we cannot transport things across the desert. "

The water which was the prime factor in all this richness came froma small stream which Naab, by making a dam and tunnelling a corner ofcliff, had diverted from its natural course into his oasis. 

Between the fence and the red wall there was a wide bare plain whichstretched to the house. At its farthest end was a green enclosure, whichHare recognized as the cemetery mentioned by Snap. Hare counted thirtygraves, a few with crude monuments of stone, the others marked by woodenhead-pieces. 

"I've the reputation of doctoring the women, and letting the men die, "said Naab, with a smile. "I hardly think it's fair. But the fact is nowomen are buried here. Some graves are of men I fished out of the river;others of those who drifted here, and who were killed or died keepingtheir secrets. I've numbered those unknown graves and have kept adescription of the men, so, if the chance ever comes, I may tell someone where a father or brother lies buried. Five sons of mine, not one ofwhom died a natural death, found graves here--God rest them! Here's thegrave of Mescal's father, a Spaniard. He was an adventurer. I helpedhim over in Nevada when he was ill; he came here with me, got well, andlived nine years, and he died without speaking one word of himself ortelling his name. "

"What strange ends men come to!" mused Hare. Well, a grave was a grave, wherever it lay. He wondered if he would come to rest in that quietnook, with its steady light, its simple dignity of bare plain gravesfitting the brevity of life, the littleness of man. 

"We break wild mustangs along this stretch, " said Naab, drawing Hareaway. "It's a fine run. Wait till you see Mescal on Black Bolly tearingup the dust! She's a Navajo for riding. "

Three huge corrals filled a wide curved space in the wall. In one corralwere the teams that had hauled the wagons from White Sage; in anotherupward of thirty burros, drooping, lazy little fellows half asleep; inthe third a dozen or more mustangs and some horses which delightedHare. Snap Naab's cream pinto, a bay, and a giant horse of mottled whiteattracted him most. 

"Our best stock is out on the range, " said Naab. "The white is Charger, my saddle-horse. When he was a yearling he got away and ran wild forthree years. But we caught him. He's a weight-carrier and he can runsome. You're fond of a horse--I can see that. "

"Yes, " returned Hare, "but I--I'll never ride again. " He said itbrightly, smiling the while; still the look in his eyes belied thecheerful resignation. 

"I've not the gift of revelation, yet I seem to see you on a big grayhorse with a shining mane. " Naab appeared to be gazing far away. 

The cottonwood grove, at the western curve of the oasis, shaded the fivelog huts where August's grown sons lived with their wives, and his owncabin, which was of considerable dimensions. It had a covered porch onone side, an open one on the other, a shingle roof, and was a roomy andcomfortable habitation. 

Naab was pointing out the school-house when he was interrupted bychildish laughter, shrieks of glee, and the rush of little feet. 

"It's recess-time, " he said. 

A frantic crowd of tousled-headed little ones were running from the logschool-house to form a circle under the trees. There were fourteen ofthem, from four years of age up to ten or twelve. Such sturdy, glad-eyedchildren Hare had never seen. In a few moments, as though their happyscreams were signals, the shady circle was filled with hounds, anda string of puppies stepping on their long ears, and rufflingturkey-gobblers, that gobbled and gobbled, and guinea-hens with theirshrill cries, and cackling chickens, and a lame wild goose that hobbledalong alone. Then there were shiny peafowls screeching clarion callsfrom the trees overhead, and flocks of singing blackbirds, and pigeonshovering over and alighting upon the house. Last to approach were awoolly sheep that added his baa-baa to the din, and a bald-faced burrothat walked in his sleep. These two became the centre of clamor. Aftermany tumbles four chubby youngsters mounted the burro; and the others, with loud acclaim, shouting, "Noddle, Noddle, getup! getup!" endeavoredto make him go. But Noddle nodded and refused to awaken or budge. Thenan ambitious urchin of six fastened his hands in the fur of the sheepand essayed to climb to his back. Willing hands assisted him. "Ride him, Billy, ride him. Getup, Navvy, getup!"

Navvy evidently had never been ridden, for he began a fair imitation ofa bucking bronco. Billy held on, but the smile vanished and he cornersof his mouth drew down. 

"Hang on, Billy, hang on, " cried August Naab, in delight. Billy hung ona moment longer, and then Navvy, bewildered by the pestering crowd abouthim, launched out and, butting into Noddle, spilled the four youngstersand Billy also into a wriggling heap. 

This recess-time completed Hare's introduction to the Naabs. There wereMother Mary, and Judith and Esther, whom he knew, and Mother Ruth andher two daughters very like their sisters. Mother Ruth, August's secondwife, was younger than Mother Mary, more comely of face, and more sadand serious of expression. The wives of the five sons, except SnapNaab's frail bride, were stalwart women, fit to make homes and rearchildren. 

"Now, Jack, things are moving all right, " said August. "For the presentyou must eat and rest. Walk some, but don't tire yourself. We'llpractice shooting a little every day; that's one thing I'll spare timefor. I've a trick with a gun to teach you. And if you feel able, take aburro and ride. Anyway, make yourself at home. "

Hare found eating and resting to be matters of profound enjoyment. Before he had fallen in with these good people it had been a year sincehe had sat down to a full meal; longer still since he had eaten wholesome food. And now he had come to a "land overflowing with milk andhoney, " as Mother Ruth smilingly said. He could not choose between roastbeef and chicken, and so he waived the question by taking both; and whatwith the biscuits and butter, apple-sauce and blackberry jam, cherry pieand milk like cream, there was danger of making himself ill. He toldhis friends that he simply could not help it, which shameless confessionbrought a hearty laugh from August and beaming smiles from hiswomen-folk. 

For several days Hare was remarkably well, for an invalid. He won goldenpraise from August at the rifle practice, and he began to take lessonsin the quick drawing and rapid firing of a Colt revolver. Naab waswonderfully proficient in the use of both firearms; and his skill indrawing the smaller weapon, in which his movement was quicker than theeye, astonished Hare. "My lad, " said August, "it doesn't follow becauseI'm a Christian that I don't know how to handle a gun. Besides, I liketo shoot. "

In these few days Hare learned what conquering the desert made of a man. August Naab was close to threescore years; his chest was wide as a door, his arm like the branch of an oak. He was a blacksmith, a mechanic, acarpenter, a cooper, a potter. At his forge and in his shop, everywhere, were crude tools, wagons, farming implements, sets of buckskin harness, odds and ends of nameless things, eloquent and pregnant proof of thefact that necessity is the mother of invention. He was a mason; thelevee that buffeted back the rage of the Colorado in flood, the wallthat turned the creek, the irrigation tunnel, the zigzag trail cut onthe face of the cliff--all these attested his eye for line, his judgmentof distance, his strength in toil. He was a farmer, a cattle man, a grafter of fruit-trees, a breeder of horses, a herder of sheep, apreacher, a physician. Best and strangest of all in this wonderful manwas the instinct and the heart to heal. "I don't combat the doctrine ofthe Mormon church, " he said, "but I administer a little medicine with myhealing. I learned that from the Navajos. " The children ran to him withbruised heads, and cut fingers, and stubbed toes; and his blacksmith'shands were as gentle as a woman's. A mustang with a lame leg claimed hisserious attention; a sick sheep gave him an anxious look; a steer with agored skin sent him running for a bucket of salve. He could not passby a crippled quail. The farm was overrun by Navajo sheep which he hadfound strayed and lost on the desert. Anything hurt or helpless hadin August Naab a friend. Hare found himself looking up to a great andluminous figure, and he loved this man. 

As the days passed Hare learned many other things. For a while illnessconfined him to his bed on the porch. At night he lay listening to theroar of the river, and watching the stars. Twice he heard a distantcrash and rumble, heavy as thunder, and he knew that somewhere along thecliffs avalanches were slipping. By day he watched the cotton snow downupon him, and listened to the many birds, and waited for the merry showat recess-time. After a short time the children grew less shy and camereadily to him. They were the most wholesome children he had ever known. Hare wondered about it, and decided it was not so much Mormon teachingas isolation from the world. These children had never been out of theircliff-walled home, and civilization was for them as if it were not. Hetold them stories, and after school hours they would race to him andclimb on his bed, and beg for more. 

He exhausted his supply of fairy-stories and animal stories; and hadbegun to tell about the places and cities which he had visited when theeager-eyed children were peremptorily called within by Mother Mary. Thispained him and he was at a loss to understand it. Enlightenment came, however, in the way of an argument between Naab and Mother Mary whichhe overheard. The elder wife said that the stranger was welcome to thechildren, but she insisted that they hear nothing of the outside world, and that they be kept to the teachings of the Mormon geography--whichmade all the world outside Utah an untrodden wilderness. August Naab didnot hold to the letter of the Mormon law; he argued that if the childrencould not be raised as Mormons with a full knowledge of the world, theywould only be lost in the end to the Church. 

Other developments surprised Hare. The house of this good Mormon wasdivided against itself. Precedence was given to the first and elderwife--Mother Mary; Mother Ruth's life was not without pain. The men wereout on the ranges all day, usually two or more of them for severaldays at a time, and this left the women alone. One daughter taught theschool, the other daughters did all the chores about the house, fromfeeding the stock to chopping wood. The work was hard, and the girlswould rather have been in White Sage or Lund. They disliked Mescal, andsaid things inspired by jealousy. Snap Naab's wife was vindictive, andcalled Mescal "that Indian!"

It struck him on hearing this gossip that he had missed Mescal. What hadbecome of her? Curiosity prompting him, he asked little Billy about her. 

"Mescal's with the sheep, " piped Billy. 

That she was a shepherdess pleased Hare, and he thought of her as freeon the open range, with the wind blowing her hair. 

One day when Hare felt stronger he took his walk round the farm withnew zest. Upon his return to the house he saw Snap's cream pinto in theyard, and Dave's mustang cropping the grass near by. A dusty pack lay onthe ground. Hare walked down the avenue of cottonwoods and was about toturn the corner of the old forge when he stopped short. 

"Now mind you, I'll take a bead on this white-faced spy if you send himup there. "

It was Snap Naab's voice, and his speech concluded with the click ofteeth characteristic of him in anger. 

"Stand there!" August Naab exclaimed in wrath. "Listen. You have beendrinking again or you wouldn't talk of killing a man. I warned you. Iwon't do this thing you ask of me till I have your promise. Why won'tyou leave the bottle alone?"

"I'll promise, " came the sullen reply. 

"Very well. Then pack and go across to Bitter Seeps. "

"That job'll take all summer, " growled Snap. 

"So much the better. When you come home I'll keep my promise. "

Hare moved away silently; the shock of Snap's first words had kept himfast in his tracks long enough to hear the conversation. Why did Snapthreaten him? Where was August Naab going to send him? Hare had no meansof coming to an understanding of either question. He was disturbed inmind and resolved to keep out of Snap's way. He went to the orchard, buthis stay of an hour availed nothing, for on his return, after threadingthe maze of cottonwoods, he came face to face with the man he wanted toavoid. 

Snap Naab, at the moment of meeting, had a black bottle tipped highabove his lips. 

With a curse he threw the bottle at Hare, missing him narrowly. He wasdrunk. His eyes were bloodshot. 

"If you tell father you saw me drinking I'll kill you!" he hissed, andrattling his Colt in its holster, he walked away. 

Hare walked back to his bed, where he lay for a long time with his wholeinner being in a state of strife. It gradually wore off as he strove forcalm. The playground was deserted; no one had seen Snap's action, andfor that he was glad. Then his attention was diverted by a clatterof ringing hoofs on the road; a mustang and a cloud of dust wereapproaching. 

"Mescal and Black Bolly!" he exclaimed, and sat up quickly. The mustangturned in the gate, slid to a stop, and stood quivering, restive, tossing its thoroughbred head, black as a coal, with freedom and firein every line. Mescal leaped off lightly. A gray form flashed in at thegate, fell at her feet and rose to leap about her. It was a splendiddog, huge in frame, almost white, wild as the mustang. 

This was the Mescal whom he remembered, yet somehow different. Thesombre homespun garments had given place to fringed and beaded buckskin. 

"I've come for you, " she said. 

"For me?" he asked, wonderingly, as she approached with the bridle ofthe black over her arm. 

"Down, Wolf!" she cried to the leaping dog. "Yes. Didn't you know?Father Naab says you're to help me tend the sheep. Are you better? Ihope so-- You're quite pale. "

"I--I'm not so well, " said Hare. 

He looked up at her, at the black sweep of her hair under the whiteband, at her eyes, like jet; and suddenly realized, with a gladnessnew and strange to him, that he liked to look at her, that she wasbeautiful. 

V. BLACK SAGE AND JUNIPER

AUGUST NAAB appeared on the path leading from his fields. 

"Mescal, here you are, " he greeted. "How about the sheep?"

"Piute's driving them down to the lower range. There are a thousandcoyotes hanging about the flock. "

"That's bad, " rejoined August. "Jack, there's evidently some realshooting in store for you. We'll pack to-day and get an early startto-morrow. I'll put you on Noddle; he's slow, but the easiest climberI ever owned. He's like riding. .. What's the matter with you? What'shappened to make you angry?"

One of his long strides spanned the distance between them. 

"Oh, nothing, " said Hare, flushing. 

"Lad, I know of few circumstances that justify a lie. You've met Snap. "

Hare might still have tried to dissimulate; but one glance at August'sstern face showed the uselessness of it. He kept silent. 

"Drink makes my son unnatural, " said Naab. He breathed heavily as onein conflict with wrath. "We'll not wait till to-morrow to go up on theplateau; we'll go at once. "

Then quick surprise awakened for Hare in the meaning in Mescal's eyes;he caught only a fleeting glimpse, a dark flash, and it left him with aglow of an emotion half pleasure, half pain. 

"Mescal, " went on August, "go into the house, and keep out of Snap'sway. Jack, watch me pack. You need to learn these things. I could putall this outfit on two burros, but the trail is narrow, and a widepack might bump a burro off. Let's see, I've got all your stuff butthe saddle; that we'll leave till we get a horse for you. Well, all'sready. "

Mescal came at his call and, mounting Black Bolly, rode out toward thecliff wall, with Wolf trotting before her. Hare bestrode Noddle. August, waving good-bye to his women-folk, started the train of burros afterMescal. 

How they would be able to climb the face of that steep cliff puzzledHare. Upon nearer view he discovered the yard-wide trail curving upwardin cork-screw fashion round a projecting corner of cliff. The stone wasa soft red shale, and the trail had been cut in it at a steep angle. Itwas so steep that the burros appeared to be climbing straight up. Noddlepattered into it, dropped his head and his long ears and slackened hispace to patient plodding. August walked in the rear. 

The first thing that struck Hare was the way the burros in front of himstopped at the curves in the trail, and turned in a space so small thattheir four feet were close together; yet as they swung their packs theyscarcely scraped the wall. At every turn they were higher than he was, going in the opposite direction, yet he could reach out and touch them. He glanced up to see Mescal right above him, leaning forward with herbrown hands clasping the pommel. Then he looked out and down; alreadythe green cluster of cottonwoods lay far below. After that sensationspressed upon him. Round and round, up and up, steadily, surely, thebeautiful mustang led the train; there were sounds of rattling stones, and click of hoofs, and scrape of pack. On one side towered theiron-stained cliff, not smooth or glistening at close range, but ofdull, dead, rotting rock. The trail changed to a zigzag along a seamedand cracked buttress where ledges leaned outward waiting to fall. Thena steeper incline, where the burros crept upward warily, led to a levelledge heading to the left. 

Mescal halted on a promontory. She, with her windblown hair, the gleamof white band about her head, and a dash of red along the fringedleggings, gave inexpressible life and beauty to that wild, jagged pointof rock, sharp against the glaring sky. 

"This is Lookout Point, " said Naab. "I keep an Indian here all the timeduring daylight. He's a peon, a Navajo slave. He can't talk, as he wasborn without a tongue, or it was cut out, but he has the best eyes ofany Indian I know. You see this point commands the farm, the crossing, the Navajo Trail over the river, the Echo Cliffs opposite, where theNavajos signal to me, and also the White Sage Trail. "

The oasis shone under the triangular promontory; the river with itsrising roar wound in bold curve from the split in the cliffs. To theright white-sloped Coconina breasted the horizon. Forward across theCanyon line opened the many-hued desert. 

"With this peon watching here I'm not likely to be surprised, " saidNaab. "That strip of sand protects me at night from approach, and I'venever had anything to fear from across the river. "

Naab's peon came from a little cave in the wall; and grinned thegreeting he could not speak. To Hare's uneducated eye all Indiansresembled each other. Yet this one stood apart from the others, notdiffering in blanketed leanness, or straggling black hair, or bronzeskin, but in the bird-of-prey cast of his features and the wildness ofhis glittering eyes. Naab gave him a bag from one of the packs, spoke afew words in Navajo, and then slapped the burros into the trail. 

The climb thenceforth was more rapid because less steep, and the trailnow led among broken fragments of cliff. The color of the stones hadchanged from red to yellow, and small cedars grew in protected places. Hare's judgment of height had such frequent cause for correction that hegave up trying to estimate the altitude. The ride had begun to tell onhis strength, and toward the end he thought he could not manage to staylonger upon Noddle. The air had grown thin and cold, and though the sunwas yet an hour high, his fingers were numb. 

"Hang on, Jack, " cheered August. "We're almost up. "

At last Black Bolly disappeared, likewise the bobbing burros, one byone, then Noddle, wagging his ears, reached a level. Then Hare saw agray-green cedar forest, with yellow crags rising in the background, anda rush of cold wind smote his face. For a moment he choked; he could notget his breath. The air was thin and rare, and he inhaled deeply tryingto overcome the suffocation. Presently he realized that the troublewas not with the rarity of the atmosphere, but with the bitter-sweetpenetrating odor it carried. He was almost stifled. It was not like thesmell of pine, though it made him think of pine-trees. 

"Ha! that's good!" said Naab, expanding his great chest. "That's air foryou, my lad. Can you taste it? Well, here's camp, your home for many aday, Jack. There's Piute--how do? how're the sheep?"

A short, squat Indian, good-humored of face, shook his black head tillthe silver rings danced in his ears, and replied: "Bad--damn coyotee!"

"Piute--shake with Jack. Him shoot coyote--got big gun, " said Naab. 

"How-do-Jack?" replied Piute, extending his hand, and then straightwaybegan examining the new rifle. "Damn--heap big gun!"

"Jack, you'll find this Indian one you can trust, for all he's a Piuteoutcast, " went on August. "I've had him with me ever since Mescal foundhim on the Coconina Trail five years ago. What Piute doesn't know aboutthis side of Coconina isn't worth learning. "

In a depression sheltered from the wind lay the camp. A fire burned inthe centre; a conical tent, like a tepee in shape, hung suspended froma cedar branch and was staked at its four points; a leaning slab of rockfurnished shelter for camp supplies and for the Indian, and at one enda spring gushed out. A gray-sheathed cedar-tree marked the entrance tothis hollow glade, and under it August began preparing Hare's bed. 

"Here's the place you're to sleep, rain or shine or snow, " he said. "NowI've spent my life sleeping on the ground, and mother earth makes thebest bed. I'll dig out a little pit in this soft mat of needles; that'sfor your hips. Then the tarpaulin so; a blanket so. Now the otherblankets. Your feet must be a little higher than your head; you reallysleep down hill, which breaks the wind. So you never catch cold. Allyou need do is to change your position according to the direction of thewind. Pull up the blankets, and then the long end of the tarpaulin. Ifit rains or snows cover your head, and sleep, my lad, sleep to the songof the wind!"

From where Hare lay, resting a weary body, he could see down into thedepression which his position guarded. Naab built up the fire; Piutepeeled potatoes with deliberate care; Mescal, on her knees, her brownarms bare, kneaded dough in a basin; Wolf crouched on the ground, andwatched his mistress; Black Bolly tossed her head, elevating the bag onher nose so as to get all the grain. 

Naab called him to supper, and when Hare set to with a will on the baconand eggs, and hot biscuits, he nodded approvingly. "That's what I wantto see, " he said approvingly. "You must eat. Piute will get deer, oryou may shoot them yourself; eat all the venison you can. Remember whatScarbreast said. Then rest. That's the secret. If you eat and rest youwill gain strength. "

The edge of the wall was not a hundred paces from the camp; and whenHare strolled out to it after supper, the sun had dipped the underside of its red disc behind the desert. He watched it sink, while thegolden-red flood of light grew darker and darker. Thought seemed remotefrom him then; he watched, and watched, until he saw the last spark offire die from the snow-slopes of Coconina. The desert became dimmer anddimmer; the oasis lost its outline in a bottomless purple pit, exceptfor a faint light, like a star. 

The bleating of sheep aroused him and he returned to camp. The fire wasstill bright. Wolf slept close to Mescal's tent; Piute was not in sight;and Naab had rolled himself in blankets. Crawling into his bed, Harestretched aching legs and lay still, as if he would never move again. Tired as he was, the bleating of the sheep, the clear ring of the bellon Black Bolly, and the faint tinkle of lighter bells on some of therams, drove away sleep for a while. Accompanied by the sough of the windthrough the cedars the music of the bells was sweet, and he listenedtill he heard no more. 

A thin coating of frost crackled on his bed when he awakened; and outfrom under the shelter of the cedar all the ground was hoar-white. Ashe slipped from his blankets the same strong smell of black sageand juniper smote him, almost like a blow. His nostrils seemed gluedtogether by some rich piny pitch; and when he opened his lips to breathea sudden pain, as of a knife-thrust, pierced his lungs. The thoughtfollowing was as sharp as the pain. Pneumonia! What he had longexpected! He sank against the cedar, overcome by the shock. But herallied presently, for with the reestablishment of the old settledbitterness, which had been forgotten in the interest of his situation, he remembered that he had given up hope. Still, he could not get backat once to his former resignation. He hated to acknowledge that thewildness of this desert canyon country, and the spirit it sought toinstil in him, had wakened a desire to live. For it meant only more togive up. And after one short instant of battle he was himself again. He put his hand under his flannel shirt and felt of the soreness of hislungs. He found it not at the apex of the right lung, always the onesensitive spot, but all through his breast. Little panting breaths didnot hurt; but the deep inhalation, which alone satisfied him filledhis whole chest with thousands of pricking needles. In the depth of hisbreast was a hollow that burned. 

When he had pulled on his boots and coat, and had washed himself in therunway of the spring, his hands were so numb with cold they refused tohold his comb and brush; and he presented himself at the roaring firehalf-frozen, dishevelled, trembling, but cheerful. He would not tellNaab. If he had to die to-day, to-morrow or next week, he would lie downunder a cedar and die; he could not whine about it to this man. 

"Up with the sun!" was Naab's greeting. His cheerfulness was asimpelling as his splendid virility. Following the wave of his hand Haresaw the sun, a pale-pink globe through a misty blue, rising between thegolden crags of the eastern wall. 

Mescal had a shy "good-morning" for him, and Piute a broad smile, andfamiliar "how-do"; the peon slave, who had finished breakfast and wasabout to depart, moved his lips in friendly greeting that had no sound. 

"Did you hear the coyotes last night?" inquired August. "No! Well, ofall the choruses I ever heard. There must be a thousand on the bench. Jack, I wish I could spare the time to stay up here with you and shootsome. You'll have practice with the rifle, but don't neglect the Colt. Practice particularly the draw I taught you. Piute has a carbine, andhe shoots at the coyotes, but who ever saw an Indian that could hitanything?"

"Damn--gun no good!" growled Piute, who evidently understood Englishpretty well. Naab laughed, and while Hare ate breakfast he talked of thesheep. The flock he had numbered three thousand. They were a goodly partof them Navajo stock: small, hardy sheep that could live on anythingbut cactus, and needed little water. This flock had grown from a smallnumber to its present size in a few years. Being remarkably free fromthe diseases and pests which retard increase in low countries, the sheephad multiplied almost one for one for every year. But for the ravages ofwild beasts Naab believed he could raise a flock of many thousands andin a brief time be rich in sheep alone. In the winter he drove themdown into the oasis; the other seasons he herded them on the high rangeswhere the cattle could not climb. There was grass enough on this plateaufor a million sheep. After the spring thaw in early March, occasionalsnows fell till the end of May, and frost hung on until early summer;then the July rains made the plateau a garden. 

"Get the forty-four, " concluded Naab, "and we'll go out and break itin. "

With the long rifle in the hollow of his arm Jack forgot that he was asick man. When he came within gunshot of the flock the smell of sheepeffectually smothered the keen, tasty odor of black sage and juniper. Sheep ranged everywhere under the low cedars. They browsed with nosesin the frost, and from all around came the tinkle of tiny bells on thecurly-horned rams, and an endless variety of bleats. 

"They're spread now, " said August. "Mescal drives them on every littlewhile and Piute goes ahead to pick out the best browse. Watch the dog, Jack; he's all but human. His mother was a big shepherd dog that I gotin Lund. She must have had a strain of wild blood. Once while I washunting deer on Coconina she ran off with timber wolves and we thoughtshe was killed. But she came back, and had a litter of three puppies. Two were white, the other black. I think she killed the black one. Andshe neglected the others. One died, and Mescal raised the other. Wecalled him Wolf. He loves Mescal, and loves the sheep, and hates a wolf. Mescal puts a bell on him when she is driving, and the sheep know thebell. I think it would be a good plan for her to tie something red roundhis neck--a scarf, so as to keep you from shooting him for a wolf. "

Nimble, alert, the big white dog was not still a moment. His duty was tokeep the flock compact, to head the stragglers and turn them back; andhe knew his part perfectly. There was dash and fire in his work. Henever barked. As he circled the flock the small Navajo sheep, edgingever toward forbidden ground, bleated their way back to the fold, the larger ones wheeled reluctantly, and the old belled rams squaredthemselves, lowering their massive horns as if to butt him. Never, however, did they stand their ground when he reached them, for there wasa decision about Wolf which brooked no opposition. At times when he wasworking on one side a crafty sheep on the other would steal out into thethicket. Then Mescal called and Wolf flashed back to her, lifting hisproud head, eager, spirited, ready to take his order. A word, a waveof her whip sufficed for the dog to rout out the recalcitrant sheep andsend him bleating to his fellows. 

"He manages them easily now, " said Naab, "but when the lambs come theycan't be kept in. The coyotes and wolves hang out in the thickets andpick up the stragglers. The worst enemy of sheep, though, is the oldgrizzly bear. Usually he is grouchy, and dangerous to hunt. He comesinto the herd, kills the mother sheep, and eats the milk-bag--no more!He will kill forty sheep in a night. Piute saw the tracks of one up onthe high range, and believes this bear is following the flock. Let's getoff into the woods some little way, into the edge of the thickets--forPiute always keeps to the glades--and see if we can pick off a fewcoyotes. "

August cautioned Jack to step stealthily, and slip from cedar to cedar, to use every bunch of sage and juniper to hide his advance. 

"Watch sharp, Jack. I've seen two already. Look for moving things. Don'ttry to see one quiet, for you can't till after your eye catches himmoving. They are gray, gray as the cedars, the grass, the ground. Good!Yes, I see him, but don't shoot. That's too far. Wait. They sneakaway, but they return. You can afford to make sure. Here now, by thatstone--aim low and be quick. "

In the course of a mile, without keeping the sheep near at hand, theysaw upward of twenty coyotes, five of which Jack killed in as manyshots. 

"You've got the hang of it, " said Naab, rubbing his hands. "You'll killthe varmints. Piute will skin and salt the pelts. Now I'm going up onthe high range to look for bear sign. Go ahead, on your own hook. "

Hare was regardless of time while he stole under the cedars and throughthe thickets, spying out the cunning coyotes. Then Naab's yell pealingout claimed his attention; he answered and returned. When they met herecounted his adventures in mingled excitement and disappointment. 

"Are you tired?" asked Naab. 

"Tired? No, " replied Jack. 

"Well, you mustn't overdo the very first day. I've news for you. Thereare some wild horses on the high range. I didn't see them, but foundtracks everywhere. If they come down here you send Piute to close thetrail at the upper end of the bench, and you close the one where wecame up. There are only two trails where even a deer can get off thisplateau, and both are narrow splits in the wall, which can be barred bythe gates. We made the gates to keep the sheep in, and they'll servea turn. If you get the wild horses on the bench send Piute for me atonce. "

They passed the Indian herding the sheep into a corral built againstan uprising ridge of stone. Naab dispatched him to look for the deadcoyotes. The three burros were in camp, two wearing empty pack-saddles, and Noddle, for once not asleep, was eating from Mescal's hand. 

"Mescal, hadn't I better take Black Bolly home?" asked August. 

"Mayn't I keep her?"

"She's yours. But you run a risk. There are wild horses on the range. Will you keep her hobbled?"

"Yes, " replied Mescal, reluctantly. "Though I don't believe Bolly wouldrun off from me. "

"Look out she doesn't go, hobbles and all. Jack, here's the other bit ofnews I have for you. There's a big grizzly camping on the trail of oursheep. Now what I want to know is--shall I leave him to you, or put offwork and come up here to wait for him myself?"

"Why--" said Jack, slowly, "whatever you say. If you think you cansafely leave him to me--I'm willing. "

"A grizzly won't be pleasant to face. I never knew one of thosesheep-killers that wouldn't run at a man, if wounded. "

"Tell me what to do. "

"If he comes down it's more than likely to be after dark. Don't riskhunting him then. Wait till morning, and put Wolf on his trail. He'll beup in the rocks, and by holding in the dog you may find him asleep in acave. However, if you happen to meet him by day do this. Don't waste anyshots. Climb a ledge or tree if one be handy. If not, stand your ground. Get down on your knee and shoot and let him come. Mind you, he'll gruntwhen he's hit, and start for you, and keep coming till he's dead. Haveconfidence in yourself and your gun, for you can kill him. Aim low, andshoot steady. If he keeps on coming there's always a fatal shot, andthat is when he rises. You'll see a bare spot on his breast. Put aforty-four into that, and he'll go down. "

August had spoken so easily, quite as if he were explaining how to sheara yearling sheep, that Jack's feelings fluctuated between amazement andlaughter. Verily this desert man was stripped of all the false fears ofcivilization. 

"Now, Jack, I'm off. Good-bye and good luck. Mescal, look out forhim. .. . So-ho! Noddle! Getup! Biscuit!" And with many a cheery word andslap he urged the burros into the forest, where they and his tall formsoon disappeared among the trees. 

Piute came stooping toward camp so burdened with coyotes that he couldscarcely be seen under the gray pile. With a fervent "damn" he tumbledthem under a cedar, and trotted back into the forest for another load. Jack insisted on assuming his share of the duties about camp; and Mescalassigned him to the task of gathering firewood, breaking red-hot sticksof wood into small pieces, and raking them into piles of live coals. Then they ate, these two alone. Jack did not do justice to the supper;excitement had robbed him of appetite. He told Mescal how he had creptupon the coyotes, how so many had eluded him, how he had missed a graywolf. He plied her with questions about the sheep, and wanted to knowif there would be more wolves, and if she thought the "silvertip" wouldcome. He was quite carried away by the events of the day. 

The sunset drew him to the rim. Dark clouds were mantling the desertlike rolling smoke from a prairie-fire. He almost stumbled over Mescal, who sat with her back to a stone. Wolf lay with his head in her lap, andhe growled. 

"There's a storm on the desert, " she said. "Those smoky streaks areflying sand. We may have snow to-night. It's colder, and the wind isnorth. See, I've a blanket. You had better get one. "

He thanked her and went for it. Piute was eating his supper, and thepeon had just come in. The bright campfire was agreeable, yet Haredid not feel cold. But he wrapped himself in a blanket and returned toMescal and sat beside her. The desert lay indistinct in the foreground, inscrutable beyond; the canyon lost its line in gloom. The solemnity ofthe scene stilled his unrest, the strange freedom of longings unleashedthat day. What had come over him? He shook his head; but with theconsciousness of self returned a feeling of fatigue, the burning pain inhis chest, the bitter-sweet smell of black sage and juniper. 

"You love this outlook?" he asked. 

"Yes. "

"Do you sit here often?"

"Every evening. "

"Is it the sunset that you care for, the roar of the river, just beinghere high above it all?"

"It's that last, perhaps; I don't know. "

"Haven't you been lonely?"

"No. "

"You'd rather be here with the sheep than be in Lund, or Salt Lake City, as Esther and Judith want to be?"

"Yes. "

Any other reply from her would not have been consistent with theimpression she was making on him. As yet he had hardly regarded her asa young girl; she had been part of this beautiful desert-land. But hebegan to see in her a responsive being, influenced by his presence. Ifthe situation was wonderful to him what must it be for her? Like a shy, illusive creature, unused to men, she was troubled by questions, fearfulof the sound of her own voice. Yet in repose, as she watched the lightsand shadows, she was serene, unconscious; her dark, quiet glance wasdreamy and sad, and in it was the sombre, brooding strength of thedesert. 

Twilight and falling dew sent them back to the camp. Piute and Peon wereskinning coyotes by the blaze of the fire. The night wind had not yetrisen; the sheep were quiet; there was no sound save the crackle ofburning cedar sticks. Jack began to talk; he had to talk, so, addressingPiute and the dumb peon, he struck at random into speech, and wordsflowed with a rush. Piute approved, for he said "damn" whenever hisintelligence grasped a meaning, and the peon twisted his lips andfixed his diamond eyes upon Hare in rapt gaze. The sound of a voicewas welcome to the sentinels of that lonely sheep-range. Jack talked ofcities, of ships, of people, of simple things in the life he had left, and he discovered that Mescal listened. Not only did she listen; shebecame absorbed; it was romance to her, fulfilment of her vaguedreams. Nor did she seek her tent till he ceased; then with a startled"good-night" she was gone. 

From under the snugness of his warm blankets Jack watched out the lastwakeful moments of that day of days. A star peeped through the fringeof cedar foliage. The wind sighed, and rose steadily, to sweep over himwith breath of ice, with the fragrance of juniper and black sage and atang of cedar. 

But that day was only the beginning of eventful days, of increasingcharm, of forgetfulness of self, of time that passed unnoted. Everysucceeding day was like its predecessor, only richer. Every day thehoar-frost silvered the dawn; the sheep browsed; the coyotes skulkedin the thickets; the rifle spoke truer and truer. Every sunset Mescal'schanging eyes mirrored the desert. Every twilight Jack sat beside her inthe silence; every night, in the camp-fire flare, he talked to Piute andthe peon. 

The Indians were appreciative listeners, whether they understood Jack ornot, but his talk with them was only a presence. He wished to revealthe outside world to Mescal, and he saw with pleasure that every day shegrew more interested. 

One evening he was telling of New York City, of the monster buildingswhere men worked, and of the elevated railways, for the time wasthe late seventies and they were still a novelty. Then somethingunprecedented occurred, inasmuch as Piute earnestly and vigorouslyinterrupted Jack, demanding to have this last strange story made moreclear. Jack did his best in gesture and speech, but he had to appealto Mescal to translate his meaning to the Indian. This Mescal did withsurprising fluency. The result, however, was that Piute took exceptionto the story of trains carrying people through the air. He lost his grinand regarded Jack with much disfavor. Evidently he was experiencing thebitterness of misplaced trust. 

"Heap damn lie!" he exclaimed with a growl, and stalked off into thegloom. 

Piute's expressive doubt discomfited Hare, but only momentarily, forMescal's silvery peal of laughter told him that the incident had broughtthem closer together. He laughed with her and discovered a well ofjoyousness behind her reserve. Thereafter he talked directly to Mescal. The ice being broken she began to ask questions, shyly at first, yetmore and more eagerly, until she forgot herself in the desire to learnof cities and people; of women especially, what they wore and how theylived, and all that life meant to them. 

The sweetest thing which had ever come to Hare was the teaching of thisdesert girl. How naive in her questions and how quick to grasp she was!The reaching out of her mind was like the unfolding of a rose. Evidentlythe Mormon restrictions had limited her opportunities to learn. 

But her thought had striven to escape its narrow confines, and now, liberated by sympathy and intelligence, it leaped forth. 

Lambing-time came late in May, and Mescal, Wolf, Piute and Jack knewno rest. Night-time was safer for the sheep than the day, though thehowling of a thousand coyotes made it hideous for the shepherds. Allin a day, seemingly, the little fleecy lambs came, as if by magic, andfilled the forest with piping bleats. Then they were tottering aftertheir mothers, gamboling at a day's growth, wilful as youth--and thecarnage began. Boldly the coyotes darted out of thicket and bush, andmany lambs never returned to their mothers. Gaunt shadows hovered alwaysnear; the great timber-wolves waited in covert for prey. Piute slept notat all, and the dog's jaws were flecked with blood morning and night. Jack hung up fifty-four coyotes the second day; the third he let themlie, seventy in number. Many times the rifle-barrel burned his hands. His aim grew unerring, so that running brutes in range dropped in theirtracks. Many a gray coyote fell with a lamb in his teeth. 

One night when sheep and lambs were in the corral, and the shepherdsrested round the camp-fire, the dog rose quivering, sniffed the coldwind, and suddenly bristled with every hair standing erect. 

"Wolf!" called Mescal. 

The sheep began to bleat. A rippling crash, a splintering of wood, toldof an irresistible onslaught on the corral fence. 

"Chus--chus!" exclaimed Piute. 

Wolf, not heeding Mescal's cry, flashed like lightning under the cedars. The rush of the sheep, pattering across the corral was succeeded by anuproar. 

"Bear! Bear!" cried Mescal, with dark eyes on Jack. He seized his rifle. 

"Don't go, " she implored, her hand on his arm. "Not at night--rememberFather Naab said not. "

"Listen! I won't stand that. I'll go. Here, get in the tree--quick!"

"No--no--"

"Do as I say!" It was a command. The girl wavered. He dropped the rifle, and swung her up. "Climb!"

"No--don't go--Jack!"

With Piute at his heels he ran out into the darkness. 

VI. THE WIND IN THE CEDARS

PIUTE'S Indian sense of the advantage of position in attack stood Jackin good stead; he led him up the ledge which overhung one end of thecorral. In the pale starlight the sheep could be seen running in bands, massing together, crowding the fence; their cries made a deafening din. 

The Indian shouted, but Jack could not understand him. A large blackobject was visible in the shade of the ledge. Piute fired his carbine. Before Jack could bring his rifle up the black thing moved intostartlingly rapid flight. Then spouts of red flame illumined the corral. As he shot, Jack got fleeting glimpses of the bear moving like a darkstreak against a blur of white. For all he could tell no bullet tookeffect. 

When certain that the visitor had departed Jack descended into thecorral. He and Piute searched for dead sheep, but, much to theirsurprise, found none. If the grizzly had killed one he must have takenit with him; and estimating his strength from the gap he had broken inthe fence, he could easily have carried off a sheep. They repaired thebreak and returned to camp. 

"He's gone, Mescal. Come down, " called Jack into the cedar. "Let me helpyou--there! Wasn't it lucky? He wasn't so brave. Either the flashes fromthe guns or the dog scared him. I was amazed to see how fast he couldrun. "

Piute found woolly brown fur hanging from Wolf's jaws. 

"He nipped the brute, that's sure, " said Jack. "Good dog! Maybe he keptthe bear from-- Why Mescal! you're white--you're shaking. There's nodanger. Piute and I'll take turns watching with Wolf. "

Mescal went silently into her tent. 

The sheep quieted down and made no further disturbance that night. Thedawn broke gray, with a cold north wind. Dun-colored clouds rolled up, hiding the tips of the crags on the upper range, and a flurry of snowwhitened the cedars. After breakfast Jack tried to get Wolf to take thetrack of the grizzly, but the scent had cooled. 

Next day Mescal drove the sheep eastward toward the crags, and aboutthe middle of the afternoon reached the edge of the slope. Grass grewluxuriantly and it was easy to keep the sheep in. Moreover, that part ofthe forest had fewer trees, and scarcely any sage or thickets, so thatthe lambs were safer, barring danger which might lurk in the seamed andcracked cliffs overshadowing the open grassy plots. Piute's task at themoment was to drag dead coyotes to the rim, near at hand, and throw themover. Mescal rested on a stone, and Wolf reclined at her feet. 

Jack presently found a fresh deer track, and trailed it into the cedars, then up the slope to where the huge rocks massed. 

Suddenly a cry from Mescal halted him; another, a piercing scream ofmortal fright, sent him flying down the slope. He bounded out of thecedars into the open. 

The white, well-bunched flock had spread, and streams of jumping sheepfled frantically from an enormous silver-backed bear. 

As the bear struck right and left, a brute-engine of destruction, Jacksent a bullet into him at long range. Stung, the grizzly whirled, bit athis side, and then reared with a roar of fury. 

But he did not see Jack. He dropped down and launched his huge bulkfor Mescal. The blood rushed back to Jack's heart, and his empty veinsseemed to freeze. 

The grizzly hurdled the streams of sheep. Terror for Mescal dominatedJack; if he had possessed wings he could not have flown quickly enoughto head the bear. Checking himself with a suddenness that fetched himto his knees, he levelled the rifle. It waved as if it were a stick ofwillow. The bead-sight described a blurred curve round the bear. Yet heshot--in vain--again--in vain. 

Above the bleat of sheep and trample of many hoofs rang out Mescal'scry, despairing. 

She had turned, her hands over her breast. Wolf spread his legs beforeher and crouched to spring, mane erect, jaws wide. 

By some lightning flash of memory, August Naab's words steadied Jack'sshaken nerves. He aimed low and ahead of the running bear. Down thebeast went in a sliding sprawl with a muffled roar of rage. Up hesprang, dangling a useless leg, yet leaping swiftly forward. One blowsent the attacking dog aside. Jack fired again. The bear became awrestling, fiery demon, death-stricken, but full of savage fury. Jackaimed low and shot again. 

Slowly now the grizzly reared, his frosted coat blood-flecked, his greathead swaying. Another shot. There was one wide sweep of the huge paw, and then the bear sank forward, drooping slowly, and stretched all hislength as if to rest. 

Mescal, recalled to life, staggered backward. Between her and theoutstretched paw was the distance of one short stride. 

Jack, bounding up, made sure the bear was dead before he looked atMescal. She was faint. Wolf whined about her. Piute came running fromthe cedars. Her eyes were still fixed in a look of fear. 

"I couldn't run--I couldn't move, " she said, shuddering. A blush drovethe white from her cheeks as she raised her face to Jack. "He'd soonhave reached me. "

Piute added his encomium: "Damn--heap big bear-- Jack kill um--bigchief!"

Hare laughed away his own fear and turned their attention to thestampeded sheep. It was dark before they got the flock together again, and they never knew whether they had found them all. Supper-time wasunusually quiet that night. Piute was jovial, but no one appearedwilling to talk save the peon, and he could only grimace. The reactionof feeling following Mescal's escape had robbed Jack of strength ofvoice; he could scarcely whisper. Mescal spoke no word; her black lasheshid her eyes; she was silent, but there was that in her silence whichwas eloquent. Wolf, always indifferent save to Mescal, reacted to thesubtle change, and as if to make amends laid his head on Jack's knees. The quiet hour round the camp-fire passed, and sleep claimed them. Another day dawned, awakening them fresh, faithful to their duties, regardless of what had gone before. 

So the days slipped by. June came, with more leisure for the shepherds, better grazing for the sheep, heavier dews, lighter frosts, snow-squallshalf rain, and bursting blossoms on the prickly thorns, wild-primrosepatches in every shady spot, and bluebells lifting wan azure faces tothe sun. 

The last snow-storm of June threatened all one morning; hung menacingover the yellow crags, in dull lead clouds waiting for the wind. Thenlike ships heaving anchor to a single command they sailed down off theheights; and the cedar forest became the centre of a blinding, eddyingstorm. The flakes were as large as feathers, moist, almost warm. The lowcedars changed to mounds of white; the sheep became drooping curves ofsnow; the little lambs were lost in the color of their own pure fleece. Though the storm had been long in coming it was brief in passing. Wind-driven toward the desert, it moaned its last in the cedars, andswept away, a sheeted pall. Out over the Canyon it floated, trailinglong veils of white that thinned out, darkened, and failed far above thegolden desert. The winding columns of snow merged into straight lines ofleaden rain; the rain flowed into vapory mist, and the mist cleared inthe gold-red glare of endless level and slope. No moisture reached theparched desert. 

Jack marched into camp with a snowy burden over his shoulder. He flungit down, disclosing a small deer; then he shook the white mantle fromhis coat, and whistling, kicked the fire-logs, and looked abroad atthe silver cedars, now dripping under the sun, at the rainbows in thesettling mists, at the rapidly melting snow on the ground. 

"Got lost in that squall. Fine! Fine!" he exclaimed, and threw wide hisarms. 

"Jack!" said Mescal. "Jack!" Memory had revived some forgotten thing. The dark olive of her skin crimsoned; her eyes dilated and shadowed witha rare change of emotion. 

"Jack, " she repeated. 

"Well?" he replied, in surprise. 

"To look at you!--I never dreamed--I'd forgotten--"

"What's the matter with me?" demanded Jack. 

Wonderingly, her mind on the past, she replied: "You were dying when wefound you at White Sage. "

He drew himself up with a sharp catch in his breath, and stared at heras if he saw a ghost. 

"Oh--Jack! You're going to get well!"

Her lips curved in a smile. 

For an instant Jack Hare spent his soul in searching her face for truth. While waiting for death he had utterly forgotten it; he remembered now, when life gleamed in the girl's dark eyes. Passionate joy flooded hisheart. 

"Mescal--Mescal!" he cried, brokenly. The eyes were true that shed thissudden light on him; glad and sweet were the lips that bade him hope andlive again. Blindly, instinctively he kissed them--a kiss unutterablygrateful; then he fled into the forest, running without aim. 

That flight ended in sheer exhaustion on the far rim of the plateau. Thespreading cedars seemed to have eyes; and he shunned eyes in this hour. "God! to think I cared so much, " he whispered. "What has happened?" Withtime relief came to limbs, to labored breast and lungs, but not to mind. In doubt that would not die, he looked at himself. The leanness of arms, the flat chest, the hollows were gone. He did not recognize hisown body. He breathed to the depths of his lungs. No pain--onlyexhilaration! He pounded his chest--no pain! He dug his tremblingfingers into the firm flesh over the apex of his right lung--the placeof his torture--no pain!

"I wanted to live!" he cried. He buried his face in the fragrantjuniper; he rolled on the soft brown mat of earth and hugged it close;he cooled his hot cheeks in the primrose clusters. He opened his eyesto new bright green of cedar, to sky of a richer blue, to a desert, strange, beckoning, enthralling as life itself. He counted backward amonth, two months, and marvelled at the swiftness of time. He countedtime forward, he looked into the future, and all was beautiful--longdays, long hunts, long rides, service to his friend, freedom on the wildsteppes, blue-white dawns upon the eastern crags, red-gold sunsets overthe lilac mountains of the desert. He saw himself in triumphant healthand strength, earning day by day the spirit of this wilderness, comingto fight for it, to live for it, and in far-off time, when he had wonhis victory, to die for it. 

Suddenly his mind was illumined. The lofty plateau with its healingbreath of sage and juniper had given back strength to him; the silenceand solitude and strife of his surroundings had called to somethingdeep within him; but it was Mescal who made this wild life sweet andsignificant. It was Mescal, the embodiment of the desert spirit. Like aman facing a great light Hare divined his love. Through all the days onthe plateau, living with her the natural free life of Indians, close tothe earth, his unconscious love had ripened. He understood now her charmfor him; he knew now the lure of her wonderful eyes, flashing fire, desert-trained, like the falcon eyes of her Indian grandfather. Theknowledge of what she had become to him dawned with a mounting desirethat thrilled all his blood. 

Twilight had enfolded the plateau when Hare traced his way back to camp. Mescal was not there. His supper awaited him; Piute hummed a song; thepeon sat grimacing at the fire. Hare told them to eat, and moved awaytoward the rim. 

Mescal was at her favorite seat, with the white dog beside her; and shewatched the desert where the last glow of sunset gilded the mesas. Howcold and calm was her face! How strange to him in this new character!

"Mescal, I didn't know I loved you--then--but I know it now. "

Her face dropped quickly from its level poise, hiding the brooding eyes;her hand trembled on Wolf's head. 

"You spoke the truth. I'll get well. I'd rather have had it from yourlips than from any in the world. I mean to live my life here where thesewonderful things have come to me. The friendship of the good man whosaved me, this wild, free desert, the glory of new hope, strength, life--and love. "

He took her hand in his and whispered, "For I love you. Do you care forme? Mescal! It must be complete. Do you care--a little?"

The wind blew her dusky hair; he could not see her face; he tried gentlyto turn her to him. The hand he had taken lay warm and trembling inhis, but it was not withdrawn. As he waited, in fear, in hope, it becamestill. Her slender form, rigid within his arm, gradually relaxed, andyielded to him; her face sank on his breast, and her dark hair loosenedfrom its band, covered her, and blew across his lips. That was hisanswer. 

The wind sang in the cedars. No longer a sigh, sad as thoughts of a pastforever flown, but a song of what had come to him, of hope, of life, ofMescal's love, of the things to be!

VII. SILVERMANE

LITTLE dew fell on the night of July first; the dawn brightened withoutmists; a hot sun rose; the short summer of the plateau had begun. 

As Hare rose, refreshed and happy from his breakfast, his whistle wascut short by the Indian. 

"Ugh!" exclaimed Piute, lifting a dark finger. Black Bolly had thrownher nose-bag and slipped her halter, and she moved toward the opening inthe cedars, her head high, her black ears straight up. 

"Bolly!" called Mescal. The mare did not stop. 

"What the deuce?" Hare ran forward to catch her. 

"I never knew Bolly to act that way, " said Mescal. "See--she didn't eathalf the oats. Well, Bolly--Jack! look at Wolf!"

The white dog had risen and stood warily shifting his nose. He sniffedthe wind, turned round and round, and slowly stiffened with his headpointed toward the eastern rise of the plateau. 

"Hold, Wolf, hold!" called Mescal, as the dog appeared to be about todash away. 

"Ugh!" grunted Piute. 

"Listen, Jack; did you hear?" whispered the girl. 

"Hear what?"

"Listen. "

The warm breeze came down in puffs from the crags; it rustled in thecedars and blew fragrant whiffs of camp-fire smoke into his face; andpresently it bore a low, prolonged whistle. He had never before heardits like. The sound broke the silence again, clearer, a keen, sharpwhistle. 

"What is it?" he queried, reaching for his rifle. 

"Wild mustangs, " said Mescal. 

"No, " corrected Piute, vehemently shaking his head. "Clea, Clea. "

"Jack, he says 'horse, horse. ' It's a wild horse. "

A third time the whistle rang down from the ridge, splitting the air, strong and trenchant, the fiery, shrill challenge of a stallion. 

Black Bolly reared straight up. 

Jack ran to the rise of ground above the camp, and looked over thecedars. "Oh!" he cried, and beckoned for Mescal. She ran to him, andPiute, tying Black Bolly, hurried after. "Look! look!" cried Jack. Hepointed to a ridge rising to the left of the yellow crags. On the baresummit stood a splendid stallion clearly silhouetted against the ruddymorning sky. He was an iron-gray, wild and proud, with long silver-whitemane waving in the wind. 

"Silvermane! Silvermane!" exclaimed Mescal. 

"What a magnificent animal!" Jack stared at the splendid picture forthe moment before the horse moved back along the ridge and disappeared. Other horses, blacks and bays, showed above the sage for a moment, andthey, too, passed out of sight. 

"He's got some of his band with him, " said Jack, thrilled withexcitement. "Mescal, they're down off the upper range, and grazing alongeasy. The wind favors us. That whistle was just plain fight, judgingfrom what Naab told me of wild stallions. He came to the hilltop, andwhistled down defiance to any horse, wild or tame, that might be below. I'll slip round through the cedars, and block the trail leading up tothe other range, and you and Piute close the gate of our trail at thisend. Then send Piute down to tell Naab we've got Silvermane. "

Jack chose the lowest edge of the plateau rim where the cedars werethickest for his detour to get behind the wild band; he ran from treeto tree, avoiding the open places, taking advantage of the thickets, keeping away from the ridge. He had never gone so far as the gate, but, knowing where the trail led into a split in the crags, he climbed theslope, and threaded a way over masses of fallen cliff, until he reachedthe base of the wall. The tracks of the wildhorse band were very freshand plain in the yellow trail. Four stout posts guarded the opening, and a number of bars lay ready to be pushed into place. He put themup, making a gate ten feet high, an impregnable barrier. This done, hehurried back to camp. 

"Jack, Bolly will need more watching to-day than the sheep, unless I lether loose. Why, she pulls and strains so she'll break that halter. "

"She wants to go with the band; isn't that it?"

"I don't like to think so. But Father Naab doesn't trust Bolly, thoughshe's the best mustang he ever broke. "

"Better keep her in, " replied Jack, remembering Naab's warning. "I'llhobble her, so if she does break loose she can't go far. "

When Mescal and Jack drove in the sheep that afternoon, rather earlierthan usual, Piute had returned with August Naab, Dave, and Billy, astring of mustangs and a pack-train of burros. 

"Hello, Mescal, " cheerily called August, as they came into camp. "WellJack--bless me! Why, my lad, how fine and brown--and yes, how you'vefilled out!" He crushed Jack's hand in his broad palm, and his gray eyesbeamed. "I've not the gift of revelation--but, Jack, you're going to getwell. "

"Yes, I--" He had difficulty with his enunciation, but he thumped hisbreast significantly and smiled. 

"Black sage and juniper!" exclaimed August. "In this air if a mandoesn't go off quickly with pneumonia, he'll get well. I never had adoubt for you, Jack--and thank God!"

He questioned Piute and Mescal about the sheep, and was greatlypleased with their report. He shook his head when Jack spread out thegrizzly-pelt, and asked for the story of the killing. Jack made a poorshowing with the tale and slighted his share in it, but Mescal told itas it actually happened. And Naab's great hand resounded from Jack'sshoulder. Then, catching sight of the pile of coyote skins under thestone shelf, he gave vent to his surprise and delight. Then he came backto the object of his trip upon the plateau. 

"So you've corralled Silvermane? Well, Jack, if he doesn't jump over thecliff he's ours. He can't get off any other way. How many horses withhim?"

"We had no chance to count. I saw at least twelve. "

"Good! He's out with his picked band. Weren't they all blacks and bays?"

"Yes. "

"Jack, the history of that stallion wouldn't make you proud of him. We've corralled him by a lucky chance. If I don't miss my guess he'safter Bolly. He has been a lot of trouble to ranchers all the way fromthe Nevada line across Utah. The stallions he's killed, the mares he'sled off! Well, Dave, shall we thirst him out, or line up a long corral?"

"Better have a look around to-morrow, " replied Dave. "It'll take a lotof chasing to run him down, but there's not a spring on the bench wherewe can throw up a trap-corral. We'll have to chase him. "

"Mescal, has Bolly been good since Silvermane came down?"

"No, she hasn't, " declared Mescal, and told of the circumstance. 

"Bolly's all right, " said Billy Naab. "Any mustang will do that. Keepher belled and hobbled. "

"Silvermane would care a lot about that, if he wanted Bolly, wouldn'the?" queried Dave in quiet scorn. "Keep her roped and haltered, I say. "

"Dave's right, " said August. "You can't trust a wild mustang any morethan a wild horse. "

August was right. Black Bolly broke her halter about midnight andescaped into the forest, hobbled as she was. The Indian heard her first, and he awoke August, who aroused the others. 

"Don't make any noise, " he said, as Jack came up, throwing on his coat. "There's likely to be some fun here presently. Bolly's loose, broke herrope, and I think Silvermane is close. Listen sharp now. "

The slight breeze favored them, the camp-fire was dead, and the nightwas clear and starlit. They had not been quiet many moments when theshrill neigh of a mustang rang out. The Naabs raised themselves andlooked at one another in the starlight. 

"Now what do you think of that?" whispered Billy. 

"No more than I expected. It was Bolly, " replied Dave. 

"Bolly it was, confound her black hide!" added August. "Now, boys, didshe whistle for Silvermane, or to warn him, which?"

"No telling, " answered Billy. "Let's lie low, and take a chance on himcoming close. It proves one thing--you can't break a wild mare. Thatspirit may sleep in her blood, maybe for years, but some time it'llanswer to--"

"Shut up--listen, " interrupted Dave. 

Jack strained his hearing, yet caught no sound, except the distant yelpof a coyote. Moments went by. 

"There!" whispered Dave. 

From the direction of the ridge came the faint rattling of stones. 

"They're coming, " put in Billy. 

Presently sharp clicks preceded the rattles, and the sounds began tomerge into a regular rhythmic tramp. It softened at intervals, probablywhen the horses were under the cedars, and strengthened as they came outon the harder ground of the open. 

"I see them, " whispered Dave. 

A black, undulating line wound out of the cedars, a line of horsesapproaching with drooping heads, hurrying a little as they neared thespring. 

"Twenty-odd, all blacks and bays, " said August, "and some of them aremustangs. But where's Silvermane?--hark!"

Out among the cedars rose the peculiar halting thump of a hobbled horsetrying to cover ground, followed by snorts and crashings of brush andthe pound of plunging hoofs. The long black line stopped short and beganto stamp. Then into the starlit glade below moved two shadows, the firsta great gray horse with snowy mane; the second, a small, shiny, blackmustang. 

"Silvermane and Bolly!" exclaimed August, "and now she's broken herhobbles. "

The stallion, in the fulfilment of a conquest such as had made himking of the wild ranges, was magnificent in action. Wheeling about her, neighing, and plunging, he arched his splendid neck and pushed hishead against her. His action was that of a master. Suddenly Black Bollysnorted and whirled down the glade. Silvermane whistled one blast ofanger or terror and thundered after her. They vanished in the gloom ofthe cedars, and the band of frightened horses and mustangs clatteredafter them. 

"It's one on me, " remarked Billy. "That little mare played us at thefinish. Caught when she was a yearling, broken better than any mustangwe ever had, she has helped us run down many a stallion, and now sheruns off with that big white-maned brute!"

"They'll make a team, and if they get out of here we'll have to chasethem to the Great Salt Basin, " replied Dave. 

"Mescal, that's a well-behaved mustang of yours, " said August; "not onlydid she break loose, but she whistled an alarm to Silvermane and hisband. Well, roll in now, everybody, and sleep. "

At breakfast the following day the Naabs fell into a discussion upon thepossibility of there being other means of exit from the plateau thanthe two trails already closed. They had never run any mustangs on theplateau, and in the case of a wild horse like Silvermane, who would takedesperate chances, it was advisable to know the ground exactly. Billyand Dave taking their mounts from the sheep-corral, where they had putthem up for the night, rode in opposite directions around the rim ofthe plateau. It was triangular in shape, and some six or seven miles incircumference; and the brothers rode around it in less than an hour. 

"Corralled, " said Dave, laconically. 

"Good! Did you see him? What kind of a bunch has he with him?" asked hisfather. 

"If we get the pick of the lot it will be worth two weeks' work, "replied Dave. "I saw him, and Bolly, too. I believe we can catch hereasily. She was off from the bunch, and it looks as though the mareswere jealous. I think we can run her into a cove under the wall, and gether. Then Mescal can help us run down the stallion. And you can look outon this end for the best level stretch to drop the line of cedars andmake our trap. "

The brothers, at their father's nod, rode off into the forest. Naab haddetained the peon, and now gave him orders and sent him off. 

"To-night you can stand on the rim here, and watch him signal across tothe top of Echo Cliffs to the Navajos, " explained August to Jack. "I'vesent for the best breaker of wild mustangs on the desert. Dave canbreak mustangs, and Piute is very good; but I want the best man in thecountry, because this is a grand horse, and I intend to give him toyou. "

"To me!" exclaimed Hare. 

"Yes, and if he's broken right at the start, he'll serve you faithfully, and not try to bite your arm off every day, or kick your brains out. Nowhite man can break a wild mustang to the best advantage. "

"Why is that?"

"I don't know. To be truthful, I have an idea it's bad temper and lackof patience. Just wait till you see this Navajo go at Silvermane!"

After Mescal and Piute drove down the sheep, Jack accompanied Naab tothe corral. 

"I've brought up your saddle, " said Naab, "and you can put it on anymustang here. "

What a pleasure it was to be in the saddle again, and to feel strengthto remain there! He rode with August all over the western end of theplateau. They came at length to a strip of ground, higher than thebordering forest, which was comparatively free of cedars and brush; andwhen August had surveyed it once he slapped his knee with satisfaction. 

"Fine, better than I hoped for! This stretch is about a mile long, andnarrow at this end. Now, Jack, you see the other side faces the rim, this side the forest, and at the end here is a wall of rock; luckily itcurves in a half circle, which will save us work. We'll cut cedars, dragthem in line, and make a big corral against the rock. From the openingin the corral we'll build two fences of trees; then we'll chaseSilvermane till he's done, run him down into this level, and turn himinside the fence. No horse can break through a close line of cedars. He'll run till he's in the corral, and then we'll rope him. "

"Great!" said Jack, all enthusiasm. "But isn't it going to take a lot ofwork?"

"Rather, " said August, dryly. "It'll take a week to cut and drag thecedars, let alone to tire out that wild stallion. When the finish comesyou want to be on that ledge where we'll have the corral. "

They returned to camp and prepared supper. Mescal and Piute soonarrived, and, later, Dave and Billy on jaded mustangs. Black Bollylimped behind, stretching a long halter, an unhappy mustang with dusty, foam-stained coat and hanging head. 

"Not bad, " said August, examining the lame leg. "She'll be fit in a fewdays, long before we need her to help run down Silvermane. Bring theliniment and a cloth, one of you, and put her in the sheep-corralto-night. "

Mescal's love for the mustang shone in her eyes while she smoothed outthe crumpled mane, and petted the slender neck. 

"Bolly, to think you'd do it!" And Bolly dropped her head as thoughreally ashamed. 

When darkness fell they gathered on the rim to watch the signals. A fireblazed out of the black void below, and as they waited it brightened andflamed higher. 

"Ugh!" said Piute, pointing across to the dark line of cliffs. 

"Of course he'd see it first, " laughed Naab. "Dave, have you caught ityet? Jack, see if you can make out a fire over on Echo Cliffs. "

"No, I don't see any light, except that white star. Have you seen it?"

"Long ago, " replied Naab. "Here, sight along my finger, and narrow youreyes down. "

"I believe I see it--yes, I'm sure. "

"Good. How about you, Mescal?"

"Yes, " she replied. 

Jack was amused, for Dave insisted that he had been next to the Indian, and Billy claimed priority to all of them. To these men bred on thedesert keen sight was preeminently the chief of gifts. 

"Jack, look sharp!" said August. "Peon is blanketing his fire. See theflicker? One, two--one, two--one. Now for the answer. "

Jack peered out into the shadowy space, star-studded above, ebony below. Far across the depths shone a pinpoint of steady light. The Indiangrunted again, August vented his "ha!" and then Jack saw the light blinklike a star, go out for a second, and blink again. 

"That's what I like to see, " said August. "We're answered. Now all'sover but the work. "

Work it certainly was, as Jack discovered next day. He helped thebrothers cut down cedars while August hauled them into line with hisroan. What with this labor and the necessary camp duties nearly a weekpassed, and in the mean time Black Bolly recovered from her lameness. 

Twice the workers saw Silvermane standing on open high ridges, restiveand suspicious, with his silver mane flying, and his head turned overhis shoulder, watching, always watching. 

"It'd be worth something to find out how long that stallion could gowithout water, " commented Dave. "But we'll make his tongue hang outto-morrow. It'd serve him right to break him with Black Bolly. "

Daylight came warm and misty; veils unrolled from the desert; a purplecurtain lifted from the eastern crags; then the red sun burned. 

Dave and Billy Naab mounted their mustangs, and each led another mountby a halter. 

"We'll go to the ridge, cut Silvermane out of his band and warm him up;then we'll drive him down to this end. "

Hare, in his eagerness, found the time very tedious while August delayedabout camp, punching new holes in his saddle-girth, shortening hisstirrups, and smoothing kinks out of his lasso. At last he saddled theroan, and also Black Bolly. Mescal came out of her tent ready for thechase; she wore a short skirt of buckskin, and leggings of the samematerial. Her hair, braided, and fastened at the back, was bound by adouble band closely fitting her black head. Hare walked, leading twomustangs by the halters, and Naab and Mescal rode, each of them followedby two other spare mounts. August tied three mustangs at one point alongthe level stretch, and three at another. Then he led Mescal and Jack tothe top of the stone wall above the corral, where they had good view ofa considerable part of the plateau. 

The eastern rise of ground, a sage and juniper slope, was in plainsight. Hare saw a white flash; then Silvermane broke out of the cedarsinto the sage. One of the brothers raced him half the length of theslope, and then the other coming out headed him off down toward theforest. Soon the pounding of hoofs sounded through the trees nearer andnearer. Silvermane came out straight ahead on the open level. He wasrunning easily. 

"He hasn't opened up yet, " said August. 

Hare watched the stallion with sheer fascination; He ran seeminglywithout effort. What a stride he had. How beautifully his silver manewaved in the wind! He veered off to the left, out of sight in the brush, while Dave and Billy galloped up to the spot where August had tied thefirst three mustangs. Here they dismounted, changed saddles to freshhorses, and were off again. 

The chase now was close and all down-hill for the watchers. Silvermanetwinkled in and out among the cedars, and suddenly stopped short on therim. He wheeled and coursed away toward the crags, and vanished. Butsoon he reappeared, for Billy had cut across and faced him about. Againhe struck the level stretch. Dave was there in front of him. He shotaway to the left, and flashed through the glades beyond. The brotherssaved their steeds, content to keep him cornered in that end ofthe plateau. Then August spurred his roan into the scene of action. Silvermane came out on the one piece of rising ground beyond the level, and stood looking backward toward the brothers. When the great roancrashed through the thickets into his sight he leaped as if he had beenstung, and plunged away. 

The Naabs had hemmed him in a triangle, Dave and Billy at the broad end, August at the apex, and now the real race began. August chased him upand down, along the rim, across to the long line of cedars, always inthe end heading him for the open stretch. Down this he fled with flyingmane, only to be checked by the relentless brothers. To cover this broadend of the open required riding the like of which Hare had neverdreamed of. The brothers, taking advantage of the brief periods when thestallion was going toward August, changed their tired mustangs for freshones. 

"Ho! Mescal!" rolled out August's voice. That was the call for Mescal toput Black Bolly after Silvermane. Her fleetness made the other mustangsseem slow. All in a flash she was round the corral, with Silvermanebetween her and the long fence of cedars. Uttering a piercing snort ofterror the gray stallion lunged out, for the first time panic-stricken, and lengthened his stride in a wonderful way. He raced down the stretchwith his head over his shoulder watching the little black. Seeing hergaining, he burst into desperate headlong flight. He saved nothing; hehad found his match; he won that first race down the level but it hadcost him his best. If he had been fresh he might have left Black Bollyfar behind, but now he could not elude her. 

August Naab let him run this time, and Silvermane, keeping close tothe fence, passed the gate, ran down to the rim, and wheeled. The blackmustang was on him again, holding him in close to the fence, driving himback down the stretch. 

The brothers remorselessly turned him, and now Mescal, forcing therunning, caught him, lashed his haunches with her whip, and drove himinto the gate of the corral. 

August and his two sons were close behind, and blocked the gate. Silvermane's race was nearly run. 

"Hold here, boys, " said August. "I'll go in and drive him round andround till he's done, then, when I yell, you stand aside and rope him ashe comes out. "

Silvermane ran round the corral, tore at the steep scaly walls, fellback and began his weary round again and yet again. Then as sense andcourage yielded gradually to unreasoning terror, he ran blindly; everytime he passed the guarded gateway his eyes were wilder, and his stridemore labored. 

"Now!" yelled August Naab. 

Mescal drew out of the opening, and Dave and Billy pulled away, one oneach side, their lassoes swinging loosely. 

Silvermane sprang for the opening with something of his old speed. As hewent through, yellow loops flashed in the sun, circling, narrowing, andhe seemed to run straight into them. One loop whipped close round hisglossy neck; the other caught his head. Dave's mustang staggered underthe violent shock, went to his knees, struggled up and held firmly. Bill's mount slid on his haunches and spilled his rider from the saddle. Silvermane seemed to be climbing into the air. Then August Naab, dartingthrough the gate in a cloud of dust, shot his lasso, catching theright foreleg. Silvermane landed hard, his hoofs striking fire from thestones; and for an instant strained in convulsive struggle; then fellheaving and groaning. In a twinkling Billy loosened his lasso over aknot, making of it a halter, and tied the end to a cedar stump. 

The Naabs stood back and gazed at their prize. 

Silvermane was badly spent; he was wet with foam, but no fleck of bloodmarred his mane; his superb coat showed scratches, but none cut into theflesh. After a while he rose, panting heavily, and trembling in everymuscle. He was a beaten horse; the noble head was bowed; yet he showedno viciousness, only the fear of a trapped animal. He eyed Black Bollyand then the halter, as though he had divined the fatal connectionbetween them. 

VIII. THE BREAKER OF WILD MUSTANGS

FOR a few days after the capture of Silvermane, a time full to the brimof excitement for Hare, he had no word with Mescal, save for morning andevening greetings. When he did come to seek her, with a purpose whichhad grown more impelling since August Naab's arrival, he learned to hisbewilderment that she avoided him. She gave him no chance to speak withher alone; her accustomed resting-place on the rim at sunset knew her nomore; early after supper she retired to her tent. 

Hare nursed a grievance for forty-eight hours, and then, takingadvantage of Piute's absence on an errand down to the farm, and of theNaabs' strenuous day with four vicious wild horses in the corral at onetime, he walked out to the pasture where Mescal shepherded the flock. 

"Mescal, why are you avoiding me?" he asked. "What has happened?"

She looked tired and unhappy, and her gaze, instead of meeting his, wandered to the crags. 

"Nothing, " she replied. 

"But there must be something. You have given me no chance to talk toyou, and I wanted to know if you'd let me speak to Father Naab. "

"To Father Naab? Why--what about?"

"About you, of course--and me--that I love you and want to marry you. "

She turned white. "No--no!"

Hare paused blankly, not so much at her refusal as at the unmistakablefear in her face. 

"Why--not?" he asked presently, with an odd sense of trouble. There wasmore here than Mescal's habitual shyness. 

"Because he'll be terribly angry. "

"Angry--I don't understand. Why angry?"

The girl did not answer, and looked so forlorn that Hare attempted totake her in his arms. She resisted and broke from him. 

"You must never--never do that again. "

Hare drew back sharply. 

"Why not? What's wrong? You must tell me, Mescal. "

"I remembered. " She hung her head. 

"Remembered--what?"

"I am pledged to marry Father Naab's eldest son. "

For a moment Hare did not understand. He stared at her unbelievingly. 

"What did you say?" he asked, slowly. 

Mescal repeated her words in a whisper. 

"But--but Mescal--I love you. You let me kiss you, " said Hare stupidly, as if he did not grasp her meaning. "You let me kiss you, " he repeated. 

"Oh, Jack, I forgot, " she wailed. "It was so new, so strange, to haveyou up here. It was like a kind of dream. And after--after you kissed meI--I found out--"

"What, Mescal?"

Her silence answered him. 

"But, Mescal, if you really love me you can't marry any one else, " saidHare. It was the simple persistence of a simple swain. 

"Oh, you don't know, you don't know. It's impossible!"

"Impossible!" Hare's anger flared up. "You let me believe I had won you. What kind of a girl are you? You were not true. Your actions were lies. "

"Not lies, " she faltered, and turned her face from him. 

With no gentle hand he grasped her arm and forced her to look at him. But the misery in her eyes overcame him, and he roughly threw his armsaround her and held her close. 

"It can't be a lie. You do care for me--love me. Look at me. " He drewher head back from his breast. Her face was pale and drawn; her eyesclosed tight, with tears forcing a way out under the long lashes; herlips were parted. He bowed to their sweet nearness; he kissed them againand again, while the shade of the cedars seemed to whirl about him. "Ilove you, Mescal. You are mine--I will have you--I will keep you--I willnot let him have you!"

She vibrated to that like a keen strung wire under a strong touch. All in a flash the trembling, shame-stricken girl was transformed. Sheleaned back in his arms, supple, pliant with quivering life, and forthe first time gave him wide-open level eyes, in which there were now notears, no shyness, no fear, but a dark smouldering fire. 

"You do love me, Mescal?"

"I--I couldn't help it. "

There was a pause, tense with feeling. 

"Mescal, tell me--about your being pledged, " he said, at last. 

"I gave him my promise because there was nothing else to do. I waspledged to--to him in the church at White Sage. It can't be changed. I've got to marry--Father Naab's eldest son. "

"Eldest son?" echoed Jack, suddenly mindful of the implication. "Why!that's Snap Naab. Ah! I begin to see light. That--Mescal--"

"I hate him. "

"You hate him and you're pledged to marry him!. .. God! Mescal, I'dutterly forgotten Snap Naab already has a wife. "

"You've also forgotten that we're Mormons. "

"Are you a Mormon?" he queried bluntly. 

"I've been raised as one. "

"That's not an answer. Are you one? Do you believe any man under God'ssky ought to have more than one wife at a time?"

"No. But I've been taught that it gave woman greater glory in heaven. There have been men here before you, men who talked to me, and I doubtedbefore I ever saw you. And afterward--I knew. "

"Would not Father Naab release you?"

"Release me? Why, he would have taken me as a wife for himself but forMother Mary. She hates me. So he pledged me to Snap. "

"Does August Naab love you?"

"Love me? No. Not in the way you mean--perhaps as a daughter. ButMormons teach duty to church first, and say such love comes--to thewives--afterward. But it doesn't--not in the women I've seen. There'sMother Ruth--her heart is broken. She loves me, and I can tell. "

"When was this--this marriage to be?"

"I don't know. Father Naab promised me to his son when he came homefrom the Navajo range. It would be soon if they found out that you andI--Jack, Snap Naab would kill you!"

The sudden thought startled the girl. Her eyes betrayed her terror. 

"I mightn't be so easy to kill, " said Hare, darkly. The words cameunbidden, his first answer to the wild influences about him. "Mescal, I'm sorry--maybe I've brought you unhappiness. 

"No. No. To be with you has been like sitting there on the rim watchingthe desert, the greatest happiness I have ever known. I used to loveto be with the children, but Mother Mary forbade. When I am down there, which is seldom, I'm not allowed to play with the children any more. "

"What can I do?" asked Hare, passionately. 

"Don't speak to Father Naab. Don't let him guess. Don't leave me herealone, " she answered low. It was not the Navajo speaking in her now. Love had sounded depths hitherto unplumbed; a quick, soft impulsivenessmade the contrast sharp and vivid. 

"How can I help but leave you if he wants me on the cattle ranges?"

"I don't know. You must think. He has been so pleased with what you'vedone. He's had Mormons up here, and two men not of his Church, and theydid nothing. You've been ill, besides you're different. He will keep mewith the sheep as long as he can, for two reasons--because I drive thembest, he says, and because Snap Naab's wife must be persuaded to welcomeme in her home. "

"I'll stay, if I have to get a relapse and go down on my back again, "declared Jack. "I hate to deceive him, but Mescal, pledged or not--Ilove you, and I won't give up hope. "

Her hands flew to her face again and tried to hide the dark blush. 

"Mescal, there's one question I wish you'd answer. Does August Naabthink he'll make a Mormon of me? Is that the secret of his wonderfulkindness?"

"Of course he believes he'll make a Mormon of you. That's his religion. He's felt that way over all the strangers who ever came out here. Buthe'd be the same to them without his hopes. I don't know the secret ofhis kindness, but I think he loves everybody and everything. And Jack, he's so good. I owe him all my life. He would not let the Navajos takeme; he raised me, kept me, taught me. I can't break my promise to him. He's been a father to me, and I love him. "

"I think I love him, too, " replied Hare, simply. 

With an effort he left her at last and mounted the grassy slope andclimbed high up among the tottering yellow crags; and there he battledwith himself. Whatever the charm of Mescal's surrender, and theinsistence of his love, stern hammer-strokes of fairness, duty, honor, beat into his brain his debt to the man who had saved him. It was along-drawn-out battle not to be won merely by saying right was right. He loved Mescal, she loved him; and something born in him with his newhealth, with the breath of this sage and juniper forest, with thesight of purple canyons and silent beckoning desert, made him fiercelytenacious of all that life had come to mean for him. He could not giveher up--and yet--

Twilight forced Hare from his lofty retreat, and he trod his waycampward, weary and jaded, but victorious over himself. He thought hehad renounced his hope of Mescal; he returned with a resolve to be trueto August, and to himself; bitterness he would not allow himself tofeel. And yet he feared the rising in him of a new spirit akin to thatof the desert itself, intractable and free. 

"Well, Jack, we rode down the last of Silvermane's band, " said August, at supper. "The Navajos came up and helped us out. To-morrow you'll seesome fun, when we start to break Silvermane. As soon as that's done I'llgo, leaving the Indians to bring the horses down when they're broken. "

"Are you going to leave Silvermane with me?" asked Jack. 

"Surely. Why, in three days, if I don't lose my guess, he'll be likea lamb. Those desert stallions can be made into the finest kind ofsaddle-horses. I've seen one or two. I want you to stay up here with thesheep. You're getting well, you'll soon be a strapping big fellow. Then when we drive the sheep down in the fall you can begin life on thecattle ranges, driving wild steers. There's where you'll grow lean andhard, like an iron bar. You'll need that horse, too, my lad. "

"Why--because he's fast?" queried Jack, quickly answering to the impliedsuggestion. 

August nodded gloomily. "I haven't the gift of revelation, but I've cometo believe Martin Cole. Holderness is building an outpost for hisriders close to Seeping Springs. He has no water. If he tries to pipemy water--" The pause was not a threat; it implied the Mormon's doubtof himself. "Then Dene is on the march this way. He's driven some ofMarshall's cattle from the range next to mine. Dene got away with abouta hundred head. The barefaced robber sold them in Lund to a buyingcompany from Salt Lake. "

"Is he openly an outlaw, a rustler?" inquired Hare. 

"Everybody knows it, and he's finding White Sage and vicinity warmerthan it was. Every time he comes in he and his band shoot up thingspretty lively. Now the Mormons are slow to wrath. But they areawakening. All the way from Salt Lake to the border outlaws have comein. They'll never get the power on this desert that they had in theplaces from which they've been driven. Men of the Holderness type aremore to be dreaded. He's a rancher, greedy, unscrupulous, but hard tocorner in dishonesty. Dene is only a bad man, a gun-fighter. He and allhis ilk will get run out of Utah. Did you ever hear of Plummer, JohnSlade, Boone Helm, any of those bad men?"

"No. "

"Well, they were men to fear. Plummer was a sheriff in Idaho, a man highin the estimation of his townspeople, but he was the leader of the mostdesperate band of criminals ever known in the West; and he instigatedthe murder of, or killed outright, more than one hundred men. Slade wasa bad man, fatal on the draw. Helm was a killing machine. These men alltried Utah, and had to get out. So will Dene have to get out. But I'mafraid there'll be warm times before that happens. When you get in thethick of it you'll appreciate Silvermane. "

"I surely will. But I can't see that wild stallion with a saddle and abridle, eating oats like any common horse, and being led to water. "

"Well, he'll come to your whistle, presently, if I'm not greatlymistaken. You must make him love you, Jack. It can be done with any wildcreature. Be gentle, but firm. Teach him to obey the slightest touch ofrein, to stand when you throw your bridle on the ground, to come at yourwhistle. Always remember this. He's a desert-bred horse; he can live onscant browse and little water. Never break him of those best virtues ina horse. Never feed him grain if you can find a little patch of browse;never give him a drink till he needs it. That's one-tenth as often asa tame horse. Some day you'll be caught in the desert, and with thesequalities of endurance Silvermane will carry you out. "

Silvermane snorted defiance from the cedar corral next morning when theNaabs, and Indians, and Hare appeared. A half-naked sinewy Navajo witha face as changeless as a bronze mask sat astride August's blindfoldedroan, Charger. He rode bareback except for a blanket strapped upon thehorse; he carried only a long, thick halter, with a loop and a knot. When August opened the improvised gate, with its sharp bayonet-likebranches of cedar, the Indian rode into the corral. The watchers climbedto the knoll. Silvermane snorted a blast of fear and anger. August'shuge roan showed uneasiness; he stamped, and shook his head, as if torid himself of the blinders. 

Into the farthest corner of densely packed cedar boughs Silvermanepressed himself and watched. The Indian rode around the corral, circlingcloser and closer, yet appearing not to see the stallion. Many roundshe made; closer he got, and always with the same steady gait. Silvermaneleft his corner and tried another. The old unwearying round broughtCharger and the Navajo close by him. Silvermane pranced out of histhicket of boughs; he whistled; he wheeled with his shiny hoofs lifting. In an hour the Indian was edging the outer circle of the corral, withthe stallion pivoting in the centre, ears laid back, eyes shootingsparks, fight in every line of him. And the circle narrowed inward. 

Suddenly the Navajo sent the roan at Silvermane and threw his halter. It spread out like a lasso, and the loop went over the head of thestallion, slipped to the knot and held fast, while the rope tightened. Silvermane leaped up, forehoofs pawing the air, and his long shrill crywas neither whistle, snort, nor screech, but all combined. He came down, missing Charger with his hoofs, sliding off his haunches. The Indian, his bronze muscles rippling, close-hauled on the rope, making halfhitches round his bony wrist. 

In a whirl of dust the roan drew closer to the gray, and Silvermanebegan a mad race around the corral. The roan ran with him nose to nose. When Silvermane saw he could not shake him, he opened his jaws, rolledback his lip in an ugly snarl, his white teeth glistening, and tried tobite. But the Indian's moccasined foot shot up under the stallion's earand pressed him back. Then the roan hugged Silvermane so close that halfthe time the Navajo virtually rode two horses. But for the rigidityof his arms, and the play and sudden tension of his leg-muscles, theIndian's work would have appeared commonplace, so dexterous was he, soperfectly at home in his dangerous seat. Suddenly he whooped and AugustNaab hauled back the gate, and the two horses, neck and neck, thunderedout upon the level stretch. 

"Good!" cried August. "Let him rip now, Navvy. All over but the work, Jack. I feared Silvermane would spear himself on some of those deadcedar spikes in the corral. He's safe now. "

Jack watched the horses plunge at breakneck speed down the stretch, circle at the forest edge, and come tearing back. Silvermane was pullingthe roan faster than he had ever gone in his life, but the dark Indiankept his graceful seat. The speed slackened on the second turn, anddecreased as, mile after mile, the imperturbable Indian held roan andgray side to side and let them run. 

The time passed, but Hare's interest in the breaking of the stallionnever flagged. He began to understand the Indian, and to feel whatthe restraint and drag must be to the horse. Never for a moment couldSilvermane elude the huge roan, the tight halter, the relentless Navajo. Gallop fell to trot, and trot to jog, and jog to walk; and hour by hour, without whip or spur or word, the breaker of desert mustangs drovethe wild stallion. If there were cruelty it was in his implacable slowpatience, his farsighted purpose. Silvermane would have killed himselfin an hour; he would have cut himself to pieces in one headlong dash, but that steel arm suffered him only to wear himself out. Late thatafternoon the Navajo led a dripping, drooping, foam-lashed stallion intothe corral, tied him with the halter, and left him. 

Later Silvermane drank of the water poured into the corral trough, andhad not the strength or spirit to resent the Navajo's caressing hand onhis mane. 

Next morning the Indian rode again into the corral on blindfoldedCharger. Again he dragged Silvermane out on the level and drove him upand down with remorseless, machine-like persistence. At noon he tookhim back, tied him up, and roped him fast. Silvermane tried to rear andkick, but the saddle went on, strapped with a flash of the dark-skinnedhands. Then again Silvermane ran the level stretch beside the giantroan, only he carried a saddle now. At the first, he broke out with freewild stride as if to run forever from under the hateful thing. But asthe afternoon waned he crept weariedly back to the corral. 

On the morning of the third day the Navajo went into the corral withoutCharger, and roped the gray, tied him fast, and saddled him. Then heloosed the lassoes except the one around Silvermane's neck, which hewhipped under his foreleg to draw him down. Silvermane heaved a groanwhich plainly said he never wanted to rise again. Swiftly the Indianknelt on the stallion's head; his hands flashed; there was a scream, aclick of steel on bone; and proud Silvermane jumped to his feet with abit between his teeth. 

The Navajo, firmly in the saddle, rose with him, and Silvermane leapedthrough the corral gate, and out upon the stretch, lengthening out withevery stride, and settling into a wild, despairing burst of speed. The white mane waved in the wind; the half-naked Navajo swayed to themotion. Horse and rider disappeared in the cedars. 

They were gone all day. Toward night they appeared on the stretch. TheIndian rode into camp and, dismounting, handed the bridle-rein to Naab. He spoke no word; his dark impassiveness invited no comment. Silvermanewas dust-covered and sweat-stained. His silver crest had the same proudbeauty, his neck still the splendid arch, his head the noble outline, but his was a broken spirit. 

"Here, my lad, " said August Naab, throwing the bridle-rein over Hare'sarm. "What did I say once about seeing you on a great gray horse? Ah!Well, take him and know this: you've the swiftest horse in this desertcountry. "

IX. THE SCENT OF DESERT-WATER

SOON the shepherds were left to a quiet unbroken by the whistle ofwild mustangs, the whoop of hunters, the ring of iron-shod hoofs on thestones. The scream of an eagle, the bleating of sheep, the bark of acoyote were once more the only familiar sounds accentuating the silenceof the plateau. For Hare, time seemed to stand still. He thought butlittle; his whole life was a matter of feeling from without. He rose atdawn, never failing to see the red sun tip the eastern crags; he glowedwith the touch of cold spring-water and the morning air; he trailedSilvermane under the cedars and thrilled when the stallion, answeringhis call, thumped the ground with hobbled feet and came his way, learning day by day to be glad at sight of his master. He rode withMescal behind the flock; he hunted hour by hour, crawling over thefragrant brown mats of cedar, through the sage and juniper, up thegrassy slopes. He rode back to camp beside Mescal, drove the sheep, and put Silvermane to his fleetest to beat Black Bolly down the levelstretch where once the gray, even with freedom at stake, had lost to theblack. Then back to camp and fire and curling blue smoke, a supper thattestified to busy Piute's farmward trips, sunset on the rim, endlesschanging desert, the wind in the cedars, bright stars in the blue, andsleep--so time stood still. 

Mescal and Hare were together, or never far apart, from dawn to night. Until the sheep were in the corral, every moment had its duty, fromcamp-work and care of horses to the many problems of the flock, so thatthey earned the rest on the rim-wall at sundown. Only a touch of handsbridged the chasm between them. They never spoke of their love, ofMescal's future, of Jack's return to hearth; a glance and a smile, scarcely sad yet not altogether happy, was the substance of their dream. Where Jack had once talked about the canyon and desert, he now seldomspoke at all. From watching Mescal he had learned that to see wasenough. But there were moments when some association recalled thepast and the strangeness of the present faced him. Then he was wont toquestion Mescal. 

"What are you thinking of?" he asked, curiously, interrupting theirsilence. She leaned against the rocks and kept a changeless, tranquil, unseeing gaze on the desert. The level eyes were full of thought, ofsadness, of mystery; they seemed to look afar. 

Then she turned to him with puzzled questioning look and enigmaticalreply. "Thinking?" asked her eyes. "I wasn't thinking, " were her words. 

"I fancied--I don't know exactly what, " he went on. "You looked soearnest. Do you ever think of going to the Navajos?"

"No. "

"Or across that Painted Desert to find some place you seem to know, orsee?"

"No. "

"I don't know why, but, Mescal, sometimes I have the queerest ideas whenI catch your eyes watching, watching. You look at once happy and sad. You see something out there that I can't see. Your eyes are haunted. I've a feeling that if I'd look into them I'd see the sun setting, theclouds coloring, the twilight shadows changing; and then back of thatthe secret of it all--of you--Oh! I can't explain, but it seems so. "

"I never had a secret, except the one you know, " she answered. "You askme so often what I think about, and you always ask me when we're here. "She was silent for a pause. "I don't think at all till you make me. It'sbeautiful out there. But that's not what it is to me. I can't tell you. When I sit down here all within me is--is somehow stilled. I watch--andit's different from what it is now, since you've made me think. Then Iwatch, and I see, that's all. "

It came to Hare afterward with a little start of surprise that Mescal'spurposeless, yet all-satisfying, watchful gaze had come to be part ofhis own experience. It was inscrutable to him, but he got from it afancy, which he tried in vain to dispel, that something would happen tothem out there on the desert. 

And then he realized that when they returned to the camp-fire theyseemed freed from this spell of the desert. The blaze-lit circle wasshut in by the darkness; and the immensity of their wild environment, because for the hour it could not be seen, lost its paralyzing effect. Hare fell naturally into a talkative mood. Mescal had developed avivacity, an ambition which contrasted strongly with her silent moods;she became alive and curious, human like the girls he had known in theEast, and she fascinated him the more for this complexity. 

The July rains did not come; the mists failed; the dews no longerfreshened the grass, and the hot sun began to tell on shepherds andsheep. Both sought the shade. The flowers withered first--all theblue-bells and lavender patches of primrose, and pale-yellow lilies, andwhite thistle-blossoms. Only the deep magenta of cactus and vermilionof Indian paint-brush, flowers of the sun, survived the heat. Day by daythe shepherds scanned the sky for storm-clouds that did not appear. Thespring ran lower and lower. At last the ditch that carried water tothe corral went dry, and the margin of the pool began to retreat. ThenMescal sent Piute down for August Naab. 

He arrived at the plateau the next day with Dave and at once ordered thebreaking up of camp. 

"It will rain some time, " he said, "but we can't wait any longer. Dave, when did you last see the Blue Star waterhole?"

"On the trip in from Silver Cup, ten days ago. The waterhole was fullthen. "

"Will there be water enough now?"

"We've got to chance it. There's no water here, and no springs on theupper range where we can drive sheep; we've got to go round under theStar. "

"That's so, " replied August. His fears needed confirmation, because hishopes always influenced his judgment till no hope was left. "I wish Ihad brought Zeke and George. It'll be a hard drive, though we've gotJack and Mescal to help. "

Hot as it was August Naab lost no time in the start. Piute led the trainon foot, and the flock, used to following him, got under way readily. Dave and Mescal rode along the sides, and August with Jack came behind, with the pack-burros bringing up the rear. Wolf circled them all, keeping the flanks close in, heading the lambs that strayed, and, evervigilant, made the drive orderly and rapid. 

The trail to the upper range was wide and easy of ascent, the first ofit winding under crags, the latter part climbing long slopes. It forkedbefore the summit, where dark pine trees showed against the sky, onefork ascending, the other, which Piute took, beginning to go down. Itadmitted of no extended view, being shut in for the most part on theleft, but there were times when Hare could see a curving stream of sheepon half a mile of descending trail. Once started down the flock couldnot be stopped, that was as plain as Piute's hard task. There were timeswhen Hare could have tossed a pebble on the Indian just below him, yetthere were more than three thousand sheep, strung out in line betweenthem. Clouds of dust rolled up, sheets of gravel and shale rattled downthe inclines, the clatter, clatter, clatter of little hoofs, the steadybaa-baa-baa filled the air. Save for the crowding of lambs off thetrail, and a jamming of sheep in the corners, the drive went on withoutmishap. Hare was glad to see the lambs scramble back bleating for theirmothers, and to note that, though peril threatened at every steep turn, the steady down-flow always made space for the sheep behind. He wasglad, too, when through a wide break ahead his eye followed the face ofa vast cliff down to the red ground below, and he knew the flock wouldsoon be safe on the level. 

A blast as from a furnace smote Hare from this open break in the wall. The air was dust-laden, and carried besides the smell of dust and thewarm breath of desert growths, a dank odor that was unpleasant. 

The sheep massed in a flock on the level, and the drivers spread totheir places. The route lay under projecting red cliffs, between thebase and enormous sections of wall that had broken off and fallenfar out. There was no weathering slope; the wind had carried away thesmaller stones and particles, and had cut the huge pieces of pinnacleand tower into hollowed forms. This zone of rim merged into another ofstrange contrast, the sloping red stream of sand which flowed from thewall of the canyon. 

Piute swung the flock up to the left into an amphitheatre, and therehalted. The sheep formed a densely packed mass in the curve of the wall. Dave Naab galloped back toward August and Hare, and before he reachedthem shouted out: "The waterhole's plugged!"

"What?" yelled his father. 

"Plugged, filled with stone and sand. "

"Was it a cave-in?"

"I reckon not. There's been no rain. "

August spurred his roan after Dave, and Hare kept close behind them, till they reined in on a muddy bank. What had once been a waterhole wasa red and yellow heap of shale, fragments of stones, gravel, and sand. There was no water, and the sheep were bleating. August dismounted andclimbed high above the hole to examine the slope; soon he strode downwith giant steps, his huge fists clinched, shaking his gray mane like alion. 

"I've found the tracks! Somebody climbed up and rolled the stones, started the cave-in. Who?"

"Holderness's men. They did the same for Martin Cole's waterhole atRocky Point. How old are the tracks?"

"Two days, perhaps. We can't follow them. What can be done?"

"Some of Holderness's men are Mormons, and others are square fellows. They wouldn't stand for such work as this, and somebody ought to ride inthere and tell them. "

"And get shot up by the men paid to do the dirty work. No. I won't hearof it. This amounts to nothing; we seldom use this hole, only twice ayear when driving the flock. But it makes me fear for Silver Cup andSeeping Springs. "

"It makes me fear for the sheep, if this wind doesn't change. "

"Ah! I had forgotten the river scent. It's not strong to-night. We mightventure if it wasn't for the strip of sand. We'll camp here and startthe drive at dawn. "

The sun went down under a crimson veil; a dull glow spread, fan-shaped, upward; twilight faded to darkness with the going down of the wind. August Naab paced to and fro before his tired and thirsty flock. 

"I'd like to know, " said Hare to Dave, "why those men filled up thiswaterhole. "

"Holderness wants to cut us off from Silver Cup Spring, and this was ahalf-way waterhole. Probably he didn't know we had the sheep upland, but he wouldn't have cared. He's set himself to get our cattle range andhe'll stop at nothing. Prospects look black for us. Father never givesup. He doesn't believe yet that we can lose our water. He prays andhopes, and sees good and mercy in his worst enemies. "

"If Holderness works as far as Silver Cup, how will he go to work tosteal another man's range and water?"

"He'll throw up a cabin, send in his men, drive in ten thousand steers. "

"Well, will his men try to keep you away from your own water, or yourcattle?"

"Not openly. They'll pretend to welcome us, and drive our cattle away inour absence. You see there are only five of us to ride the ranges, andwe'd need five times five to watch all the stock. "

"Then you can't stop this outrage?"

"There's only one way, " said Dave, significantly tapping the blackhandle of his Colt. "Holderness thinks he pulls the wool over our eyesby talking of the cattle company that employs him. He's the companyhimself, and he's hand and glove with Dene. "

"And I suppose, if your father and you boys were to ride over toHolderness's newest stand, and tell him to get off there would be afight. "

"We'd never reach him now, that is, if we went together. One of us alonemight get to see him, especially in White Sage. If we all rode over tohis ranch we'd have to fight his men before we reached the corrals. Youyourself will find it pretty warm when you go out with us on the ranges, and if you make White Sage you'll find it hot. You're called 'Dene'sspy' there, and the rustlers are still looking for you. I wouldn't worryabout it, though. "

"Why not, I'd like to know?" inquired Hare, with a short laugh. 

"Well, if you're like the other Gentiles who have come into Utah youwon't have scruples about drawing on a man. Father says the draw comesnatural to you, and you're as quick as he is. Then he says you can beatany rifle shot he ever saw, and that long-barrelled gun you've got willshoot a mile. So if it comes to shooting--why, you can shoot. If youwant to run--who's going to catch you on that white-maned stallion? Wetalked about you, George and I; we're mighty glad you're well and canride with us. "

Long into the night Jack Hare thought over this talk. It opened up avista of the range-life into which he was soon to enter. He tried tosilence the voice within that cried out, eager and reckless, for thelong rides on the windy open. The years of his illness returned infancy, the narrow room with the lamp and the book, and the tears overstories and dreams of adventure never to be for such as he. And nowhow wonderful was life! It was, after all, to be full for him. It wasalready full. Already he slept on the ground, open to the sky. He lookedup at a wild black cliff, mountain-high, with its windworn star of blue;he felt himself on the threshold of the desert, with that subtle mysterywaiting; he knew himself to be close to strenuous action on the ranges, companion of these sombre Mormons, exposed to their peril, making theircause his cause, their life his life. What of their friendship, theirconfidence? Was he worthy? Would he fail at the pinch? What a man hemust become to approach their simple estimate of him! Because he hadfound health and strength, because he could shoot, because he had thefleetest horse on the desert, were these reasons for their friendship?No, these were only reasons for their trust. August Naab loved him. Mescal loved him; Dave and George made of him a brother. "They shallhave my life, " he muttered. 

The bleating of the sheep heralded another day. With the brighteninglight began the drive over the sand. Under the cliff the shade was cooland fresh; there was no wind; the sheep made good progress. But thebroken line of shade crept inward toward the flock, and passed it. Thesun beat down, and the wind arose. A red haze of fine sand eddiedabout the toiling sheep and shepherds. Piute trudged ahead leading theking-ram, old Socker, the leader of the flock; Mescal and Hare rodeat the right, turning their faces from the sand-filled puffs ofwind; August and Dave drove behind; Wolf, as always, took care of thestragglers. An hour went by without signs of distress; and with half thefive-mile trip at his back August Naab's voice gathered cheer. The sunbeat hotter. Another hour told a different story--the sheep labored;they had to be forced by urge of whip, by knees of horses, by Wolf'sthreatening bark. They stopped altogether during the frequent hotsand-blasts, and could not be driven. So time dragged. The flockstraggled out to a long irregular line; rams refused to budge till theywere ready; sheep lay down to rest; lambs fell. But there was an end tothe belt of sand, and August Naab at last drove the lagging trailers outupon the stony bench. 

The sun was about two hours past the meridian; the red walls of thedesert were closing in; the V-shaped split where the Colorado cutthrough was in sight. The trail now was wide and unobstructed and thedistance short, yet August Naab ever and anon turned to face the canyonand shook his head in anxious foreboding. 

It quickly dawned upon Hare that the sheep were behaving in a way newand singular to him. They packed densely now, crowding forward, manyraising their heads over the haunches of others and bleating. Theywere not in their usual calm pattering hurry, but nervous, excited, andcontinually facing west toward the canyon, noses up. 

On the top of the next little ridge Hare heard Silvermane snort as hedid when led to drink. There was a scent of water on the wind. Harecaught it, a damp, muggy smell. The sheep had noticed it long before, and now under its nearer, stronger influence began to bleat wildly, torun faster, to crowd without aim. 

"There's work ahead. Keep them packed and going. Turn the wheelers, "ordered August. 

What had been a drive became a flight. And it was well so long as thesheep headed straight up the trail. Piute had to go to the right toavoid being run down. Mescal rode up to fill his place. Hare took hiscue from Dave, and rode along the flank, crowding the sheep inward. August cracked his whip behind. For half a mile the flock kept to thetrail, then, as if by common consent, they sheered off to the right. With this move August and Dave were transformed from quiet almostto frenzy. They galloped to the fore, and into the very faces of theturning sheep, and drove them back. Then the rear-guard of the flockcurved outward. 

"Drive them in!" roared August. 

Hare sent Silvermane at the deflecting sheep and frightened them intoline. 

Wolf no longer had power to chase the stragglers; they had to be turnedby a horse. All along the flank noses pointed outward; here and theresheep wilder than the others leaped forward to lead a widening waveof bobbing woolly backs. Mescal engaged one point, Hare another, Daveanother, and August Naab's roan thundered up and down the constantlybroken line. All this while as the shepherds fought back the sheep, theflight continued faster eastward, farther canyonward. Each side gained, but the flock gained more toward the canyon than the drivers gainedtoward the oasis. 

By August's hoarse yells, by Dave's stern face and ceaseless swiftaction, by the increasing din, Hare knew terrible danger hung over theflock; what it was he could not tell. He heard the roar of the riverrapids, and it seemed that the sheep heard it with him. They plungedmadly; they had gone wild from the scent and sound of water. Their eyesgleamed red; their tongues flew out. There was no aim to the rush ofthe great body of sheep, but they followed the leaders and the leadersfollowed the scent. And the drivers headed them off, rode them down, ceaselessly, riding forward to check one outbreak, wheeling backward tocheck another. 

The flight became a rout. Hare was in the thick of dust and din, of theterror-stricken jumping mob, of the ever-starting, ever-widening streamsof sheep; he rode and yelled and fired his Colt. The dust choked him, the sun burned him, the flying pebbles cut his cheek. Once he had aglimpse of Black Bolly in a melee of dust and sheep; Dave's mustangblurred in his sight; August's roan seemed to be double. ThenSilvermane, of his own accord, was out before them all. 

The sheep had almost gained the victory; their keen noses were pointedtoward the water; nothing could stop their flight; but still the driversdashed at them, ever fighting, never wearying, never ceasing. 

At the last incline, where a gentle slope led down to a dark break inthe desert, the rout became a stampede. Left and right flanks swunground, the line lengthened, and round the struggling horses, knee-deepin woolly backs, split the streams to flow together beyond in oneresistless river of sheep. Mescal forced Bolly out of danger; Daveescaped the right flank, August and Hare swept on with the flood, tillthe horses, sighting the dark canyon, halted to stand like rocks. 

"Will they run over the rim?" yelled Hare, horrified. His voice came tohim as a whisper. August Naab, sweat-stained in red dust, haggard, graylocks streaming in the wind, raised his arms above his head, hopeless. 

The long nodding line of woolly forms, lifting like the crest of ayellow wave, plunged out and down in rounded billow over the canyonrim. With din of hoofs and bleats the sheep spilled themselves over theprecipice, and an awful deafening roar boomed up from the river, likethe spreading thunderous crash of an avalanche. 

How endless seemed that fatal plunge! The last line of sheep, pressingclose to those gone before, and yet impelled by the strange instinct oflife, turned their eyes too late on the brink, carried over by their ownmomentum. 

The sliding roar ceased; its echo, muffled and hollow, pealed from thecliffs, then rumbled down the canyon to merge at length in the sullen, dull, continuous sound of the rapids. 

Hare turned at last from that narrow iron-walled cleft, the depth ofwhich he had not seen, and now had no wish to see; and his eyes fellupon a little Navajo lamb limping in the trail of the flock, headed forthe canyon, as sure as its mother in purpose. He dismounted and seizedit to find, to his infinite wonder and gladness, that it wore a stringand bell round its neck. It was Mescal's pet. 

X. RIDING THE RANGES

THE shepherds were home in the oasis that evening, and next day thetragedy of the sheep was a thing of the past. No other circumstanceof Hare's four months with the Naabs had so affected him as this swiftinevitable sweeping away of the flock; nothing else had so vividlytold him the nature of this country of abrupt heights and depths. Heremembered August Naab's magnificent gesture of despair; and now the manwas cheerful again; he showed no sign of his great loss. His tasks weremany, and when one was done, he went on to the next. If Hare had not hadmany proofs of this Mormon's feeling he would have thought him callous. August Naab trusted God and men, loved animals, did what he had to dowith all his force, and accepted fate. The tragedy of the sheep had beenonly an incident in a tragical life--that Hare divined with awe. 

Mescal sorrowed, and Wolf mourned in sympathy with her, for theiroccupation was gone, but both brightened when August made known hisintention to cross the river to the Navajo range, to trade with theIndians for another flock. He began his preparations immediately. Thesnow-freshets had long run out of the river, the water was low, and hewanted to fetch the sheep down before the summer rains. He also wantedto find out what kept his son Snap so long among the Navajos. 

"I'll take Billy and go at once. Dave, you join George and Zeke out onthe Silver Cup range. Take Jack with you. Brand all the cattle you canbefore the snow flies. Get out of Dene's way if he rides over, and avoidHolderness's men. I'll have no fights. But keep your eyes sharp fortheir doings. "

It was a relief to Hare that Snap Naab had not yet returned to theoasis, for he felt a sense of freedom which otherwise would have beenlacking. He spent the whole of a long calm summer day in the orchard andthe vineyard. The fruit season was at its height. Grapes, plums, pears, melons were ripe and luscious. Midsummer was vacationtime for thechildren, and they flocked into the trees like birds. The girlswere picking grapes; Mother Ruth enlisted Jack in her service at thepear-trees; Mescal came, too, and caught the golden pears he threw down, and smiled up at him; Wolf was there, and Noddle; Black Bolly pushedher black nose over the fence, and whinnied for apples; the turkeysstrutted, the peafowls preened their beautiful plumage, the guinea-hensran like quail. Save for those frowning red cliffs Hare would haveforgotten where he was; the warm sun, the yellow fruit, the merryscreams of children, the joyous laughter of girls, were pleasantreminders of autumn picnic days long gone. But, in the face of thosedominating wind-scarred walls, he could not forget. 

That night Hare endeavored to see Mescal alone for a few moments, tosee her once more with unguarded eyes, to whisper a few words, to saygood-bye; but it was impossible. 

On the morrow he rode out of the red cliff gate with Dave and thepack-horses, a dull ache in his heart; for amid the cheering crowd ofchildren and women who bade them good-bye he had caught the wave ofMescal's hand and a look of her eyes that would be with him always. Whatmight happen before he returned, if he ever did return! For he knew now, as well as he could feel Silvermane's easy stride, that out there underthe white glare of desert, the white gleam of the slopes of Coconina, was wild life awaiting him. And he shut his teeth, and narrowed hiseyes, and faced it with an eager joy that was in strange contrast to thepang in his breast. 

That morning the wind dipped down off the Vermillion Cliffs and whippedwest; there was no scent of river-water, and Hare thought of thefatality of the sheep-drive, when, for one day out of the year, amoistened dank breeze had met the flock on the narrow bench. Soon thebench lay far behind them, and the strip of treacherous sand, and themaze of sculptured cliff under the Blue Star, and the hummocky lowridges beyond, with their dry white washes. Silvermane kept on in front. Already Hare had learned that the gray would have no horse before him. His pace was swift, steady, tireless. Dave was astride his Navajo mount, an Indian-bred horse, half mustang, which had to be held in with a firmrein. The pack train strung out far behind, trotting faithfully along, with the white packs, like the humps of camels, nodding up and down. Jack and Dave slackened their gait at the foot of the stony divide. Itwas an ascent of miles, so long that it did not appear steep. Here thepack-train caught up, and thereafter hung at the heels of the riders. 

From the broad bare summit Jack saw the Silver Cup valley-range witheyes which seemed to magnify the winding trail, the long red wall, thegreen slopes, the dots of sage and cattle. Then he made allowance formonths of unobstructed vision; he had learned to see; his eyes hadadjusted themselves to distance and dimensions. 

Silver Cup Spring lay in a bright green spot close under a break in therocky slope that soon lost its gray cliff in the shaggy cedared side ofCoconina. 

The camp of the brothers was situated upon this cliff in a split betweentwo sections of wall. Well sheltered from the north and west winds wasa grassy plot which afforded a good survey of the valley and thetrails. Dave and Jack received glad greetings from Zeke and George, andSilvermane was an object of wonder and admiration. Zeke, who had oftenseen the gray and chased him too, walked round and round him, strokingthe silver mane, feeling the great chest muscles, slapping his flanks. 

"Well, well, Silvermane, to think I'd live to see you wearing a saddleand bridle! He's even bigger than I thought. There's a horse, Hare!Never will be another like him in this desert. If Dene ever sees thathorse he'll chase him to the Great Salt Basin. Dene's crazy about fasthorses. He's from Kentucky, somebody said, and knows a horse when hesees one. "

"How are things?" queried Dave. 

"We can't complain much, " replied Zeke, "though we've wasted some timeon old Whitefoot. He's been chasing our horses. It's been pretty hot anddry. Most of the cattle are on the slopes; fair browse yet. There's abunch of steers gone up on the mountain, and some more round toward theSaddle or the canyon. "

"Been over Seeping Springs way?"

"Yes. No change since your trip. Holderness's cattle are ranging in theupper valley. George found tracks near the spring. We believe somebodywas watching there and made off when we came up. "

"We'll see Holderness's men when we get to riding out, " put in George. "And some of Dene's too. Zeke met Two-Spot Chance and Culver below atthe spring one day, sort of surprised them. "

"What day was that?"

"Let's see, this's Friday. It was last Monday. "

"What were they doing over here?"

"Said they were tracking a horse that had broken his hobbles. But theyseemed uneasy, and soon rode off. "

"Did either of them ride a horse with one shoe shy?"

"Now I think of it, yes. Zeke noticed the track at the spring. "

"Well, Chance and Culver had been out our way, " declared Dave. "I sawtheir tracks, and they filled up the Blue Star waterhole--and cost usthree thousand sheep. "

Then he related the story of the drive of the sheep, the finding ofthe plugged waterhole, the scent of the Colorado, and the plunge of thesheep into the canyon. 

"We've saved one, Mescal's belled lamb, " he concluded. 

Neither Zeke nor George had a word in reply. Hare thought their silenceunnatural. Neither did the mask-like stillness of their faces change. But Hare saw in their eyes a pointed clear flame, vibrating like acompass-needle, a mere glimmering spark. 

"I'd like to know, " continued Dave, calmly poking the fire, "who hiredDene's men to plug the waterhole. Dene couldn't do that. He loves ahorse, and any man who loves a horse couldn't fill a waterhole in thisdesert. "

Hare entered upon his new duties as a range-rider with a zeal thatalmost made up for his lack of experience; he bade fair to developinto a right-hand man for Dave, under whose watchful eye he worked. Hisnatural qualifications were soon shown; he could ride, though his seatwas awkward and clumsy compared to that of the desert rangers, a faultthat Dave said would correct itself as time fitted him close tothe saddle and to the swing of his horse. His sight had becomeextraordinarily keen for a new-comer on the ranges, and when experiencehad taught him the land-marks, the trails, the distances, the differencebetween smoke and dust and haze, when he could distinguish a band ofmustangs from cattle, and range-riders from outlaws or Indians; in aword, when he had learned to know what it was that he saw, to trusthis judgment, he would have acquired the basic feature of a rider'straining. But he showed no gift for the lasso, that other essentialrequirement of his new calling. 

"It's funny, " said Dave, patiently, "you can't get the hang of it. Maybeit's born in a fellow. Now handling a gun seems to come natural for somefellows, and you're one of them. If only you could get the rope away asquick as you can throw your gun!"

Jack kept faithfully at it, unmindful of defeats, often chagrined whenhe missed some easy opportunity. Not improbably he might have failedaltogether if he had been riding an ordinary horse, or if he had to tryroping from a fiery mustang. But Silvermane was as intelligent as hewas beautiful and fleet. The horse learned rapidly the agile turns andsudden stops necessary, and as for free running he never got enough. Outon the range Silvermane always had his head up and watched; his life hadbeen spent in watching; he saw cattle, riders, mustangs, deer, coyotes, every moving thing. So that Hare, in the chasing of a cow, had but tostart Silvermane, and then he could devote himself to the handling ofhis rope. It took him ten times longer to lasso the cow than it tookSilvermane to head the animal. Dave laughed at some of Jack's exploits, encouraged him often, praised his intent if not his deed; and alwaysafter a run nodded at Silvermane in mute admiration. 

Branding the cows and yearlings and tame steers which watered at SilverCup, and never wandered far away, was play according to Dave's version. "Wait till we get after the wild steers up on the mountain and in thecanyons, " he would say when Jack dropped like a log at supper. Work itcertainly was for him. At night he was so tired that he could scarcelycrawl into bed; his back felt as if it were broken; his legs were raw, and his bones ached. Many mornings he thought it impossible to arise, but always he crawled out, grim and haggard, and hobbled round thecamp-fire to warm his sore and bruised muscles. Then when Zeke andGeorge rode in with the horses the day's work began. During these weeksof his "hardening up, " as Dave called it, Hare bore much pain, but hecontinued well and never missed a day. At the most trying time when fora few days he had to be helped on and off Silvermane--for he insistedthat he would not stay in camp--the brothers made his work as light aspossible. They gave him the branding outfit to carry, a running-iron anda little pot with charcoal and bellows; and with these he followed theriders at a convenient distance and leisurely pace. 

Some days they branded one hundred cattle. By October they had AugustNaab's crudely fashioned cross on thousands of cows and steers. Stillthe stock kept coming down from the mountain, driven to the valley bycold weather and snow-covered grass. It was well into November beforethe riders finished at Silver Cup, and then arose a question as towhether it would be advisable to go to Seeping Springs or to the canyonsfarther west along the slope of Coconina. George favored the former, butDave overruled him. 

"Father's orders, " he said. "He wants us to ride Seeping Springs lastbecause he'll be with us then, and Snap too. We're going to have troubleover there. "

"How's this branding stock going to help the matter any, I'd like toknow?" inquired George. "We Mormons never needed it. "

"Father says we'll all have to come to it. Holderness's stock isbranded. Perhaps he's marked a good many steers of ours. We can't tell. But if we have our own branded we'll know what's ours. If he drives ourstock we'll know it; if Dene steals, it can be proved that he steals. "

"Well, what then? Do you think he'll care for that, or Holdernesseither?"

"No, only it makes this difference: both things will then be barefacedrobbery. We've never been able to prove anything, though we boys know;we don't need any proof. Father gives these men the benefit of a doubt. We've got to stand by him. I know, George, your hand's begun to itch foryour gun. So does mine. But we've orders to obey. "

Many gullies and canyons headed up on the slope of Coconina west ofSilver Cup, and ran down to open wide on the flat desert. They containedplots of white sage and bunches of rich grass and cold springs. Thesteers that ranged these ravines were wild as wolves, and in the tangledthickets of juniper and manzanita and jumbles of weathered cliff theywere exceedingly difficult to catch. 

Well it was that Hare had received his initiation and had become inuredto rough, incessant work, for now he came to know the real stuff ofwhich these Mormons were made. No obstacle barred them. They penetratedthe gullies to the last step; they rode weathered slopes that weredifficult for deer to stick upon; they thrashed the bayonet-guardedmanzanita copses; they climbed into labyrinthine fastnesses, penetratingto every nook where a steer could hide. Miles of sliding slope andmarble-bottomed streambeds were ascended on foot, for cattle could climbwhere a horse could not. Climbing was arduous enough, yet the hardestand most perilous toil began when a wild steer was cornered. They ropedthe animals on moving slopes of weathered stone, and branded them on theedges of precipices. 

The days and weeks passed, how many no one counted or cared. The circleof the sun daily lowered over the south end of Coconina; and the blacksnow-clouds crept down the slopes. Frost whitened the ground at dawn, and held half the day in the shade. Winter was close at the heels of thelong autumn. 

As for Hare, true to August Naab's assertion, he had lost flesh andsuffered, and though the process was heartbreaking in its severity, he hung on till he hardened into a leather lunged, wire-muscled man, capable of keeping pace with his companions. 

He began his day with the dawn when he threw off the frost-coatedtarpaulin; the icy water brought him a glow of exhilaration; he drank inthe spiced cold air, and there was the spring of the deer-hunter in hisstep as he went down the slope for his horse. He no longer feared thatSilvermane would run away. The gray's bell could always be heard nearcamp in the mornings, and when Hare whistled there came always theanswering thump of hobbled feet. When Silvermane saw him stridingthrough the cedars or across the grassy belt of the valley he wouldneigh his gladness. Hare had come to love Silvermane and talked to himand treated him as if he were human. 

When the mustangs were brought into camp the day's work began, thesame work as that of yesterday, and yet with endless variety, withever-changing situations that called for quick wits, steel arms, stout hearts, and unflagging energies. The darkening blue sky and thesun-tipped crags of Vermillion Cliffs were signals to start for camp. They ate like wolves, sat for a while around the camp-fire, a ragged, weary, silent group; and soon lay down, their dark faces in the shadowof the cedars. 

In the beginning of this toil-filled time Hare had resolutely sethimself to forget Mescal, and he had succeeded at least for a time, whenhe was so sore and weary that he scarcely thought at all. But she cameback to him, and then there was seldom an hour that was not hers. Thelong months which seemed years since he had seen her, the change in himwrought by labor and peril, the deepening friendship between him andDave, even the love he bore Silvermane--these, instead of making dim thememory of the dark-eyed girl, only made him tenderer in his thought ofher. 

Snow drove the riders from the canyon-camp down to Silver Cup, wherethey found August Naab and Snap, who had ridden in the day before. 

"Now you couldn't guess how many cattle are back there in the canyons, "said Dave to his father. 

"I haven't any idea, " answered August, dubiously. 

"Five thousand head. "

"Dave!" His father's tone was incredulous. 

"Yes. You know we haven't been back in there for years. The stock hasmultiplied rapidly in spite of the lions and wolves. Not only that, butthey're safe from the winter, and are not likely to be found by Dene oranybody else. "

"How do you make that out?"

"The first cattle we drove in used to come back here to Silver Cupto winter. Then they stopped coming, and we almost forgot them. Well, they've got a trail round under the Saddle, and they go down and winterin the canyon. In summer they head up those rocky gullies, but theycan't get up on the mountain. So it isn't likely any one will everdiscover them. They are wild as deer and fatter than any stock on theranges. "

"Good! That's the best news I've had in many a day. Now, boys, we'llride the mountain slope toward Seeping Springs, drive the cattle down, and finish up this branding. Somebody ought to go to White Sage. I'dlike to know what's going on, what Holderness is up to, what Dene isdoing, if there's any stock being driven to Lund. "

"I told you I'd go, " said Snap Naab. 

"I don't want you to, " replied his father. "I guess it can wait tillspring, then we'll all go in. I might have thought to bring you boys outsome clothes and boots. You're pretty ragged. Jack there, especially, looks like a scarecrow. Has he worked as hard as he looks?"

"Father, he never lost a day, " replied Dave, warmly, "and you know whatriding is in these canyons. "

August Naab looked at Hare and laughed. "It'd be funny, wouldn't it, ifHolderness tried to slap you now? I always knew you'd do, Jack, and nowyou're one of us, and you'll have a share with my sons in the cattle. "

But the generous promise failed to offset the feeling aroused by thepresence of Snap Naab. With the first sight of Snap's sharp face andstrange eyes Hare became conscious of an inward heat, which he had feltbefore, but never as now, when there seemed to be an actual flame withinhis breast. Yet Snap seemed greatly changed; the red flush, the swollenlines no longer showed in his face; evidently in his absence on theNavajo desert he had had no liquor; he was good-natured, lively, much inclined to joking, and he seemed to have entirely forgotten hisanimosity toward Hare. It was easy for Hare to see that the man's evilnature was in the ascendancy only when he was under the dominance ofdrink. But he could not forgive; he could not forget. Mescal's dark, beautiful eyes haunted him. Even now she might be married to this man. Perhaps that was why Snap appeared to be in such cheerful spirits. Suspense added its burdensome insistent question, but he could not bringhimself to ask August if the marriage had taken place. For a day hefought to resign himself to the inevitability of the Mormon custom, toforget Mescal, and then he gave up trying. This surrender he felt to besomething crucial in his life, though he could not wholly understand it. It was the darkening of his spirit; the death of boyish gentleness;the concluding step from youth into a forced manhood. The desertregeneration had not stopped at turning weak lungs, vitiated blood, andflaccid muscles into a powerful man; it was at work on his mind, his heart, his soul. They answered more and more to the call of someoutside, ever-present, fiercely subtle thing. 

Thenceforth he no longer vexed himself by trying to forget Mescal; ifshe came to mind he told himself the truth, that the weeks and monthshad only added to his love. And though it was bitter-sweet there wasrelief in speaking the truth to himself. He no longer blinded himself byhoping, striving to have generous feelings toward Snap Naab; he calledthe inward fire by its real name--jealousy--and knew that in the end itwould become hatred. 

On the third morning after leaving Silver Cup the riders were workingslowly along the slope of Coconina; and Hare having driven down a bunchof cattle, found himself on an open ridge near the temporary camp. Happening to glance up the valley he saw what appeared to be smokehanging over Seeping Springs. 

"That can't be dust, " he soliloquized. "Looks blue to me. "

He studied the hazy bluish cloud for some time, but it was so many milesaway that he could not be certain whether it was smoke or not, so hedecided to ride over and make sure. None of the Naabs was in camp, andthere was no telling when they would return, so he set off alone. Heexpected to get back before dark, but it was of little consequencewhether he did or not, for he had his blanket under the saddle, andgrain for Silvermane and food for himself in the saddle-bags. 

Long before Silvermane's easy trot had covered half the distance Harerecognized the cloud that had made him curious. It was smoke. He thoughtthat range-riders were camping at the springs, and he meant to see whatthey were about. After three hours of brisk travel he reached the top ofa low rolling knoll that hid Seeping Springs. He remembered the springswere up under the red wall, and that the pool where the cattle drank waslower down in a clump of cedars. He saw smoke rising in a column fromthe cedars, and he heard the lowing of cattle. 

"Something wrong here, " he muttered. Following the trail, he rodethrough the cedars to come upon the dry hole where the pool had oncebeen. There was no water in the flume. The bellowing cattle came frombeyond the cedars, down the other side of the ridge. He was not long inreaching the open, and then one glance made all clear. 

A new pool, large as a little lake, shone in the sunlight, and round ita jostling horned mass of cattle were pressing against a high corral. The flume that fed water to the pool was fenced all the way up to thesprings. 

Jack slowly rode down the ridge with eyes roving under the cedars and upto the wall. Not a man was in sight. 

When he got to the fire he saw that it was not many hours old and wassurrounded by fresh boot and horse tracks in the dust. Piles of slenderpine logs, trimmed flat on one side, were proof of somebody's intentionto erect a cabin. In a rage he flung himself from the saddle. It was notmany moments' work for him to push part of the fire under the fence, and part of it against the pile of logs. The pitch-pines went off likerockets, driving the thirsty cattle back. 

"I'm going to trail those horse-tracks, " said Hare. 

He tore down a portion of the fence enclosing the flume, and gaveSilvermane a drink, then put him to a fast trot on the white trail. Thetracks he had resolved to follow were clean-cut. A few inches of snowhad fallen in the valley, and melting, had softened the hard ground. Silvermane kept to his gait with the tirelessness of a desert horse. August Naab had once said fifty miles a day would be play for thestallion. All the afternoon Hare watched the trail speed toward him andthe end of Coconina rise above him. Long before sunset he had reachedthe slope of the mountain and had begun the ascent. Half way up he cameto the snow and counted the tracks of three horses. At twilight he rodeinto the glade where August Naab had waited for his Navajo friends. There, in a sheltered nook among the rocks, he unsaddled Silvermane, covered and fed him, built a fire, ate sparingly of his meat and bread, and rolling up in his blanket, was soon asleep. 

He was up and off before sunrise, and he came out on the western slopeof Coconina just as the shadowy valley awakened from its misty sleepinto daylight. Soon the Pink Cliffs leaned out, glimmering and vast, tochange from gloomy gray to rosy glow, and then to brighten and to reddenin the morning sun. 

The snow thinned and failed, but the iron-cut horsetracks showed plainlyin the trail. At the foot of the mountain the tracks left the White Sagetrail and led off to the north toward the cliffs. Hare searched the redsage-spotted waste for Holderness's ranch. He located it, a black patchon the rising edge of the valley under the wall, and turned Silvermaneinto the tracks that pointed straight toward it. 

The sun cleared Coconina and shone warm on his back; the Pink Cliffslifted higher and higher before him. From the ridge-tops he saw theblack patch grow into cabins and corrals. As he neared the ranch he cameinto rolling pasture-land where the bleached grass shone white and thecattle were ranging in the thousands. This range had once belonged toMartin Cole, and Hare thought of the bitter Mormon as he noted the snugcabins for the riders, the rambling, picturesque ranch-house, the largecorrals, and the long flume that ran down from the cliff. There was acorral full of shaggy horses, and another full of steers, and two linesof cattle, one going into a pond-corral, and one coming out. The air wasgray with dust. A bunch of yearlings were licking at huge lumps of brownrock-salt. A wagonful of cowhides stood before the ranch-house. 

Hare reined in at the door and helloed. 

A red-faced ranger with sandy hair and twinkling eyes appeared. 

"Hello, stranger, get down an' come in, " he said. 

"Is Holderness here?" asked Hare. 

"No. He's been to Lund with a bunch of steers. I reckon he'll be inWhite Sage by now. I'm Snood, the foreman. Is it a job ridin' you want?"

"No. "

"Say! thet hoss--" he exclaimed. His gaze of friendly curiosity hadmoved from Hare to Silvermane. "You can corral me if it ain't thetSevier range stallion!"

"Yes, " said Hare. 

Snood's whoop brought three riders to the door, and when he pointed tothe horse, they stepped out with good-natured grins and admiring eyes. 

"I never seen him but onc't, " said one. 

"Lordy, what a hoss!" Snood walked round Silvermane. "If I owned thisranch I'd trade it for that stallion. I know Silvermane. He an' I hedsome chases over in Nevada. An', stranger, who might you be?"

"I'm one of August Naab's riders. "

"Dene's spy!" Snood looked Hare over carefully, with much interest, andwithout any show of ill-will. "I've heerd of you. An' what might one ofNaab's riders want of Holderness?"

"I rode in to Seeping Springs yesterday, " said Hare, eying the foreman. "There was a new pond, fenced in. Our cattle couldn't drink. There werea lot of trimmed logs. Somebody was going to build a cabin. I burnedthe corrals and logs--and I trailed fresh tracks from Seeping Springs tothis ranch. "

"The h--l you did!" shouted Snood, and his face flamed. "See here, stranger, you're the second man to accuse some of my riders of suchdirty tricks. That's enough for me. I was foreman of this ranch tillthis minute. I was foreman, but there were things gain' on thet I didn'tknow of. I kicked on thet deal with Martin Cole. I quit. I steal noman's water. Is thet good with you?"

Snood's query was as much a challenge as a question. He bit savagely athis pipe. Hare offered his hand. 

"Your word goes. Dave Naab said you might be Holderness's foreman, butyou weren't a liar or a thief. I'd believe it even if Dave hadn't toldme. "

"Them fellers you tracked rode in here yesterday. They're gone now. I'veno more to say, except I never hired them. "

"I'm glad to hear it. Good-day, Snood, I'm in something of a hurry. "

With that Hare faced about in the direction of White Sage. Once clear ofthe corrals he saw the village closer than he had expected to find it. He walked Silvermane most of the way, and jogged along the rest, so thathe reached the village in the twilight. Memory served him well. He rodein as August Naab had ridden out, and arrived at the Bishop's barn-yard, where he put up his horse. Then he went to the house. It was necessaryto introduce himself for none of the Bishop's family recognized inhim the young man they had once befriended. The old Bishop prayed andreminded him of the laying on of hands. The women served him with food, the young men brought him new boots and garments to replace those thathad been worn to tatters. Then they plied him with questions about theNaabs, whom they had not seen for nearly a year. They rejoiced at hisrecovered health; they welcomed him with warm words. 

Later Hare sought an interview alone with the Bishop's sons, and he toldthem of the loss of the sheep, of the burning of the new corrals, ofthe tracks leading to Holderness's ranch. In turn they warned him of hisdanger, and gave him information desired by August Naab. Holderness'sgrasp on the outlying ranges and water-rights had slowly and surelytightened; every month he acquired new territory; he drove cattleregularly to Lund, and it was no secret that much of the stock came fromthe eastern slope of Coconina. He could not hire enough riders to do hiswork. A suspicion that he was not a cattle-man but a rustler hadslowly gained ground; it was scarcely hinted, but it was believed. His friendship with Dene had become offensive to the Mormons, who hadformerly been on good footing with him. Dene's killing of MartinCole was believed to have been at Holderness's instigation. Cole hadthreatened Holderness. Then Dene and Cole had met in the main streetof White Sage. Cole's death ushered in the bloody time that he hadprophesied. Dene's band had grown; no man could say how many men he hador who they were. Chance and Culver were openly his lieutenants, andwhenever they came into the village there was shooting. There were uglyrumors afloat in regard to their treatment of Mormon women. The wivesand daughters of once peaceful White Sage dared no longer ventureout-of-doors after nightfall. There was more money in coin and morewhiskey than ever before in the village. Lund and the few villagesnorthward were terrorized as well as White Sage. It was a bitter story. 

The Bishop and his sons tried to persuade Hare next morning to leavethe village without seeing Holderness, urging the futility of such ameeting. 

"I will see him, " said Hare. He spent the morning at the cottage, andwhen it came time to take his leave he smiled into the anxious faces. "If I weren't able to take care of myself August Naab would never havesaid so. "

Had Hare asked himself what he intended to do when he faced Holdernesshe could not have told. His feelings were pent-in, bound, but at thebottom something rankled. His mind seemed steeped in still thunderousatmosphere. 

How well he remembered the quaint wide street, the gray church! As herode many persons stopped to gaze at Silvermane. He turned the cornerinto the main thoroughfare. A new building had been added to the severalstores. Mustangs stood, bridles down, before the doors; men loungedalong the railings. 

As he dismounted he heard the loungers speak of his horse, and he sawtheir leisurely manner quicken. He stepped into the store to meet moremen, among them August Naab's friend Abe. Hare might never have been inWhite Sage for all the recognition he found, but he excited somethingkeener than curiosity. He asked for spurs, a clasp-knife and some othernecessaries, and he contrived, when momentarily out of sight behinda pile of boxes, to whisper his identity to Abe. The Mormon wasdumbfounded. When he came out of his trance he showed his gladness, andat a question of Hare's he silently pointed toward the saloon. 

Hare faced the open door. The room had been enlarged; it was now on alevel with the store floor, and was blue with smoke, foul with the fumesof rum, and noisy with the voices of dark, rugged men. 

A man in the middle of the room was dancing a jig. 

"Hello, who's this?" he said, straightening up. 

It might have been the stopping of the dance or the quick spark inHare's eyes that suddenly quieted the room. Hare had once vowed tohimself that he would never forget the scarred face; it belonged to theoutlaw Chance. 

The sight of it flashed into the gulf of Hare's mind like a meteor intoblack night. A sudden madness raced through his veins. 

"Hello, Don't you know me?" he said, with a long step that brought himclose to Chance. 

The outlaw stood irresolute. Was this an old friend or an enemy? Hisbeady eyes scintillated and twitched as if they sought to look him over, yet dared not because it was only in the face that intention could beread. 

The stillness of the room broke to a hoarse whisper from some one. 

"Look how he packs his gun. "

Another man answering whispered: "There's not six men in Utah who pack agun thet way. "

Chance heard these whispers, for his eye shifted downward the merestfraction of a second. The brick color of his face turned a dirty white. 

"Do you know me?" demanded Hare. 

Chance's answer was a spasmodic jerking of his hand toward his hip. Hare's arm moved quicker, and Chance's Colt went spinning to the floor. 

"Too slow, " said Hare. Then he flung Chance backward and struck himblows that sent his head with sodden thuds against the log wall. Chancesank to the floor in a heap. 

Hare kicked the outlaw's gun out of the way, and wheeled to the crowd. Holderness stood foremost, his tall form leaning against the bar, hisclear eyes shining like light on ice. 

"Do you know me?" asked Hare, curtly. 

Holderness started slightly. "I certainly don't, " he replied. 

"You slapped my face once. " Hare leaned close to the rancher. "Slap itnow--you rustler!"

In the slow, guarded instant when Hare's gaze held Holderness and theother men, a low murmuring ran through the room. 

"Dene's spy!" suddenly burst out Holderness. 

Hare slapped his face. Then he backed a few paces with his right armheld before him almost as high as his shoulder, the wrist rigid, thefingers quivering. 

"Don't try to draw, Holderness. Thet's August Naab's trick with a gun, "whispered a man, hurriedly. 

"Holderness, I made a bonfire over at Seeping Springs, " said Hare. "Iburned the new corrals your men built, and I tracked them to your ranch. Snood threw up his job when he heard it. He's an honest man, andno honest man will work for a water-thief, a cattle-rustler, asheep-killer. You're shown up, Holderness. Leave the country before someone kills you--understand, before some one kills you!"

Holderness stood motionless against the bar, his eyes fierce withpassionate hate. 

Hare backed step by step to the outside door, his right hand still high, his look holding the crowd bound to the last instant. Then he slippedout, scattered the group round Silvermane, and struck hard with thespurs. 

The gray, never before spurred, broke down the road into his old wildspeed. 

Men were crossing from the corner of the green square. One, a compactlittle fellow, swarthy, his dark hair long and flowing, with jaunty andalert air, was Dene, the outlaw leader. He stopped, with his companions, to let the horse cross. 

Hare guided the thundering stallion slightly to the left. Silvermaneswerved and in two mighty leaps bore down on the outlaw. Dene savedhimself by quickly leaping aside, but even as he moved Silvermane struckhim with his left fore-leg, sending him into the dust. 

At the street corner Hare glanced back. Yelling men were rushing fromthe saloon and some of them fired after him. The bullets whistledharmlessly behind Hare. Then the corner house shut off his view. 

Silvermane lengthened out and stretched lower with his white mane flyingand his nose pointed level for the desert. 

XI. THE DESERT-HAWK

TOWARD the close of the next day Jack Hare arrived at Seeping Springs. A pile of gray ashes marked the spot where the trimmed logs had lain. Round the pool ran a black circle hard packed into the ground by manyhoofs. Even the board flume had been burned to a level with the glancingsheet of water. Hare was slipping Silvermane's bit to let him drink whenhe heard a halloo. Dave Naab galloped out of the cedars, and presentlyAugust Naab and his other sons appeared with a pack-train. 

"Now you've played bob!" exclaimed Dave. He swung out of his saddle andgripped Hare with both hands. "I know what you've done; I know whereyou've been. Father will be furious, but don't you care. "

The other Naabs trotted down the slope and lined their horses beforethe pool. The sons stared in blank astonishment; the father surveyed thescene slowly, and then fixed wrathful eyes on Hare. 

"What does this mean?" he demanded, with the sonorous roll of his angryvoice. 

Hare told all that had happened. 

August Naab's gloomy face worked, and his eagle-gaze had in it astrange far-seeing light; his mind was dwelling upon his mystic power ofrevelation. 

"I see--I see, " he said haltingly. 

"Ki--yi-i-i!" yelled Dave Naab with all the power of his lungs. His headwas back, his mouth wide open, his face red, his neck corded and swollenwith the intensity of his passion. 

"Be still--boy!" ordered his father. "Hare, this was madness--but tellme what you learned. "

Briefly Hare repeated all that he had been told at the Bishop's, andconcluded with the killing of Martin Cole by Dene. 

August Naab bowed his head and his giant frame shook under the force ofhis emotion. Martin Cole was the last of his life-long friends. 

"This--this outlaw--you say you ran him down?" asked Naab, risinghaggard and shaken out of his grief. 

"Yes. He didn't recognize me or know what was coming till Silvermane wason him. But he was quick, and fell sidewise. Silvermane's knee sent himsprawling. "

"What will it all lead to?" asked August Naab, and in his extremity heappealed to his eldest son. 

"The bars are down, " said Snap Naab, with a click of his long teeth. 

"Father, " began Dave Naab earnestly, "Jack has done a splendid thing. The news will fly over Utah like wildfire. Mormons are slow. They need aleader. But they can follow and they will. We can't cure these evils byhoping and praying. We've got to fight!"

"Dave's right, dad, it means fight, " cried George, with his fistclinched high. 

"You've been wrong, father, in holding back, " said Zeke Naab, his leanjaw bulging. "This Holderness will steal the water and meat out of ourchildren's mouths. We've got to fight!"

"Let's ride to White Sage, " put in Snap Naab, and the little flecksin his eyes were dancing. "I'll throw a gun on Dene. I can get to him. We've been tolerable friends. He's wanted me to join his band. I'll killhim. "

He laughed as he raised his right hand and swept it down to his leftside; the blue Colt lay on his outstretched palm. Dene's life andHolderness's, too, hung in the balance between two deadly snaps of thisdesert-wolf's teeth. He was one of the Naabs, and yet apart from them, for neither religion, nor friendship, nor life itself mattered to him. 

August Naab's huge bulk shook again, not this time with grief, butin wrestling effort to withstand the fiery influence of this unholyfighting spirit among his sons. 

"I am forbidden. "

His answer was gentle, but its very gentleness breathed of his battleover himself, of allegiance to something beyond earthly duty. "We'lldrive the cattle to Silver Cup, " he decided, "and then go home. Igive up Seeping Springs. Perhaps this valley and water will contentHolderness. "

When they reached the oasis Hare was surprised to find that it was theday before Christmas. The welcome given the long-absent riders was likea celebration. Much to Hare's disappointment Mescal did not appear; thehomecoming was not joyful to him because it lacked her welcoming smile. 

Christmas Day ushered in the short desert winter; ice formed in theditches and snow fell, but neither long resisted the reflection of thesun from the walls. The early morning hours were devoted to religiousservices. At midday dinner was served in the big room of August Naab'scabin. At one end was a stone fireplace where logs blazed and crackled. 

In all his days Hare had never seen such a bountiful board. Yet hewas unable to appreciate it, to share in the general thanksgiving. Dominating all other feeling was the fear that Mescal would come in andtake a seat by Snap Naab's side. When Snap seated himself oppositewith his pale little wife Hare found himself waiting for Mescal withan intensity that made him dead to all else. The girls, Judith, Esther, Rebecca, came running gayly in, clad in their best dresses, with brightribbons to honor the occasion. Rebecca took the seat beside Snap, andHare gulped with a hard contraction of his throat. Mescal was not yet aMormon's wife! He seemed to be lifted upward, to grow light-headed withthe blessed assurance. Then Mescal entered and took the seat next tohim. She smiled and spoke, and the blood beat thick in his ears. 

That moment was happy, but it was as nothing to its successor. Under thetable-cover Mescal's hand found his, and pressed it daringly and gladly. Her hand lingered in his all the time August Naab spent in carving theturkey--lingered there even though Snap Naab's hawk eyes were never faraway. In the warm touch of her hand, in some subtle thing that radiatedfrom her Hare felt a change in the girl he loved. A few months hadwrought in her some indefinable difference, even as they had increasedhis love to its full volume and depth. Had his absence brought her tothe realization of her woman's heart?

In the afternoon Hare left the house and spent a little while withSilvermane; then he wandered along the wall to the head of the oasis, and found a seat on the fence. The next few weeks presented to him asituation that would be difficult to endure. He would be near Mescal, but only to have the truth forced cruelly home to him every sanemoment--that she was not for him. Out on the ranges he had abandonedhimself to dreams of her; they had been beautiful; they had made thelong hours seem like minutes; but they had forged chains that could notbe broken, and now he was hopelessly fettered. 

The clatter of hoofs roused him from a reverie which was half sad, halfsweet. Mescal came tearing down the level on Black Bolly. She pulledin the mustang and halted beside Hare to hold out shyly a red scarfembroidered with Navajo symbols in white and red beads. 

"I've wanted a chance to give you this, " she said, "a little Christmaspresent. "

For a few seconds Hare could find no words. 

"Did you make it for me, Mescal?" he finally asked. "How good of you!I'll keep it always. "

"Put it on now--let me tie it--there!"

"But, child. Suppose he--they saw it?"

"I don't care who sees it. "

She met him with clear, level eyes. Her curt, crisp speech was full ofmeaning. He looked long at her, with a yearning denied for many a day. Her face was the same, yet wonderfully changed; the same in line andcolor, but different in soul and spirit. The old sombre shadow lay deepin the eyes, but to it had been added gleam of will and reflection ofthought. The whole face had been refined and transformed. 

"Mescal! What's happened? You're not the same. You seem almost happy. Have you--has he--given you up?"

"Don't you know Mormons better than that? The thing is the same--so faras they're concerned. "

"But Mescal--are you going to marry him? For God's sake, tell me. "

"Never. " It was a woman's word, instant, inflexible, desperate. With adeep breath Hare realized where the girl had changed. 

"Still you're promised, pledged to him! How'll you get out of it?"

"I don't know how. But I'll cut out my tongue, and be dumb as my poorpeon before I'll speak the word that'll make me Snap Naab's wife. "

There was a long silence. Mescal smoothed out Bolly's mane, and Haregazed up at the walls with eyes that did not see them. 

Presently he spoke. "I'm afraid for you. Snap watched us to-day atdinner. "

"He's jealous. "

"Suppose he sees this scarf?"

Mescal laughed defiantly. It was bewildering for Hare to hear her. 

"He'll--Mescal, I may yet come to this. " Hare's laugh echoed Mescal's ashe pointed to the enclosure under the wall, where the graves showed bareand rough. 

Her warm color fled, but it flooded back, rich, mantling brow and cheekand neck. 

"Snap Naab will never kill you, " she said impulsively. 

"Mescal. "

She swiftly turned her face away as his hand closed on hers. 

"Mescal, do you love me?"

The trembling of her fingers and the heaving of her bosom lent his hopeconviction. "Mescal, " he went on, "these past months have been years, years of toiling, thinking, changing, but always loving. I'm not the manyou knew. I'm wild-- I'm starved for a sight of you. I love you! Mescal, my desert flower!"

She raised her free hand to his shoulder and swayed toward him. He heldher a moment, clasped tight, and then released her. 

"I'm quite mad!" he exclaimed, in a passion of self-reproach. "Whata risk I'm putting on you! But I couldn't help it. Look at me-- Justonce--please-- Mescal, just one look. .. . Now go. "

The drama of the succeeding days was of absorbing interest. Harehad liberty; there was little work for him to do save to care forSilvermane. He tried to hunt foxes in the caves and clefts; he rode upand down the broad space under the walls; he sought the open desert onlyto be driven in by the bitter, biting winds. Then he would return tothe big living-room of the Naabs and sit before the burning logs. Thisspacious room was warm, light, pleasant, and was used by every one inleisure hours. Mescal spent most of her time there. She was engagedupon a new frock of buckskin, and over this she bent with her needleand beads. When there was a chance Hare talked with her, speaking onelanguage with his tongue, a far different one with his eyes. When shewas not present he looked into the glowing red fire and dreamed of her. 

In the evenings when Snap came in to his wooing and drew Mescal intoa corner, Hare watched with covert glance and smouldering jealousy. Somehow he had come to see all things and all people in the desertglass, and his symbol for Snap Naab was the desert-hawk. Snap's eyeswere as wild and piercing as those of a hawk; his nose and mouth wereas the beak of a hawk; his hands resembled the claws of a hawk; andthe spurs he wore, always bloody, were still more significant of hisruthless nature. Then Snap's courting of the girl, the cool assurance, the unhastening ease, were like the slow rise, the sail, and the poiseof a desert-hawk before the downward lightning-swift swoop on hisquarry. 

It was intolerable for Hare to sit there in the evenings, to try to playwith the children who loved him, to talk to August Naab when his eyeseemed ever drawn to the quiet couple in the corner, and his earwas unconsciously strained to catch a passing word. That hour was amiserable one for him, yet he could not bring himself to leave the room. He never saw Snap touch her; he never heard Mescal's voice; he believedthat she spoke very little. When the hour was over and Mescal rose topass to her room, then his doubt, his fear, his misery, were as thoughthey had never been, for as Mescal said good-night she would give himone look, swift as a flash, and in it were womanliness and purity, andsomething beyond his comprehension. Her Indian serenity and mysticismveiled yet suggested some secret, some power by which she might yetescape the iron band of this Mormon rule. Hare could not fathom it. In that good-night glance was a meaning for him alone, if meaningever shone in woman's eyes, and it said: "I will be true to you and tomyself!"

Once the idea struck him that as soon as spring returned it would bean easy matter, and probably wise, for him to leave the oasis and go upinto Utah, far from the desert-canyon country. But the thought refusedto stay before his consciousness a moment. New life had flushed hisveins here. He loved the dreamy, sleepy oasis with its mellow sunshinealways at rest on the glistening walls; he loved the cedar-scentedplateau where hope had dawned, and the wind-swept sand-strips, wherehard out-of-door life and work had renewed his wasting youth; he lovedthe canyon winding away toward Coconina, opening into wide abyss;and always, more than all, he loved the Painted Desert, with itsever-changing pictures, printed in sweeping dust and bare peaks andpurple haze. He loved the beauty of these places, and the wildness inthem had an affinity with something strange and untamed in him. He wouldnever leave them. When his blood had cooled, when this tumultuous thrilland swell had worn themselves out, happiness would come again. 

Early in the winter Snap Naab had forced his wife to visit hisfather's house with him; and she had remained in the room, white-faced, passionately jealous, while he wooed Mescal. Then had come a scene. Harehad not been present, but he knew its results. Snap had been furious, his father grave, Mescal tearful and ashamed. The wife found many waysto interrupt her husband's lovemaking. She sent the children for him;she was taken suddenly ill; she discovered that the corral gate was openand his cream-colored pinto, dearest to his heart, was running loose;she even set her cottage on fire. 

One Sunday evening just before twilight Hare was sitting on the porchwith August Naab and Dave, when their talk was interrupted by Snap'sloud calling for his wife. At first the sounds came from inside hiscabin. Then he put his head out of a window and yelled. Plainly he wasboth impatient and angry. It was nearly time for him to make his Sundaycall upon Mescal. 

"Something's wrong, " muttered Dave. 

"Hester! Hester!" yelled Snap. 

Mother Ruth came out and said that Hester was not there. 

"Where is she?" Snap banged on the window-sill with his fists. "Findher, somebody--Hester!"

"Son, this is the Sabbath, " called Father Naab, gravely. "Lower yourvoice. Now what's the matter?"

"Matter!" bawled Snap, giving way to rage. "When I was asleep Hesterstole all my clothes. She's hid them--she's run off--there's not a d--nthing for me to put on! I'll--"

The roar of laughter from August and Dave drowned the rest of thespeech. Hare managed to stifle his own mirth. Snap pulled in his headand slammed the window shut. 

"Jack, " said August, "even among Mormons the course of true love neverruns smooth. "

Hare finally forgot his bitter humor in pity for the wife. Snap cameto care not at all for her messages and tricks, and he let nothinginterfere with his evening beside Mescal. It was plain that he had gonefar on the road of love. Whatever he had been in the beginning of thebetrothal, he was now a lover, eager, importunate. His hawk's eyes weresofter than Hare had ever seen them; he was obliging, kind, gay, analtogether different Snap Naab. He groomed himself often, and woreclean scarfs, and left off his bloody spurs. For eight months he hadnot touched the bottle. When spring approached he was madly in love withMescal. And the marriage was delayed because his wife would not haveanother woman in her home. 

Once Hare heard Snap remonstrating with his father. 

"If she don't come to time soon I'll keep the kids and send her back toher father. "

"Don't be hasty, son. Let her have time, " replied August. "Women mustbe humored. I'll wager she'll give in before the cottonwood blows, andthat's not long. "

It was Hare's habit, as the days grew warmer, to walk a good deal, andone evening, as twilight shadowed the oasis and grew black under thetowering walls, he strolled out toward the fields. While passing Snap'scottage Hare heard a woman's voice in passionate protest and a man's instrident anger. Later as he stood with his arm on Silvermane, a woman'sscream, at first high-pitched, then suddenly faint and smothered, causedhim to grow rigid, and his hand clinched tight. When he went back by thecottage a low moaning confirmed his suspicion. 

That evening Snap appeared unusually bright and happy; and he asked hisfather to name the day for the wedding. August did so in a loud voiceand with evident relief. Then the quaint Mormon congratulationswere offered to Mescal. To Hare, watching the strange girl with thedistressingly keen intuition of an unfortunate lover, she appeared aspleased as any of them that the marriage was settled. But there was noshyness, no blushing confusion. When Snap bent to kiss her--his firstkiss--she slightly turned her face, so that his lips brushed her cheek, yet even then her self-command did not break for an instant. It was atask for Hare to pretend to congratulate her; nevertheless he mumbledsomething. She lifted her long lashes, and there, deep beneath theshadows, was unutterable anguish. It gave him a shock. He went to hisroom, convinced that she had yielded; and though he could not blame her, and he knew she was helpless, he cried out in reproach and resentment. She had failed him, as he had known she must fail. He tossed on his bedand thought; he lay quiet, wide-open eyes staring into the darkness, and his mind burned and seethed. Through the hours of that long night helearned what love had cost him. 

With the morning light came some degree of resignation. Several dayswent slowly by, bringing the first of April, which was to be thewedding-day. August Naab had said it would come before the cottonwoodsshed their white floss; and their buds had just commenced to open. Theday was not a holiday, and George and Zeke and Dave began to pack forthe ranges, yet there was an air of jollity and festivity. Snap Naab hada springy step and jaunty mien. Once he regarded Hare with a slow smile. 

Piute prepared to drive his new flock up on the plateau. The women ofthe household were busy and excited; the children romped. 

The afternoon waned into twilight, and Hare sought the quiet shadowsunder the wall near the river trail. He meant to stay there until AugustNaab had pronounced his son and Mescal man and wife. The dull roar ofthe rapids borne on a faint puff of westerly breeze was lulled into asoothing murmur. A radiant white star peeped over the black rim of thewall. The solitude and silence were speaking to Hare's heart, easing hispain, when a soft patter of moccasined feet brought him bolt upright. 

A slender form rounded the corner wall. It was Mescal. The white dogWolf hung close by her side. Swiftly she reached Hare. 

"Mescal!" he exclaimed. 

"Hush! Speak softly, " she whispered fearfully. Her hands were clingingto his. 

"Jack, do you love me still?"

More than woman's sweetness was in the whisper; the portent ofindefinable motive made Hare tremble like a shaking leaf. 

"Good heavens! You are to be married in a few minutes--What do you mean?Where are you going? this buckskin suit--and Wolf with you--Mescal!"

"There's no time--only a word--hurry--do you love me still?" she panted, with great shining eyes close to his. 

"Love you? With all my soul!"

"Listen, " she whispered, and leaned against him. A fresh breeze bore theboom of the river. She caught her breath quickly: "I love you!--I loveyou!--Good-bye!"

She kissed him and broke from his clasp. Then silently, like a shadow, with the white dog close beside her, she disappeared in the darkness ofthe river trail. 

She was gone before he came out of his bewilderment. He rushed down thetrail; he called her name. The gloom had swallowed her, and only theecho of his voice made answer. 

XII. ECHO CLIFFS

WHEN thought came clearly to him he halted irresolute. For Mescal's sakehe must not appear to have had any part in her headlong flight, or anyknowledge of it. 

With stealthy footsteps he reached the cottonwoods, stole under thegloomy shade, and felt his way to a point beyond the twinklinglights. Then, peering through the gloom until assured he was safe fromobservation, and taking the dark side of the house, he gained the hall, and his room. He threw himself on his bed, and endeavored to composehimself, to quiet his vibrating nerves, to still the triumphantbell-beat of his heart. For a while all his being swung to thepalpitating consciousness of joy--Mescal had taken her freedom. She hadescaped the swoop of the hawk. 

While Hare lay there, trying to gather his shattered senses, the merrysound of voices and the music of an accordion hummed from the bigliving-room next to his. Presently heavy boots thumped on the floor ofthe hall; then a hand rapped on his door. 

"Jack, are you there?" called August Naab. 

"Yes. "

"Come along then. "

Hare rose, opened the door and followed August. The room was bright withlights; the table was set, and the Naabs, large and small, were standingexpectantly. As Hare found a place behind them Snap Naab entered withhis wife. She was as pale as if she were in her shroud. Hare caughtMother Ruth's pitying subdued glance as she drew the frail little womanto her side. When August Naab began fingering his Bible the whisperingceased. 

"Why don't they fetch her?" he questioned. 

"Judith, Esther, bring her in, " said Mother Mary, calling into thehallway. 

Quick footsteps, and the girls burst in impetuously, exclaiming:"Mescal's not there!"

"Where is she, then?" demanded August Naab, going to the door. "Mescal!"he called. 

Succeeding his authoritative summons only the cheery sputter of thewood-fire broke the silence. 

"She hadn't put on her white frock, " went on Judith. 

"Her buckskins aren't hanging where they always are, " continued Esther. 

August Naab laid his Bible on the table. "I always feared it, " he saidsimply. 

"She's gone!" cried Snap Naab. He ran into the hall, into Mescal's room, and returned trailing the white wedding-dress. "The time we thought shespent to put this on she's been--"

He choked over the words, and sank into a chair, face convulsed, handsshaking, weak in the grip of a grief that he had never before known. Suddenly he flung the dress into the fire. His wife fell to the floor ina dead faint. Then the desert-hawk showed his claws. His hands toreat the close scarf round his throat as if to liberate a fury that wasstifling him; his face lost all semblance to anything human. He beganto howl, to rave, to curse; and his father circled him with iron arm anddragged him from the room. 

The children were whimpering, the wives lamenting. The quiet mensearched the house and yard and corrals and fields. But they found nosign of Mescal. After long hours the excitement subsided and all soughttheir beds. 

Morning disclosed the facts of Mescal's flight. She had dressed for thetrail; a knapsack was missing and food enough to fill it; Wolf was gone;Noddle was not in his corral; the peon slave had not slept in his shack;there were moccasin-tracks and burro-tracks and dog-tracks in the sandat the river crossing, and one of the boats was gone. This boat was notmoored to the opposite shore. Questions arose. Had the boat sunk? Hadthe fugitives crossed safely or had they drifted into the canyon? DaveNaab rode out along the river and saw the boat, a mile below the rapids, bottom side up and lodged on a sand-bar. 

"She got across, and then set the boat loose, " said August. "That's theIndian of her. If she went up on the cliffs to the Navajos maybe we'llfind her. If she went into the Painted Desert--" a grave shake of hisshaggy head completed his sentence. 

Morning also disclosed Snap Naab once more in the clutch of his demon, drunk and unconscious, lying like a log on the porch of his cottage. 

"This means ruin to him, " said his father. "He had one chance; he wasmad over Mescal, and if he had got her, he might have conquered histhirst for rum. "

He gave orders for the sheep to be driven up on the plateau, and forhis sons to ride out to the cattle ranges. He bade Hare pack and getin readiness to accompany him to the Navajo cliffs, there to search forMescal. 

The river was low, as the spring thaws had not yet set in, and thecrossing promised none of the hazard so menacing at a later period. Billy Naab rowed across with the saddle and packs. Then August had tocrowd the lazy burros into the water. Silvermane went in with a rush, and Charger took to the river like an old duck. August and Jack satin the stern of the boat, while Billy handled the oars. They crossedswiftly and safely. The three burros were then loaded, two with packs, the other with a heavy water-bag. 

"See there, " said August, pointing to tracks in the sand. The imprintsof little moccasins reassured Hare, for he had feared the possibilitysuggested by the upturned boat. "Perhaps it'll be better if I never findher, " continued Naab. "If I bring her back Snap's as likely to kill heras to marry her. But I must try to find her. Only what to do with her--"

"Give her to me, " interrupted Jack. 

"Hare!"

"I love her!"

Naab's stern face relaxed. "Well, I'm beat! Though I don't see why youshould be different from all the others. It was that time you spent withher on the plateau. I thought you too sick to think of a woman!"

"Mescal cares for me, " said Hare. 

"Ah! That accounts. Hare, did you play me fair?"

"We tried to, though we couldn't help loving. "

"She would have married Snap but for you. "

"Yes. But I couldn't help that. You brought me out here, and saved mylife. I know what I owe you. Mescal meant to marry your son when I leftfor the range last fall. But she's a true woman and couldn't. AugustNaab, if we ever find her will you marry her to him--now?"

"That depends. Did you know she intended to run?"

"I never dreamed of it. I learned it only at the last moment. I met heron the river trail. "

"You should have stopped her. "

Hare maintained silence. 

"You should have told me, " went on Naab. 

"I couldn't. I'm only human. "

"Well, well, I'm not blaming you, Hare. I had hot blood once. But I'mafraid the desert will not be large enough for you and Snap. She'spledged to him. You can't change the Mormon Church. For the sake ofpeace I'd give you Mescal, if I could. Snap will either have her orkill her. I'm going to hunt this desert in advance of him, because he'lltrail her like a hound. It would be better to marry her to him than tosee her dead. "

"I'm not so sure of that. "

"Hare, your nose is on a blood scent, like a wolf's. I can see--I'vealways seen--well, remember, it's man to man between you now. "

During this talk they were winding under Echo Cliffs, graduallyclimbing, and working up to a level with the desert, which theypresently attained at a point near the head of the canyon. The trailswerved to the left following the base of the cliffs. The tracks ofNoddle and Wolf were plainly visible in the dust. Hare felt that ifthey ever led out into the immense airy space of the desert all hope offinding Mescal must be abandoned. 

They trailed the tracks of the dog and burro to Bitter Seeps, a shallowspring of alkali, and there lost all track of them. The path up thecliffs to the Navajo ranges was bare, time-worn in solid rock, andshowed only the imprint of age. Desertward the ridges of shale, thewashes of copper earth, baked in the sun, gave no sign of the fugitives'course. August Naab shrugged his broad shoulders and pointed his horseto the cliff. It was dusk when they surmounted it. 

They camped in the lee of an uplifting crag. When the wind died downthe night was no longer unpleasantly cool; and Hare, finding August Naabuncommunicative and sleepy, strolled along the rim of the cliff, ashe had been wont to do in the sheep-herding days. He could scarcelydissociate them from the present, for the bitter-sweet smell of tree andbush, the almost inaudible sigh of breeze, the opening and shutting ofthe great white stars in the blue dome, the silence, the sense of theinvisible void beneath him--all were thought-provoking parts of thatpast of which nothing could ever be forgotten. And it was a silencewhich brought much to the ear that could hear. It was a silencepenetrated by faint and distant sounds, by mourning wolf, or moan ofwind in a splintered crag. Weird and low, an inarticulate voice, itwailed up from the desert, winding along the hollow trail, freeingitself in the wide air, and dying away. He had often heard the scream oflion and cry of wildcat, but this was the strange sound of which AugustNaab had told him, the mysterious call of canyon and desert night. 

Daylight showed Echo Cliffs to be of vastly greater range than thesister plateau across the river. The roll of cedar level, the heave ofcraggy ridge, the dip of white-sage valley gave this side a diversitywidely differing from the two steps of the Vermillion tableland. AugustNaab followed a trail leading back toward the river. For the mostpart thick cedars hid the surroundings from Hare's view; occasionally, however, he had a backward glimpse from a high point, or a wide prospectbelow, where the trail overlooked an oval hemmed-in valley. 

About midday August Naab brushed through a thicket, and came abruptly ona declivity. He turned to his companion with a wave of his hand. 

"The Navajo camp, " he said. "Eschtah has lived there for many years. It's the only permanent Navajo camp I know. These Indians are nomads. Most of them live wherever the sheep lead them. This plateau ranges fora hundred miles, farther than any white man knows, and everywhere, inthe valleys and green nooks, will be found Navajo hogans. That's why wemay never find Mescal. "

Hare's gaze travelled down over the tips of cedar and crag to a pleasantvale, dotted with round mound-like white-streaked hogans, from whichlazy floating columns of blue smoke curled upward. Mustangs and burrosand sheep browsed on the white patches of grass. Bright-red blanketsblazed on the cedar branches. There was slow colorful movementof Indians, passing in and out of their homes. The scene broughtirresistibly to Hare the thought of summer, of long warm afternoons, ofleisure that took no stock of time. 

On the way down the trail they encountered a flock of sheep driven by alittle Navajo boy on a brown burro. It was difficult to tell which wasthe more surprised, the long-eared burro, which stood stock-still, orthe boy, who first kicked and pounded his shaggy steed, and then jumpedoff and ran with black locks flying. Farther down Indian girls startedup from their tasks, and darted silently into the shade of the cedars. August Naab whooped when he reached the valley, and Indian bravesappeared, to cluster round him, shake his hand and Hare's, and lead themtoward the centre of the encampment. 

The hogans where these desert savages dwelt were all alike; only thechief's was larger. From without it resembled a mound of clay with a fewwhite logs, half imbedded, shining against the brick red. August Naabdrew aside a blanket hanging over a door, and entered, beckoning hiscompanion to follow. Inured as Hare had become to the smell and smart ofwood-smoke, for a moment he could not see, or scarcely breathe, sothick was the atmosphere. A fire, the size of which attested the desertIndian's love of warmth, blazed in the middle of the hogan, and sentpart of its smoke upward through a round hole in the roof. Eschtah, withblanket over his shoulders, his lean black head bent, sat near thefire. He noted the entrance of his visitors, but immediately resumed hismeditative posture, and appeared to be unaware of their presence. 

Hare followed August's example, sitting down and speaking no word. His eyes, however, roved discreetly to and fro. Eschtah's three wivespresented great differences in age and appearance. The eldest was awrinkled, parchment-skinned old hag who sat sightless before the fire;the next was a solid square squaw, employed in the task of combing anaked boy's hair with a comb made of stiff thin roots tied tightly ina round bunch. Judging from the youngster's actions and grimaces, thiscombing process was not a pleasant one. The third wife, much younger, had a comely face, and long braids of black hair, of which, evidently, she was proud. She leaned on her knees over a flat slab of rock, andholding in her hands a long oval stone, she rolled and mashed corn intomeal. There were young braves, handsome in their bronze-skinned way, with bands binding their straight thick hair, silver rings in theirears, silver bracelets on their wrists, silver buttons on theirmoccasins. There were girls who looked up from their blanket-weavingwith shy curiosity, and then turned to their frames strung with longthreads. Under their nimble fingers the wool-carrying needles slippedin and out, and the colored stripes grew apace. Then there were youngerboys and girls, all bright-eyed and curious; and babies sleeping onblankets. Where the walls and ceiling were not covered with buckskingarments, weapons and blankets, Hare saw the white wood-ribs of thehogan structure. It was a work of art, this circular house of forkedlogs and branches, interwoven into a dome, arched and strong, and allcovered and cemented with clay. 

At a touch of August's hand Hare turned to the old chief; and awaitedhis speech. It came with the uplifting of Eschtah's head, and theoffering of his hand in the white man's salute. August's replies wereslow and labored; he could not speak the Navajo language fluently, buthe understood it. 

"The White Prophet is welcome, " was the chief's greeting. "Does he comefor sheep or braves or to honor the Navajo in his home?"

"Eschtah, he seeks the Flower of the Desert, " replied August Naab. "Mescal has left him. Her trail leads to the bitter waters under thecliff, and then is as a bird's. "

"Eschtah has waited, yet Mescal has not come to him. "

"She has not been here?"

"Mescal's shadow has not gladdened the Navajo's door. "

"She has climbed the crags or wandered into the canyons. The whitefather loves her; he must find her. "

"Eschtah's braves and mustangs are for his friend's use. The Navajo willfind her if she is not as the grain of drifting sand. But is the WhiteProphet wise in his years? Let the Flower of the Desert take root in thesoil of her forefathers. "

"Eschtah's wisdom is great, but he thinks only of Indian blood. Mescalis half white, and her ways have been the ways of the white man. Nordoes Eschtah think of the white man's love. "

"The desert has called. Where is the White Prophet's vision? White bloodand red blood will not mix. The Indian's blood pales in the whiteman's stream; or it burns red for the sun and the waste and the wild. Eschtah's forefathers, sleeping here in the silence, have called theDesert Flower. "

"It is true. But the white man is bound; he cannot be as the Indian;he does not content himself with life as it is; he hopes and prays forchange; he believes in the progress of his race on earth. ThereforeEschtah's white friend smelts Mescal; he has brought her up as his own;he wants to take her home, to love her better, to trust to the future. "

"The white man's ways are white man's ways. Eschtah understands. Heremembers his daughter lying here. He closed her dead eyes and sent wordto his white friend. He named this child for the flower that blows inthe wind of silent places. Eschtah gave his granddaughter to his friend. She has been the bond between them. Now she is flown and the WhiteFather seeks the Navajo. Let him command. Eschtah has spoken. "

Eschtah pressed into Naab's service a band of young braves, under theguidance of several warriors who knew every trail of the range, everywaterhole, every cranny where even a wolf might hide. They swept theriver-end of the plateau, and working westward, scoured the levels, ridges, valleys, climbed to the peaks, and sent their Indian dogs intothe thickets and caves. From Eschtah's encampment westward the hogansdiminished in number till only one here and there was discovered, hiddenunder a yellow wall, or amid a clump of cedars. All the Indians met withwere sternly questioned by the chiefs, their dwellings were searched, and the ground about their waterholes was closely examined. Mile aftermile the plateau was covered by these Indians, who beat the brush andpenetrated the fastnesses with a hunting instinct that left scarcely arabbit-burrow unrevealed. The days sped by; the circle of the sun archedhigher; the patches of snow in high places disappeared; and the searchproceeded westward. They camped where the night overtook them, sometimesnear water and grass, sometimes in bare dry places. To the westward theplateau widened. Rugged ridges rose here and there, and seared cragssplit the sky like sharp sawteeth. And after many miles of wildup-ranging they reached a divide which marked the line of Eschtah'sdomain. 

Naab's dogged persistence and the Navajos' faithfulness carried theminto the country of the Moki Indians, a tribe classed as slaves by theproud race of Eschtah. Here they searched the villages and ancient tombsand ruins, but of Mescal there was never a trace. 

Hare rode as diligently and searched as indefatigably as August, but henever had any real hope of finding the girl. To hunt for her, however, despite its hopelessness, was a melancholy satisfaction, for never wasshe out of his mind. 

Nor was the month's hard riding with the Navajos without profit. He madefriends with the Indians, and learned to speak many of their words. Thena whole host of desert tricks became part of his accumulating knowledge. In climbing the crags, in looking for water and grass, in loosingSilvermane at night and searching for him at dawn, in marking tracks onhard ground, in all the sight and feeling and smell of desert things helearned much from the Navajos. The whole outward life of the Indian wasconcerned with the material aspect of Nature--dust, rock, air, wind, smoke, the cedars, the beasts of the desert. These things made up theIndians' day. The Navajos were worshippers of the physical; the sun wastheir supreme god. In the mornings when the gray of dawn flushed torosy red they began their chant to the sun. At sunset the Navajos werewatchful and silent with faces westward. The Moki Indians also, Hareobserved, had their morning service to the great giver of light. In thegloom of early dawn, before the pink appeared in the east, and all waswhitening gray, the Mokis emerged from their little mud and stone hutsand sat upon the roofs with blanketed and drooping heads. 

One day August Naab showed in few words how significant a factor the sunwas in the lives of desert men. 

"We've got to turn back, " he said to Hare. "The sun's getting hot andthe snow will melt in the mountains. If the Colorado rises too high wecan't cross. "

They were two days in riding back to the encampment. Eschtah receivedthem in dignified silence, expressive of his regret. When their time ofdeparture arrived he accompanied them to the head of the nearest trail, which started down from Saweep Peak, the highest point of Echo Cliffs. It was the Navajos' outlook over the Painted Desert. 

"Mescal is there, " said August Naab. "She's there with the slave Eschtahgave her. He leads Mescal. Who can follow him there?"

The old chieftain reined in his horse, beside the time-hollowed trail, and the same hand that waved his white friend downward swept up inslow stately gesture toward the illimitable expanse. It was a warrior'ssalute to an unconquered world. Hare saw in his falcon eyes the stillgleam, the brooding fire, the mystical passion that haunted the eyes ofMescal. 

"The slave without a tongue is a wolf. He scents the trails and thewaters. Eschtah's eyes have grown old watching here, but he has seen noIndian who could follow Mescal's slave. Eschtah will lie there, but noIndian will know the path to the place of his sleep. Mescal's trail islost in the sand. No man may find it. Eschtah's words are wisdom. Look!"

To search for any living creatures in that borderless domain of coloreddune, of shifting cloud of sand, of purple curtain shrouding mesa anddome, appeared the vainest of all human endeavors. It seemed a veritablerainbow realm of the sun. At first only the beauty stirred Hare--he sawthe copper belt close under the cliffs, the white beds of alkaliand washes of silt farther out, the wind-ploughed canyons anddust-encumbered ridges ranging west and east, the scalloped slopes ofthe flat tableland rising low, the tips of volcanic peaks leading theeye beyond to veils and vapors hovering over blue clefts and dim lineof level lanes, and so on, and on, out to the vast unknown. Then Haregrasped a little of its meaning. It was a sun-painted, sun-governedworld. Here was deep and majestic Nature eternal and unchangeable. Butit was only through Eschtah's eyes that he saw its parched slopes, itsterrifying desolateness, its sleeping death. 

When the old chieftain's lips opened Hare anticipated the austerespeech, the import that meant only pain to him, and his whole innerbeing seemed to shrink. 

"The White Prophet's child of red blood is lost to him, " said Eschtah. "The Flower of the Desert is as a grain of drifting sand. "

XIII. THE SOMBRE LINE

AUGUST NAAB hoped that Mescal might have returned in his absence; butto Hare such hope was vain. The women of the oasis met them with gloomyfaces presaging bad news, and they were reluctant to tell it. Mescal'sflight had been forgotten in the sterner and sadder misfortune that hadfollowed. 

Snap Naab's wife lay dangerously ill, the victim of his drunken frenzy. For days after the departure of August and Jack the man had kept himselfin a stupor; then his store of drink failing, he had come out of hisalmost senseless state into an insane frenzy. He had tried to kill hiswife and wreck his cottage, being prevented in the nick of time by DaveNaab, the only one of his brothers who dared approach him. Then he hadridden off on the White Sage trail and had not been heard from since. 

The Mormon put forth all his skill in surgery and medicine to save thelife of his son's wife, but he admitted that he had grave misgivingsas to her recovery. But these in no manner affected his patience, gentleness, and cheer. While there was life there was hope, said AugustNaab. He bade Hare, after he had rested awhile, to pack and ride out tothe range, and tell his sons that he would come later. 

It was a relief to leave the oasis, and Hare started the same day, andmade Silver Cup that night. As he rode under the low-branching cedarstoward the bright camp-fire he looked about him sharply. But not one ofthe four faces ruddy in the glow belonged to Snap Naab. 

"Hello, Jack, " called Dave Naab, into the dark. "I knew that was you. Silvermane sure rings bells when he hoofs it down the stones. How'reyou and dad? and did you find Mescal? I'll bet that desert child led youclear to the Little Colorado. "

Hare told the story of the fruitless search. 

"It's no more than we expected, " said Dave. "The man doesn't live whocan trail the peon. Mescal's like a captured wild mustang that's slippedher halter and gone free. She'll die out there on the desert or turninto a stalk of the Indian cactus for which she's named. It's a pity, for she's a good girl, too good for Snap. "

"What's your news?" inquired Hare. 

"Oh, nothing much, " replied Dave, with a short laugh. "The cattlewintered well. We've had little to do but hang round and watch. Zeke andI chased old Whitefoot one day, and got pretty close to Seeping Springs. We met Joe Stube, a rider who was once a friend of Zeke's. He's withHolderness now, and he said that Holderness had rebuilt the corrals atthe spring; also he has put up a big cabin, and he has a dozen ridersthere. Stube told us Snap had been shooting up White Sage. He finishedup by killing Snood. They got into an argument about you. "

"About me!"

"Yes, it seems that Snood took your part, and Snap wouldn't stand forit. Too bad! Snood was a good fellow. There's no use talking, Snap'sgoing too far--he is--" Dave did not conclude his remark, and thesilence was more significant than any utterance. 

"What will the Mormons in White Sage say about Snap's killing Snood?"

"They've said a lot. This even-break business goes all right amonggun-fighters, but the Mormons call killing murder. They've outlawedCulver, and Snap will be outlawed next. "

"Your father hinted that Snap would find the desert too small for himand me?"

"Jack, you can't be too careful. I've wanted to speak to you aboutit. Snap will ride in here some day and then--" Dave's pause was notreassuring. 

And it was only on the third day after Dave's remark that Hare, ridingdown the mountain with a deer he had shot, looked out from the trail andsaw Snap's cream pinto trotting toward Silver Cup. Beside Snap rode atall man on a big bay. When Hare reached camp he reported to George andZeke what he had seen, and learned in reply that Dave had already caughtsight of the horsemen, and had gone down to the edge of the cedars. While they were speaking Dave hurriedly ran up the trail. 

"It's Snap and Holderness, " he called out, sharply "What's Snap doingwith Holderness? What's he bringing him here for?"

"I don't like the looks of it, " replied Zeke, deliberately. 

"Jack, what what'll you do?" asked Dave, suddenly. 

"Do? What can I do? I'm not going to run out of camp because of a visitfrom men who don't like me. "

"It might be wisest. "

"Do you ask me to run to avoid a meeting with your brother?"

"No. " The dull red came to Dave's cheek. "But will you draw on him?"

"Certainly not. He's August Naab's son and your brother. "

"Yes, and you're my friend, which Snap won't think of. Will you draw onHolderness, then?"

"For the life of me, Dave, I can't tell you, " replied Hare, pacing thetrail. "Something must break loose in me before I can kill a man. I'ddraw, I suppose, in self-defence. But what good would it do me to pulltoo late? Dave, this thing is what I've feared. I'm not afraid of Snapor Holderness, not that way. I mean I'm not ready. Look here, wouldeither of them shoot an unarmed man?"

"Lord, I hope not; I don't think so. But you're packing your gun. "

Hare unbuckled his cartridge-belt, which held his Colt, and hung it overthe pommel of his saddle; then he sat down on one of the stone seatsnear the camp-fire. 

"There they come, " whispered Zeke, and he rose to his feet, followed byGeorge. 

"Steady, you fellows, " said Dave, with a warning glance. "I'll do thetalking. "

Holderness and Snap appeared among the cedars, and trotting out into theglade reined in their mounts a few paces from the fire. Dave Naab stooddirectly before Hare, and George and Zeke stepped aside. 

"Howdy, boys?" called out Holderness, with a smile, which was like agleam of light playing on a frozen lake. His amber eyes were steady, their gaze contracted into piercing yellow points. Dave studied thecattle-man with cool scorn, but refusing to speak to him, addressed hisbrother. 

"Snap, what do you mean by riding in here with this fellow?"

"I'm Holderness's new foreman. We're just looking round, " replied Snap. The hard lines, the sullen shade the hawk-beak cruelty had returnedtenfold to his face and his glance was like a living, leaping flame. 

"New foreman!" exclaimed Dave. His jaw dropped and he stared inamazement. "No--you can't mean that--you're drunk!"

"That's what I said, " growled Snap. 

"You're a liar!" shouted Dave, a crimson blot blurring with the brown onhis cheeks. He jumped off the ground in his fury. 

"It's true, Naab; he's my new foreman, " put in Holderness, suavely. "Ahundred a month--in gold--and I've got as good a place for you. "

"Well, by G--d!" Dave's arms came down and his face blanched to hislips. "Holderness!"

"I know what you'd say, " interrupted the ranchman. 

"But stop it. I know you're game. And what's the use of fighting? I'mtalking business. I'll--"

"You can't talk business or anything else to me, " said Dave Naab, andhe veered sharply toward his brother. "Say it again, Snap Naab. You'vehired out to ride for this man?"

"That's it. "

"You're going against your father, your brothers, your own flesh andblood?"

"I can't see it that way. "

"Then you're a drunken, easily-led fool. This man's no rancher. He'sa rustler. He ruined Martin Cole, the father of your first wife. He'sstolen our cattle; he's jumped our water-rights. He's trying to breakus. For God's sake, ain't you a man?"

"Things have gone bad for me, " replied Snap, sullenly, shifting in hissaddle. "I reckon I'll do better to cut out alone for myself. "

"You crooked cur! But you're only my half-brother, after all. I alwaysknew you'd come to something bad, but I never thought you'd disgrace theNaabs and break your father's heart. Now then, what do you want here? Bequick. This's our range and you and your boss can't ride here. You can'teven water your horses. Out with it!"

At this, Hare, who had been so absorbed as to forget himself, suddenlyfelt a cold tightening of the skin of his face, and a hard swell of hisbreast. The dance of Snap's eyes, the downward flit of his hand seemedinstantaneous with a red flash and loud report. Instinctively Haredodged, but the light impact of something like a puff of air gave placeto a tearing hot agony. Then he slipped down, back to the stone, with abloody hand fumbling at his breast. 

Dave leaped with tigerish agility, and knocking up the levelled Colt, held Snap as in a vise. George Naab gave Holderness's horse a sharpkick which made the mettlesome beast jump so suddenly that his rider wasnearly unseated. Zeke ran to Hare and laid him back against the stone. 

"Cool down, there!" ordered Zeke. "He's done for. "

"My God--my God!" cried Dave, in a broken voice. "Not--not dead?"

"Shot through the heart!"

Dave Naab flung Snap backward, almost off his horse. "D--n you! run, orI'll kill you. And you, Holderness! Remember! If we ever meet again--youdraw!" He tore a branch from a cedar and slashed both horses. Theyplunged out of the glade, and clattering over the stones, brushing thecedars, disappeared. Dave groped blindly back toward his brothers. 

"Zeke, this's awful. Another murder by Snap! And my friend!. .. Who'sto tell father?"

Then Hare sat up, leaning against the stone, his shirt open and his bareshoulder bloody; his face was pale, but his eyes were smiling. "Cheerup, Dave. I'm not dead yet. "

"Sure he's not, " said Zeke. "He ducked none too soon, or too late, andcaught the bullet high up in the shoulder. "

Dave sat down very quietly without a word, and the hand he laid onHare's knee shook a little. 

"When I saw George go for his gun, " went on Zeke, "I knew there'd be alively time in a minute if it wasn't stopped, so I just said Jack wasdead. "

"Do you think they came over to get me?" asked Hare. 

"No doubt, " replied Dave, lifting his face and wiping the sweat from hisbrow. "I knew that from the first, but I was so dazed by Snap's goingover to Holderness that I couldn't keep my wits, and I didn't mark Snapedging over till too late. "

"Listen, I hear horses, " said Zeke, looking up from his task over Hare'swound. 

"It's Billy, up on the home trail, " added George "Yes, and there'sfather with him. Good Lord, must we tell him about Snap?"

"Some one must tell him, " answered Dave. 

"That'll be you, then. You always do the talking. "

August Naab galloped into the glade, and swung himself out of thesaddle. "I heard a shot. What's this? Who's hurt?--Hare! Why--lad--howis it with you?"

"Not bad, " rejoined Hare. 

"Let me see, " August thrust Zeke aside. "A bullet-hole--just missed thebone--not serious. Tie it up tight. I'll take him home to-morrow. .. . Hare, who's been here?"

"Snap rode in and left his respects. "

"Snap! Already? Yet I knew it--I saw it. You had Providence with you, lad, for this wound is not bad. Snap surprised you, then?"

"No. I knew it was coming. "

"Jack hung his belt and gun on Silvermane's saddle, " said Dave. "Hedidn't feel as if he could draw on either Snap or Holderness--"

"Holderness!"

"Yes. Snap rode in with Holderness. Hare thought if he was unarmed theywouldn't draw. But Snap did. "

"Was he drunk?"

"No. They came over to kill Hare. " Dave went on to recount the incidentin full. "And--and see here, dad--that's not all. Snap's gone to thebad. "

Dave Naab hid his face while he told of his brother's treachery; theothers turned away, and Hare closed his eyes. 

For long moments there was silence broken only by the tramp of the oldman as he strode heavily to and fro. At last the footsteps ceased, andHare opened his eyes to see Naab's tall form erect, his arms uplifted, his shaggy head rigid. 

"Hare, " began August, presently. "I'm responsible for this cowardlyattack on you. I brought you out here. This is the second one. Beware ofthe third! I see--but tell me, do you remember that I said you must meetSnap as man to man?"

"Yes. "

"Don't you want to live?"

"Of course. "

"You hold to no Mormon creed?"

"Why, no, " Hare replied, wonderingly. 

"What was the reason I taught you my trick with a gun?"

"I suppose it was to help me to defend myself. "

"Then why do you let yourself be shot down in cold blood? Why did youhang up your gun? Why didn't you draw on Snap? Was it because of hisfather, his brothers, his family?"

"Partly, but not altogether, " replied Hare, slowly. "I didn't knowbefore what I know now. My flesh sickened at the thought of killing aman, even to save my own life; and to kill--your son--"

"No son of mine!" thundered Naab. "Remember that when next you meet. I don't want your blood on my hands. Don't stand to be killed like asheep! If you have felt duty to me, I release you. "

Zeke finished bandaging the wound. Making a bed of blankets he liftedHare into it, and covered him, cautioning him to lie still. Hare had asensation of extreme lassitude, a deep drowsiness which permeated evento his bones. There were intervals of oblivion, then a time when thestars blinked in his eyes; he heard the wind, Silvermane's bell, themurmur of voices, yet all seemed remote from him, intangible as thingsin a dream. 

He rode home next day, drooping in the saddle and fainting at the end ofthe trail, with the strong arm of August Naab upholding him. His woundwas dressed and he was put to bed, where he lay sleeping most of thetime, brooding the rest. 

In three weeks he was in the saddle again, riding out over the red stripof desert toward the range. During his convalescence he had learned thathe had come to the sombre line of choice. Either he must deliberatelyback away, and show his unfitness to survive in the desert, or he muststep across into its dark wilds. The stern question haunted him. Yet heknew a swift decision waited on the crucial moment. 

He sought lonely rides more than ever, and, like Silvermane, he wasalways watching and listening. His duties carried him half way toSeeping Springs, across the valley to the red wall, up the slope ofCoconina far into the forest of stately pines. What with Silvermane'swonderful scent and sight, and his own constant watchfulness, there werenever range-riders or wild horses nor even deer near him without hisknowledge. 

The days flew by; spring had long since given place to summer; the blazeof sun and blast of flying sand were succeeded by the cooling breezesfrom the mountain; October brought the flurries of snow and November thedark storm-clouds. 

Hare was the last of the riders to be driven off the mountain. Thebrothers were waiting for him at Silver Cup, and they at once packed andstarted for home. 

August Naab listened to the details of the range-riding since hisabsence, with silent surprise. Holderness and Snap had kept away fromSilver Cup after the supposed killing of Hare. Occasionally a group ofhorsemen rode across the valley or up a trail within sight of Daveand his followers, but there was never a meeting. Not a steer had beendriven off the range that summer and fall; and except for the menacealways hanging in the blue smoke over Seeping Springs the range-ridinghad passed without unusual incident. 

So for Hare the months had gone by swiftly; though when he looked backafterward they seemed years. The winter at the oasis he filled as besthe could, with the children playing in the yard, with Silvermane underthe sunny lee of the great red wall, with any work that offered itself. It was during the long evenings, when he could not be active, that timeoppressed him, and the memories of the past hurt him. A glimpse of thered sunset through the cliff-gate toward the west would start the trainof thought; he both loved and hated the Painted Desert. Mescal was therein the purple shadows. He dreamed of her in the glowing embers of thelog-fire. He saw her on Black Bolly with hair flying free to the wind. And he could not shut out the picture of her sitting in the corner ofthe room, silent, with bowed head, while the man to whom she was pledgedhung close over her. That memory had a sting. It was like a spark offire dropped on the wound in his breast where the desert-hawk had struckhim. It was like a light gleaming on the sombre line he was waiting tocross. 

XIV. WOLF

ON the anniversary of the night Mescal disappeared the mysterious voicewhich had called to Hare so often and so strangely again piercedhis slumber, and brought him bolt upright in his bed shuddering andlistening. The dark room was as quiet as a tomb. He fell back into hisblankets trembling with emotion. Sleep did not close his eyes again thatnight; he lay in a fever waiting for the dawn, and when the gray gloomlightened he knew what he must do. 

After breakfast he sought August Naab. "May I go across the river?" heasked. 

The old man looked up from his carpenter's task and fastened his glanceon Hare. "Mescal?"

"Yes. "

"I saw it long ago. " He shook his head and spread his great hands. "There's no use for me to say what the desert is. If you ever come backyou'll bring her. Yes, you may go. It's a man's deed. God keep you!"

Hare spoke to no other person; he filled one saddle-bag with grain, another with meat, bread, and dried fruits, strapped a five-gallonleather water-sack back of Silvermane's saddle, and set out toward theriver. At the crossing-bar he removed Silvermane's equipments and placedthem in the boat. At that moment a long howl, as of a dog baying themoon, startled him from his musings, and his eyes sought the river-bank, up and down, and then the opposite side. An animal, which at first hetook to be a gray timber-wolf, was running along the sand-bar of thelanding. 

"Pretty white for a wolf, " he muttered. "Might be a Navajo dog. "

The beast sat down on his haunches and, lifting a lean head, sent upa doleful howl. Then he began trotting along the bar, every few pacesstepping to the edge of the water. Presently he spied Hare, and he beganto bark furiously. 

"It's a dog all right; wants to get across, " said Hare. "Where have Iseen him?"

Suddenly he sprang to his feet, almost upsetting the boat. "He's likeMescal's Wolf!" He looked closer, his heart beginning to thump, and thenhe yelled: "Ki-yi! Wolf! Hyer! Hyer!"

The dog leaped straight up in the air, and coming down, began to dashback and forth along the sand with piercing yelps. 

"It's Wolf! Mescal must be near, " cried Hare. A veil obscured his sight, and every vein was like a hot cord. "Wolf! Wolf! I'm coming!"

With trembling hands he tied Silvermane's bridle to the stern seat ofthe boat and pushed off. In his eagerness he rowed too hard, draggingSilvermane's nose under water, and he had to check himself. Time andagain he turned to call to the dog. At length the bow grated on thesand, and Silvermane emerged with a splash and a snort. 

"Wolf, old fellow!" cried Hare. "Where's Mescal? Wolf, where is she?"He threw his arms around the dog. Wolf whined, licked Hare's face, andbreaking away, ran up the sandy trail, and back again. But he barked nomore; he waited to see if Hare was following. 

"All right, Wolf--coming. " Never had Hare saddled so speedily, normounted so quickly. He sent Silvermane into the willow-skirted trailclose behind the dog, up on the rocky bench, and then under the bulgingwall. Wolf reached the level between the canyon and Echo Cliffs, andthen started straight west toward the Painted Desert. He trotted a fewrods and turned to see if the man was coming. 

Doubt, fear, uncertainty ceased for Hare. With the first blast ofdust-scented air in his face he knew Wolf was leading him to Mescal. He knew that the cry he had heard in his dream was hers, that the oldmysterious promise of the desert had at last begun its fulfilment. Hegave one sharp exultant answer to that call. The horizon, ever-widening, lay before him, and the treeless plains, the sun-scorched slopes, thesandy stretches, the massed blocks of black mesas, all seemed to welcomehim; his soul sang within him. 

For Mescal was there. Far away she must be, a mere grain of sand inall that world of drifting sands, perhaps ill, perhaps hurt, but alive, waiting for him, calling for him, crying out with a voice that nodistance could silence. He did not see the sharp peaks as pitilessbarriers, nor the mesas and domes as black-faced death, nor themoisture-drinking sands as life-sucking foes to plant and beast and man. That painted wonderland had sheltered Mescal for a year. He had loved itfor its color, its change, its secrecy; he loved it now because it hadnot been a grave for Mescal, but a home. Therefore he laughed at thedeceiving yellow distances in the foreground of glistening mesas, at thedeceiving purple distances of the far-off horizon. The wind blew a songin his ears; the dry desert odors were fragrance in his nostrils; thesand tasted sweet between his teeth, and the quivering heat-waves, veiling the desert in transparent haze, framed beautiful pictures forhis eyes. 

Wolf kept to the fore for some thirty paces, and though he had ceased tostop, he still looked back to see if the horse and man were following. Hare had noted the dog occasionally in the first hours of travel, buthe had given his eyes mostly to the broken line of sky and desert in thewest, to the receding contour of Echo Cliffs, to the spread and breakof the desert near at hand. Here and there life showed itself in a gauntcoyote sneaking into the cactus, or a horned toad huddling down in thedust, or a jewel-eyed lizard sunning himself upon a stone. It was onlywhen his excited fancy had cooled that Hare came to look closely atWolf. But for the dog's color he could not have been distinguished froma real wolf. His head and ears and tail drooped, and he was lame in hisright front paw. 

Hare halted in the shade of a stone, dismounted and called the dog tohim. Wolf returned without quickness, without eagerness, without anyof the old-time friendliness of shepherding days. His eyes were sad andstrange. Hare felt a sudden foreboding, but rejected it with passionateforce. Yet a chill remained. Lifting Wolf's paw he discovered that theball of the foot was worn through; whereupon he called into service apiece of buckskin, and fashioning a rude moccasin he tied it round thefoot. Wolf licked his hand, but there was no change in the sad light ofhis eyes. He turned toward the west as if anxious to be off. 

"All right, old fellow, " said Hare, "only go slow. From the look of thatfoot I think you've turned back on a long trail. "

Again they faced the west, dog leading, man following, and addressedthemselves to a gradual ascent. When it had been surmounted Harerealized that his ride so far had brought him only through an anteroom;the real portal now stood open to the Painted Desert. The immensityof the thing seemed to reach up to him with a thousand lines, ridges, canyons, all ascending out of a purple gulf. The arms of the desertenveloped him, a chill beneath their warmth. 

As he descended into the valley, keeping close to Wolf, he marked astraight course in line with a volcanic spur. He was surprised whenthe dog, though continually threading jumbles of rock, heading canyons, crossing deep washes, and going round obstructions, always veered backto this bearing as true as a compass-needle to its magnet. 

Hare felt the air growing warmer and closer as he continued the descent. By mid-afternoon, when he had travelled perhaps thirty miles, he wasmoist from head to foot, and Silvermane's coat was wet. Looking backwardHare had a blank feeling of loss; the sweeping line of Echo Cliffs hadretreated behind the horizon. There was no familiar landmark left. 

Sunset brought him to a standstill, as much from its sudden gloriousgathering of brilliant crimsons splashed with gold, as from its warningthat the day was done. Hare made his camp beside a stone which wouldserve as a wind-break. He laid his saddle for a pillow and his blanketfor a bed. He gave Silvermane a nose-bag full of water and then one ofgrain; he fed the dog, and afterward attended to his own needs. When histask was done the desert brightness had faded to gray; the warm airhad blown away on a cool breeze, and night approached. He scooped out alittle hollow in the sand for his hips, took a last look at Silvermanehaltered to the rock, and calling Wolf to his side stretched himself torest. He was used to lying on the ground, under the open sky, out wherethe wind blew and the sand seeped in, yet all these were differenton this night. He was in the Painted Desert; Wolf crept close to him;Mescal lay somewhere under the blue-white stars. 

He awakened and arose before any color of dawn hinted of the day. Whilehe fed his four-footed companions the sky warmed and lightened. A tingeof rose gathered in the east. The air was cool and transparent. He triedto cheer Wolf out of his sad-eyed forlornness, and failed. 

Hare vaulted into the saddle. The day had its possibilities, and whilehe had sobered down from his first unthinking exuberance, there wasstill a ring in his voice as he called to the dog:

"On, Wolf, on, old boy!"

Out of the east burst the sun, and the gray curtain was lifted by shaftsof pink and white and gold, flashing westward long trails of color. 

When they started the actions of the dog showed Hare that Wolf was nottracking a back-trail, but travelling by instinct. There were drawswhich necessitated a search for a crossing, and areas of broken rockwhich had to be rounded, and steep flat mesas rising in the path, andstrips of deep sand and canyons impassable for long distances. But thedog always found a way and always came back to a line with the blackspur that Hare had marked. It still stood in sharp relief, no nearerthan before, receding with every step, an illusive landmark, which Harebegan to distrust. 

Then quite suddenly it vanished in the ragged blue mass of the GhostMountains. Hare had seen them several times, though never so distinctly. The purple tips, the bold rock-ribs, the shadowed canyons, so sharp andclear in the morning light--how impossible to believe that these wereonly the deceit of the desert mirage! Yet so they were; even for theNavajos they were spirit-mountains. 

The splintered desert-floor merged into an area of sand. Wolf slowed histrot, and Silvermane's hoofs sunk deep. Dismounting Hare labored besidehim, and felt the heat steal through his boots and burn the soles ofhis feet. Hare plodded onward, stopping once to tie another moccasin onWolf's worn paw, this time the left one; and often he pulled the stopperfrom the water-bag and cooled his parching lips and throat. The waves ofthe sand-dunes were as the waves of the ocean. He did not look backward, dreading to see what little progress he had made. Ahead were miles onmiles of graceful heaps, swelling mounds, crested ridges, all different, yet regular and rhythmical, drift on drift, dune on dune, in endlesswaves. Wisps of sand were whipped from their summits in white ribbonsand wreaths, and pale clouds of sand shrouded little hollows. Themorning breeze, rising out of the west, approached in a rippling lineslike the crest of an inflowing tide. 

Silvermane snorted, lifted his ears and looked westward toward a yellowpall which swooped up from the desert. 

"Sand-storm, " said Hare, and calling Wolf he made for the nearestrock that was large enough to shelter them. The whirling sand-cloudmushroomed into an enormous desert covering, engulfing the dunes, obscuring the light. The sunlight failed; the day turned to gloom. Thenan eddying fog of sand and dust enveloped Hare. His last glimpse beforehe covered his face with a silk handkerchief was of sheets of sandstreaming past his shelter. The storm came with a low, soft, hissingroar, like the sound in a sea-shell magnified. Breathing through thehandkerchief Hare avoided inhaling the sand which beat against his face, but the finer dust particles filtered through and stifled him. Atfirst he felt that he would suffocate, and he coughed and gasped; butpresently, when the thicker sand-clouds had passed, he managed to getair enough to breathe. Then he waited patiently while the steady seepingrustle swept by, and the band of his hat sagged heavier, and the loadon his shoulders had to be continually shaken off, and the weightytrap round his feet crept upward. When the light, fine touch ceased heremoved the covering from his face to see himself standing nearly to hisknees in sand, and Silvermane's back and the saddle burdened with it. The storm was moving eastward, a dull red now with the sun faintlyshowing through it like a ball of fire. 

"Well, Wolf, old boy, how many storms like that will we have toweather?" asked Hare, in a cheery tone which he had to force. He knewthese sand-storms were but vagaries of the desert-wind. Before the hourclosed he had to seek the cover of a stone and wait for another to pass. Then he was caught in the open, with not a shelter in sight. He wascompelled to turn his back to a third storm, the worst of all, andto bear as best he could the heavy impact of the first blow, and thesucceeding rush and flow of sand. After that his head drooped and hewearily trudged beside Silvermane, dreading the interminable distance hemust cover before once more gaining hard ground. But he discovered thatit was useless to try to judge distance on the desert. What had appearedmiles at his last look turned out to be only rods. 

It was good to get into the saddle again and face clear air. Far awaythe black spur again loomed up, now surrounded by groups of mesas withsage-slopes tinged with green. That surely meant the end of this longtrail; the faint spots of green lent suggestion of a desert waterhole;there Mescal must be, hidden in some shady canyon. Hare built his hopesanew. 

So he pressed on down a plain of bare rock dotted by huge bowlders; andout upon a level floor of scant sage and greasewood where a few livingcreatures, a desert-hawk sailing low, lizards darting into holes, and aswiftly running ground-bird, emphasized the lack of life in the waste. He entered a zone of clay-dunes of violet and heliotrope hues; and thena belt of lava and cactus. Reddish points studded the desert, and hereand there were meagre patches of white grass. Far away myriads of cactusplants showed like a troop of distorted horsemen. As he went on thegrass failed, and streams of jagged lava flowed downward. Beds ofcinders told of the fury of a volcanic fire. Soon Hare had to dismountto make moccasins for Wolf's hind feet; and to lead Silvermane carefullyover the cracked lava. For a while there were strips of ground bare oflava and harboring only an occasional bunch of cactus, but soon everyfoot free of the reddish iron bore a projecting mass of fierce spikesand thorns. The huge barrel-shaped cacti, and thickets of slenderdark-green rods with bayonet points, and broad leaves with yellowspines, drove Hare and his sore-footed fellow-travellers to the lava. 

Hare thought there must be an end to it some time, yet it seemed asthough he were never to cross that black forbidding inferno. Blisteredby the heat, pierced by the thorns, lame from long toil on the lava, hewas sorely spent when once more he stepped out upon the bare desert. On pitching camp he made the grievous discovery that the water-bag hadleaked or the water had evaporated, for there was only enough left forone more day. He ministered to thirsty dog and horse in silence, hismind revolving the grim fact of his situation. 

His little fire of greasewood threw a wan circle into the surroundingblackness. Not a sound hinted of life. He longed for even the bark ofa coyote. Silvermane stooped motionless with tired head. Wolf stretchedlimply on the sand. Hare rolled into his blanket and stretched out withslow aching relief. 

He dreamed he was a boy roaming over the green hills of the old farm, wading through dewy clover-fields, and fishing in the Connecticut River. It was the long vacationtime, an endless freedom. Then he was at theswimming-hole, and playmates tied his clothes in knots, and with shoutsof glee ran up the bank leaving him there to shiver. 

When he awakened the blazing globe of the sun had arisen over theeastern horizon, and the red of the desert swathed all the reach ofvalley. 

Hare pondered whether he should use his water at once or dole it out. That ball of fire in the sky, a glazed circle, like iron at white heat, decided for him. The sun would be hot and would evaporate such water asleakage did not claim, and so he shared alike with Wolf, and gave therest to Silvermane. 

For an hour the mocking lilac mountains hung in the air and then paledin the intense light. The day was soundless and windless, and theheat-waves rose from the desert like smoke. For Hare the realities werethe baked clay flats, where Silvermane broke through at every step;the beds of alkali, which sent aloft clouds of powdered dust; the deepgullies full of round bowlders; thickets of mesquite and prickly thornwhich tore at his legs; the weary detour to head the canyons; the climbto get between two bridging mesas; and always the haunting presence ofthe sad-eyed dog. His unrealities were the shimmering sheets of water inevery low place; the baseless mountains floating in the air; the greenslopes rising close at hand; beautiful buttes of dark blue riding theopen sand, like monstrous barks at sea; the changing outlines of desertshapes in pink haze and veils of purple and white lustre--all illusions, all mysterious tricks of the mirage. 

In the heat of midday Hare yielded to its influence and reined in hishorse under a slate-bank where there was shade. His face was swollen andpeeling, and his lips had begun to dry and crack and taste of alkali. Then Wolf pattered on; Silvermane kept at his heels; Hare dozed in thesaddle. His eyes burned in their sockets from the glare, and it was arelief to shut out the barren reaches. So the afternoon waned. 

Silvermane stumbled, jolting Hare out of his stupid lethargy. Before himspread a great field of bowlders with not a slope or a ridge or a mesaor an escarpment. Not even a tip of a spur rose in the background. Herubbed his sore eyes. Was this another illusion?

When Silvermane started onward Hare thought of the Navajos' custom totrust horse and dog in such an emergency. They were desert-bred; beyondhuman understanding were their sight and scent. He was at the mercy nowof Wolf's instinct and Silvermane's endurance. Resignation brought hima certain calmness of soul, cold as the touch of an icy hand on feveredcheek. He remembered the desert secret in Mescal's eyes; he was about tosolve it. He remembered August Naab's words: "It's a man's deed!" Ifso, he had achieved the spirit of it, if not the letter. He rememberedEschtah's tribute to the wilderness of painted wastes: "There is thegrave of the Navajo, and no one knows the trail to the place of hissleep!" He remembered the something evermore about to be, the unknownalways subtly calling; now it was revealed in the stone-fetteringgrip of the desert. It had opened wide to him, bright with its faceof danger, beautiful with its painted windows, inscrutable with itsalluring call. Bidding him enter, it had closed behind him; now helooked upon it in its iron order, its strange ruins racked by fire, itsinevitable remorselessness. 

XV. DESERT NIGHT

THE gray stallion, finding the rein loose on his neck, trotted forwardand overtook the dog, and thereafter followed at his heels. With thesetting of the sun a slight breeze stirred, and freshened as twilightfell, rolling away the sultry atmosphere. Then the black desert nightmantled the plain. 

For a while this blackness soothed the pain of Hare's sun-blinded eyes. It was a relief to have the unattainable horizon line blotted out. Butby-and-by the opaque gloom brought home to him, as the day had neverdone, the reality of his solitude. He was alone in this immense place ofbarrenness, and his dumb companions were the world to him. Wolfpattered onward, a silent guide; and Silvermane followed, never lagging, sure-footed in the dark, faithful to his master. All the love Hare hadborne the horse was as nothing to that which came to him on this desertnight. In and out, round and round, ever winding, ever zigzagging, Silvermane hung close to Wolf, and the sandy lanes between the bowldersgave forth no sound. Dog and horse, free to choose their trail, trottedonward miles and miles into the night. 

A pale light in the east turned to a glow, then to gold, and the rounddisc of the moon silhouetted the black bowlders on the horizon. Itcleared the dotted line and rose, an oval orange-hued strange moon, notmellow nor silvery nor gloriously brilliant as Hare had known it in thepast, but a vast dead-gold melancholy orb, rising sadly over the desert. To Hare it was the crowning reminder of lifelessness; it fitted thisworld of dull gleaming stones. 

Silvermane went lame and slackened his trot, causing Hare to rein in anddismount. He lifted the right forefoot, the one the horse had favored, and found a stone imbedded tightly in the cloven hoof. He pried it outwith his knife and mounted again. Wolf shone faintly far ahead, andpresently he uttered a mournful cry which sent a chill to the rider'sheart. The silence had been oppressive before; now it was terrible. Itwas not a silence of life. It had been broken suddenly by Wolf's howl, and had closed sharply after it, without echo; it was a silence ofdeath. 

Hare took care not to fall behind Wolf again, he had no wish to hearthat cry repeated. The dog moved onward with silent feet; the horsewound after him with hoofs padded in the sand; the moon lifted and thedesert gleamed; the bowlders grew larger and the lanes wider. So thenight wore on, and Hare's eyelids grew heavy, and his whole weary bodycried out for rest and forgetfulness. He nodded until he swayed in thesaddle; then righted himself, only to doze again. The east gave birth tothe morning star. The whitening sky was the harbinger of day. Harecould not bring himself to face the light and heat, and he stopped at awind-worn cave under a shelving rock. He was asleep when he rolled outon the sand-strewn floor. Once he awoke and it was still day, for hiseyes quickly shut upon the glare. He lay sweltering till once moreslumber claimed him. The dog awakened him, with cold nose and low whine. Another twilight had fallen. Hare crawled out, stiff and sore, hungryand parching with thirst. He made an attempt to eat, but it was afailure. There was a dry burning in his throat, a dizzy feeling in hisbrain, and there were red flashes before his eyes. Wolf refused meat, and Silvermane turned from the grain, and lowered his head to munch afew blades of desert grass. 

Then the journey began, and the night fell black. A cool wind blew fromthe west, the white stars blinked, the weird moon rose with its ghastlyglow. Huge bowlders rose before him in grotesque shapes, tombs andpillars and statues of Nature's dead, carved by wind and sand. But somehad life in Hare's disordered fancy. They loomed and towered over him, and stalked abroad and peered at him with deep-set eyes. 

Hare fought with all his force against this mood of gloom. Wolf was nota phantom; he trotted forward with unerring instinct; and he would findwater, and that meant life. Silvermane, desert-steeled, would travel tothe furthermost corner of this hell of sand-swept stone. Hare tried tocollect all his spirit, all his energies, but the battle seemed tobe going against him. All about him was silence, breathless silence, insupportable silence of ages. Desert spectres danced in the darkness. The worn-out moon gleamed golden over the worn-out waste. Desolationlurked under the sable shadows. 

Hare rode on into the night, tumbled from his saddle in the gray of dawnto sleep, and stumbled in the twilight to his drooping horse. His eyeswere blind now to the desert shapes, his brain burned and his tonguefilled his mouth. Silvermane trod ever upon Wolf's heels; he had comeinto the kingdom of his desert-strength; he lifted his drooping head andlengthened his stride; weariness had gone and he snorted his welcome tosomething on the wind. Then he passed the limping dog and led the way. 

Hare held to the pommel and bent dizzily forward in the saddle. Silvermane was going down, step by step, with metallic clicks uponflinty rock. Whether he went down or up was all the same to Hare; heheld on with closed eyes and whispered to himself. Down and down, stepby step, cracking the stones with iron-shod hoofs, the gray stallionworked his perilous way, sure-footed as a mountain-sheep. Then hestopped with a great slow heave and bent his head. 

The black bulge of a canyon rim blurred in Hare's hot eyes. Atrickling sound penetrated his tired brain. His ears had grown like hiseyes--false. Only another delusion! As he had been tortured with thesight of lake and stream now he was to be tortured with the sound ofrunning water. Yet he listened, for it was sweet even in its mockery. What a clear musical tinkle, like silver bells tossing on the wind! Helistened. Soft murmuring flow, babble and gurgle, little hollow fall andsplash!

Suddenly Silvermane, lifting his head, broke the silence of the canyonwith a great sigh of content. It pierced the dull fantasy of Hare'smind; it burst the gloomy spell. The sigh and the snort which followedwere Silvermane's triumphant signals when he had drunk his fill. 

Hare fell from the saddle. The gray dog lay stretched low in thedarkness. Hare crawled beside him and reached out with his hot hands. Smooth cool marble rock, growing slippery, then wet, led into runningwater. He slid forward on his face and wonderful cold thrills quiveredover his burning skin. He drank and drank until he could drink no more. Then he lay back upon the rock; the madness of his brain went out withthe light of the stars, and he slept. 

When he awoke red canyon walls leaned far above him to a gap spannedby blue sky. A song of rushing water murmured near his ears. He lookeddown; a spring gushed from a crack in the wall; Silvermane cropped greenbushes, and Wolf sat on his haunches waiting, but no longer with sadeyes and strange mien. Hare raised himself, looking again and again, andslowly gathered his wits. The crimson blur had gone from his eyes andthe burning from his skin, and the painful swelling from his tongue. 

He drank long and deeply, and rising with clearing thoughts and thankfulheart, he kissed Wolf's white head, and laid his arms round Silvermane'sneck. He fed them, and ate himself, not without difficulty, for his lipswere puffed and his tongue felt like a piece of rope. When he had eaten, his strength came back. 

At a word Wolf, with a wag of his tail, splashed into the gravellystream bed. Hare followed on foot, leading Silvermane. There were littlebeds of pebbles and beaches of sand and short steps down which the waterbabbled. The canyon was narrow and tortuous; Hare could not see aheador below, for the projecting red cliffs, growing higher as he descended, walled out the view. The blue stream of sky above grew bluer and thelight and shade less bright. For an hour he went down steadily without acheck, and the farther down the rougher grew the way. Bowlders wedgedin narrow places made foaming waterfalls. Silvermane clicked downconfidently. 

The slender stream of water, swelled by seeping springs and littlerills, gained the dignity of a brook; it began to dash merrily andhurriedly downward. The depth of the falls, the height of cliffs, andthe size of the bowlders increased in the descent. Wolf splashed onunmindful; there was a new spirit in his movements; and when he lookedback for his laboring companions there was friendly protest in his eyes. Silvermane's mien plainly showed that where a dog could go he couldfollow. Silvermane's blood was heated; the desert was an old storyto him; it had only tired him and parched his throat; this canyon ofdownward steps and falls, with ever-deepening drops, was new to him, androused his mettle; and from his long training in the wilds he had gaineda marvellous sure-footedness. 

The canyon narrowed as it deepened; the jutting walls leaned together, shutting out the light; the sky above was now a ribbon of blue, only tobe seen when Hare threw back his head and stared straight up. 

"It'll be easier climbing up, Silvermane, " he panted--"if we ever getthe chance. "

The sand and gravel and shale had disappeared; all was bare clean-washedrock. In many places the brook failed as a trail, for it leaped down inwhite sheets over mossy cliffs. Hare faced these walls in despair. ButWolf led on over the ledges and Silvermane followed, nothing daunted. At last Hare shrank back from a hole which defied him utterly. Even Wolfhesitated. The canyon was barely twenty feet wide; the floor ended in aprecipice; the stream leaped out and fell into a dark cleft from whichno sound arose. On the right there was a shelf of rock; it was scarcehalf a foot broad at the narrowest and then apparently vanishedaltogether. Hare stared helplessly up at the slanting shut-in walls. 

While he hesitated Wolf pattered out upon the ledge and Silvermanestamped restlessly. With a desperate fear of losing his beloved horseHare let go the bridle and stepped upon the ledge. He walked rapidly, for a slow step meant uncertainty and a false one meant death. Heheard the sharp ring of Silvermane's shoes, and he listened in agonizedsuspense for the slip, the snort, the crash that he feared must come. But it did not come. Seeing nothing except the narrow ledge, yet feelingthe blue abyss beneath him, he bent all his mind to his task, andfinally walked out into lighter space upon level rock. To his infiniterelief Silvermane appeared rounding a corner out of the dark passage, and was soon beside him. 

Hare cried aloud in welcome. 

The canyon widened; there was a clear demarcation where the red wallsgave place to yellow; the brook showed no outlet from its subterraneanchannel. Sheer exhaustion made Hare almost forget his mission; thestrength of his resolve had gone into mechanical toil; he kept on, conscious only of the smart of bruised hands and feet and the ache oflaboring lungs. 

Time went on and the sun hung in the midst of the broadening belt ofblue sky. A long slant of yellow slope led down to a sage-covered level, which Hare crossed, pleased to see blooming cacti and wondering at theirslender lofty green stems shining with gold flowers. He descended into aravine which became precipitous. Here he made only slow advance. At thebottom he found himself in a wonderful lane with an almost level floor;here flowed a shallow stream bordered by green willows. Wolf took thedirection of the flowing water. Hare's thoughts were all of Mescal, andhis hopes began to mount, his heart to beat high. 

He gazed ahead with straining eyes. Presently there was not a break inthe walls. A drowsy hum of falling water came to Hare, strange reminderof the oasis, the dull roar of the Colorado, and of Mescal. 

His flagging energies leaped into life with the canyon suddenly openingto bright light and blue sky and beautiful valley, white and gold inblossom, green with grass and cottonwood. On a flower-scented windrushed that muffled roar again, like distant thunder. 

Wolf dashed into the cottonwoods. Silvermane whistled with satisfactionand reached for the long grass. 

For Hare the light held something more than beauty, the breeze somethingmore than sweet scent of water and blossom. Both were charged withmeaning--with suspense. 

Wolf appeared in the open leaping upon a slender brown-garbed form. 

"Mescal!" cried Hare. 

With a cry she ran to him, her arms outstretched, her hair flying in thewind, her dark eyes wild with joy. 

XVI. THUNDER RIVER

FOR an instant Hare's brain reeled, and Mescal's broken murmurings weremeaningless Then his faculties grew steady and acute; he held thegirl as if he intended never to let her go. Mescal clung to him witha wildness that gave him anxiety for her reason; there was somethingalmost fierce in the tension of her arms, in the blind groping for hisface. 

"Mescal! It's Jack, safe and well, " he said. "Let me look at you. "

At the sound of his voice all her rigid strength changed to a yieldingweakness; she leaned back supported by his arms and looked at him. Haretrembled before the dusky level glance he remembered so well, and astears began to flow he drew her head to his shoulder. He had forgottento prepare himself for a different Mescal. Despite the quivering smileof happiness, her eyes were strained with pain. The oval contour, therich bloom of her face had gone; beauty was there still, but it was theghost of the old beauty. 

"Jack--is it--really you?" she asked. 

He answered with a kiss. 

She slipped out of his arms breathless and scarlet. "Tell me all--"

"There's much to tell, but not before you kiss me. It has been more thana year. "

"Only a year! Have I been gone only a year?"

"Yes, a year. But it's past now. Kiss me, Mescal. One kiss will pay forthat long year, though it broke my heart. "

Shyly she raised her hands to his shoulders and put her lips to his. "Yes, you've found me, Jack, thank God! just in time!"

"Mescal! What's wrong? Aren't you well?"

"Pretty well. But if you had not come soon I should have starved. "

"Starved? Let me get my saddle-bags--I have bread and meat. "

"Wait. I'm not so hungry now. I mean very soon I should not have had anyfood at all. "

"But your peon--the dumb Indian? Surely he could find something to eat. What of him? Where is he?"

"My peon is dead. He has been dead for months, I don't know how many. "

"Dead! What was the matter with him?"

"I never knew. I found him dead one morning and I buried him in thesand. "

Mescal led Hare under the cottonwoods and pointed to the Indian's grave, now green with grass. Farther on in a circle of trees stood a littlehogan skilfully constructed out of brush; the edge of a red blanketpeeped from the door; a burnt-out fire smoked on a stone fireplace, andblackened earthen vessels lay near. The white seeds of the cottonwoodswere flying light as feathers; plum-trees were pink in blossom; therewere vines twining all about; through the openings in the foliage shonethe blue of sky and red of cliff. Patches of blossoming Bowers were hereand there lit to brilliance by golden shafts of sunlight. The twitter ofbirds and hum of bees were almost drowned in the soft roar of water. 

"Is that the Colorado I hear?" asked Hare. 

"No, that's Thunder River. The Colorado is farther down in the GrandCanyon. "

"Farther down! Mescal, I must have come a mile from the rim. Where arewe?"

"We are almost at the Colorado, and directly under the head of Coconina. We can see the mountain from the break in the valley below. "

"Come sit by me here under this tree. Tell me--how did you ever gethere?"

Then Mescal told him how the peon had led her on a long trail fromBitter Seeps, how they had camped at desert waterholes, and on thefourth day descended to Thunder River. 

"I was quite happy at first. It's always summer down here. There wererabbits, birds, beaver, and fruit--we had enough to eat. I explored thevalley with Wolf or rode Noddle up and down the canyon. Then my peondied, and I had to shift for myself. There came a time when the beaverleft the valley, and Wolf and I had to make a rabbit serve for days. Iknew then I'd have to get across the desert to the Navajos or starve inthe canyon. I hesitated about climbing out into the desert, for I wasn'tsure of the trail to the waterholes. Noddle wandered off up the canyonand never came back. After he was gone and I knew I couldn't get out Igrew homesick. The days weren't so bad because I was always hunting forsomething to eat, but the nights were lonely. I couldn't sleep. I layawake listening to the river, and at last I could hear whispering andsinging and music, and strange sounds, and low thunder, always lowthunder. I wasn't really frightened, only lonely, and the canyon wasso black and full of mutterings. Sometimes I'd dream I was back on theplateau with you, Jack, and Bolly and the sheep, and when I'd awake inthe loneliness I'd cry right out--"

"Mescal, I heard those cries, " said Hare. 

"It was strange--the way I felt. I believe if I'd never known and--andloved you, Jack, I'd have forgotten home. After I'd been here a while, Iseemed to be drifting, drifting. It was as if I had lived in the canyonlong before, and was remembering. The feeling was strong, but alwaysthoughts of you, and of the big world, brought me back to the presentwith its loneliness and fear of starvation. Then I wanted you, and I'dcry out. I knew I must send Wolf home. How hard it was to make him go!But at last he trotted off, looking backward, and I--waited and waited. "

She leaned against him. The hand which had plucked at his sleeve droppedto his fingers and clung there. Hare knew how her story had slightedthe perils and privations of that long year. She had grown lonely in thecanyon darkness; she had sent Wolf away and had waited--all was said inthat. But more than any speech, the look of her, and the story told inthe thin brown hands touched his heart. Not for an instant since hisarrival had she altogether let loose of his fingers, or coat, or arm. She had lived so long alone in this weird world of silence and movingshadows and murmuring water, that she needed to feel the substance ofher hopes, to assure herself of the reality of the man she loved. 

"My mustang--Bolly--tell me of her, " said Mescal. 

"Bolly's fine. Sleek and fat and lazy! She's been in the fields eversince you left. Not a bridle on her. Many times have I seen her poke herblack muzzle over the fence and look down the lane. She'd never forgetyou, Mescal. "

"Oh! how I want to see her! Tell me--everything. "

"Wait a little. Let me fetch Silvermane and we'll make a fire and eat. Then--"

"Tell me now. "

"Well, Mescal, it's soon told. " Then came the story of events growingout of her flight. When he told of the shooting at Silver Cup, Mescalrose with heaving bosom and blazing eyes. 

"It was nothing--I wasn't hurt much. Only the intention was bad. We sawno more of Snap or Holderness. The worst of it all was that Snap's wifedied. "

"Oh, I am sorry--sorry. Poor Father Naab! How he must hate me, the causeof it all! But I couldn't stay--I couldn't marry Snap. "

"Don't blame yourself, Mescal. What Snap might have done if you hadmarried him is guesswork. He might have left drink alone a while longer. But he was bad clean through. I heard Dave Naab tell him that. Snapwould have gone over to Holderness sooner or later. And now he's arustler, if not worse. "

"Then those men think Snap killed you?"

"Yes. "

"What's going to happen when you meet Snap, or any of them?"

"Somebody will be surprised, " replied Hare, with a laugh. 

"Jack, it's no laughing matter. " She fastened her hands in the lapels ofhis coat and her eyes grew sad. "You can never hang up your gun again. "

"No. But perhaps I can keep out of their way, especially Snap's. Mescal, you've forgotten Silvermane, and how he can run. "

"I haven't forgotten. He can run, but he can't beat Bolly. " She saidthis with a hint of her old spirit. "Jack--you want to take me backhome?"

"Of course. What did you expect when you sent Wolf?"

"I didn't expect. I just wanted to see you, or somebody, and I thoughtof the Navajos. Couldn't I live with them? Why can't we stay here or ina canyon across the Colorado where there's plenty of game?"

"I'm going to take you home and Father Naab shall marry you--to--to me. "

Startled, Mescal fell back upon his shoulder and did not stir nor speakfor a long time. "Did--did you tell him?"

"Yes. "

"What did he say? Was he angry? Tell me. "

"He was kind and good as he always is. He said if I found you, then theissue would be between Snap and me, as man to man. You are still pledgedto Snap in the Mormon Church and that can't be changed. I don't supposeeven if he's outlawed that it could be changed. "

"Snap will not let any grass grow in the trails to the oasis, " saidMescal. "Once he finds I've come back to life he'll have me. You don'tknow him, Jack. I'm afraid to go home. "

"My dear, there's no other place for us to go. We can't live the life ofIndians. "

"But Jack, think of me watching you ride out from home! Think of mealways looking for Snap! I couldn't endure it. I've grown weak in thisyear of absence. "

"Mescal, look at me. " His voice rang as he held her face to face. "Wemust decide everything. Now--say you love me!"

"Yes--yes. "

"Say it. "

"I--love you--Jack. "

"Say you'll marry me!"

"I will marry you. "

"Then listen. I'll get you out of this canyon and take you home. You aremine and I'll keep you. " He held her tightly with strong arms; his facepaled, his eyes darkened. "I don't want to meet Snap Naab. I shall tryto keep out of his way. I hope I can. But Mescal, I'm yours now. Yourhappiness--perhaps your life--depends on me. That makes a difference. Understand!"

Silvermane walked into the glade with a saddle-girth so tight that hismaster unbuckled it only by dint of repeated effort. Evidently the richgrass of Thunder River Canyon appealed strongly to the desert stallion. 

"Here, Silver, how do you expect to carry us out if you eat and drinklike that?" Hare removed the saddle and tethered the gray to one of thecottonwoods. Wolf came trotting into camp proudly carrying a rabbit. 

"Mescal, can we get across the Colorado and find a way up overCoconina?" asked Hare. 

"Yes, I'm sure we can. My peon never made a mistake about directions. There's no trail, but Navajos have crossed the river at this season, andworked up a canyon. "

The shadows had gathered under the cliffs, and the rosy light high upon the ramparts had chilled and waned when Hare and Mescal sat down totheir meal. Wolf lay close to the girl and begged for morsels. Then inthe twilight they sat together content to be silent, listening to thelow thunder of the river. Long after Mescal had retired into her hoganHare lay awake before her door with his head in his saddle and listenedto the low roll, the dull burr, the dreamy hum of the tumbling waters. The place was like the oasis, only infinitely more hidden under thecliffs. A few stars twinkled out of the dark blue, and one hung, beaconlike, on the crest of a noble crag. There were times when heimagined the valley was as silent as the desert night, and other timeswhen he imagined he heard the thundering roll of avalanches andthe tramp of armies. Then the voices of Mescal's solitude spoke tohim--glorious laughter and low sad wails of woe, sweet songs andwhispers and murmurs. His last waking thoughts were of the hauntingsound of Thunder River, and that he had come to bear Mescal away fromits loneliness. 

He bestirred himself at the first glimpse of day, and when the graymists had lifted to wreathe the crags it was light enough to begin thejourney. Mescal shed tears at the grave of the faithful peon. "He lovedthis canyon, " she said, softly. Hare lifted her upon Silvermane. Hewalked beside the horse and Wolf trotted on before. They travelledawhile under the flowering cottonwoods on a trail bordered with greentufts of grass and great star-shaped lilies. The river was still hidden, but it filled the grove with its soft thunder. Gradually the treesthinned out, hard stony ground encroached upon the sand, bowldersappeared in the way; and presently, when Silvermane stepped out of theshade of the cottonwoods, Hare saw the lower end of the valley with itsragged vent. 

"Look back!" said Mescal. 

Hare saw the river bursting from the base of the wall in two whitestreams which soon united below, and leaped down in a continuouscascade. Step by step the stream plunged through the deep gorge, abroken, foaming raceway, and at the lower end of the valley it took itsfinal leap into a blue abyss, and then found its way to the Colorado, hidden underground. 

The flower-scented breeze and the rumbling of the river persisted longafter the valley lay behind and above, but these failed at length in theclose air of the huge abutting walls. The light grew thick, the stonescracked like deep bell-strokes; the voices of man and girl had a hollowsound and echo. Silvermane clattered down the easy trail at a gait whichurged Hare now and then from walk to run. Soon the gully opened out upona plateau through the centre of which, in a black gulf, wound the redColorado, sullen-voiced, booming, never silent nor restful. Here weredistances by which Hare could begin to comprehend the immensity of thecanyon, and he felt lost among the great terraces leading up to mesasthat dwarfed the Echo Cliffs. All was bare rock of many hues burningunder the sun. 

"Jack, this is mescal, " said the girl, pointing to some towering plants. 

All over the sunny slopes cacti lifted slender shafts, unfolding inspiral leaves as they shot upward and bursting at the top into plumes ofyellow flowers. The blossoming stalks waved in the wind, and black beescircled round them. 

"Mescal, I've always wanted to see the Flower of the Desert from whichyou're named. It's beautiful. "

Hare broke a dead stalk of the cactus and was put to instant flight bya stream of bees pouring with angry buzz from the hollow centre. Two bigfellows were so persistent that he had to beat them off with his hat. 

"You shouldn't despoil their homes, " said Mescal, with a peal oflaughter. 

"I'll break another stalk and get stung, if you'll laugh again, " repliedHare. 

They traversed the remaining slope of the plateau, and entering the headof a ravine, descended a steep cleft of flinty rock, rock so hard thatSilvermane's iron hoofs not so much as scratched it. Then reaching alevel, they passed out to rounded sand and the river. 

"It's a little high, " said Hare dubiously. "Mescal, I don't like thelooks of those rapids. "

Only a few hundred rods of the river could be seen. In front of Hare thecurrent was swift but not broken. Above, where the canyon turned, theriver sheered out with a majestic roll and falling in a wide smoothcurve suddenly narrowed into a leaping crest of reddish waves. BelowHare was a smaller rapid where the broken water turned toward the nearerside of the river, but with an accompaniment of twisting swirls andvicious waves. 

"I guess we'd better risk it, " said Hare, grimly recalling the hot rock, the sand, and lava of the desert. 

"It's safe, if Silvermane is a good swimmer, " replied Mescal. "We cantake the river above and cut across so the current will help. "

"Silvermane loves the water. He'll make this crossing easily. But hecan't carry us both, and it's impossible to make two trips. I'll have toswim. "

Without wasting more words and time over a task which would only growmore formidable with every look and thought, Hare led Silvermane up thesand-bar to its limit. He removed his coat and strapped it behind thesaddle; his belt and revolver and boots he hung over the pommel. 

"How about Wolf? I'd forgotten him. "

"Never fear for him! He'll stick close to me. "

"Now, Mescal, there's the point we want to make, that bar; see it?"

"Surely we can land above that. "

"I'll be satisfied if we get even there. You guide him for it. And, Mescal, here's my gun. Try to keep it from getting wet. Balance it onthe pommel--so. Come, Silver; come, Wolf. "

"Keep up-stream, " called Mescal as Hare plunged in. "Don't drift belowus. "

In two steps Silvermane went in to his saddle, and he rolled with asplash and a snort, sinking Mescal to her hips. His nose level with thewater, mane and tail floating, he swam powerfully with the current. 

For Hare the water was just cold enough to be delightful after the longhot descent, but its quality was strange. Keeping up-stream of the horseand even with Mescal, he swam with long regular strokes for perhapsone-quarter of the distance. But when they reached the swirlingeddies he found that he was tiring. The water was thick and heavy; itcompressed his lungs and dragged at his feet. He whirled round and roundin the eddies and saw Silvermane doing the same. Only by main forcecould he breast his way out of these whirlpools. When a wave slapped hisface he tasted sand, and then he knew what the strange feeling meant. There was sand here as on the desert. Even in the depths of the canyonhe could not escape it. As the current grew rougher he began to feelthat he could scarcely spread his arms in the wide stroke. Changing thestroke he discovered that he could not keep up with Silvermane, and hechanged back again. Gradually his feet sank lower and lower, the waterpressed tighter round him, his arms seemed to grow useless. Then heremembered a saying of August Naab that the Navajos did not attemptto swim the river when it was in flood and full of sand. He ceased tostruggle, and drifting with the current, soon was close to Silvermane, and grasped a saddle strap. 

"Not there!" called Mescal. "He might strike you. Hang to his tail!"

Hare dropped behind, and catching Silvermane's tail held on firmly. The stallion towed him easily. The waves dashed over him and lapped atMescal's waist. The current grew stronger, sweeping Silvermane down outof line with the black wall which had frowned closer and closer. Mescallifted the rifle, and resting the stock on the saddle, held it upright. The roar of the rapids seemed to lose its volume, and presently it diedin the splashing and slapping of broken water closer at hand. Mescalturned to him with bright eyes; curving her hand about her lips sheshouted:

"Can't make the bar! We've got to go through this side of the rapids. Hang on!"

In the swelling did Hare felt the resistless pull of the current. Ashe held on with both hands, hard pressed to keep his grasp, Silvermanedipped over a low fall in the river. Then Hare was riding the rushingwater of an incline. It ended below in a red-crested wave, and beyondwas a chaos of curling breakers. Hare had one glimpse of Mescalcrouching low, shoulders narrowed and head bent; then, with one whiteflash of the stallion's mane against her flying black hair, she went outof sight in leaping waves and spray. Hare was thrown forward into thebacklash of the wave. The shock blinded him, stunned him, almost torehis arms from his body, but his hands were so twisted in Silvermane'stail that even this could not loosen them. The current threw him fromwave to wave. He was dragged through a caldron, blind from stingingblows, deaf from the tremendous roar. Then the fierce contention ofwaves lessened, the threshing of crosscurrents straightened, and hecould breathe once more. Silvermane dragged him steadily; and, finally, his feet touched the ground. He could scarcely see, so full were hiseyes of the sandy water, but he made out Mescal rising from the river onSilvermane, as with loud snorts he climbed to a bar. Hare staggered upand fell on the sand. 

"Jack, are you all right?" inquired Mescal. 

"All right, only pounded out of breath, and my eyes are full of sand. How about you?"

"I don't think I ever was any wetter, " replied Mescal, laughing. "It washard to stick on holding the rifle. That first wave almost unseatedme. I was afraid we might strike the rocks, but the water was deep. Silvermane is grand, Jack. Wolf swam out above the rapids and waswaiting for us when we landed. "

Hare wiped the sand out of his eyes and rose to his feet, findinghimself little the worse for the adventure. Mescal was wringing thewater from the long straight braids of her hair. She was smiling, anda tint of color showed in her cheeks. The wet buckskin blouse and shortskirt clung tightly to her slender form. She made so pretty a pictureand appeared so little affected by the peril they had just passedthrough that Hare, yielding to a tender rush of pride and possession, kissed the pink cheeks till they flamed. 

"All wet, " said he, "you and I, clothes, food, guns--everything. "

"It's hot and we'll soon dry, " returned Mescal. "Here's the canyon andcreek we must follow up to Coconina. My peon mapped them in the sand forme one day. It'll probably be a long climb. "

Hare poured the water out of his boots, pulled them on, and helpingMescal to mount Silvermane, he took the bridle over his arm and led theway into a black-mouthed canyon, through which flowed a stream of clearwater. Wolf splashed and pattered along beside him. Beyond the marblerock this canyon opened out to great breadth and wonderful walls. Harehad eyes only for the gravelly bars and shallow levels of the creek;intent on finding the easy going for his horse he strode on and onthoughtless of time. Nor did he talk to Mescal, for the work was hard, and he needed his breath. Splashing the water, hammering the stones, Silvermane ever kept his nose at Hare's elbow. They climbed littleridges, making short cuts from point to point, they threaded milesof narrow winding creek floor, and passed under ferny cliffs and overgrassy banks and through thickets of yellow willow. As they wound alongthe course of the creek, always up and up, the great walls imperceptiblylowered their rims. The warm sun soared to the zenith. Jumble ofbowlders, stretches of white gravel, ridges of sage, blocks of granite, thickets of manzanita, long yellow slopes, crumbling crags, clumps ofcedar and lines of pinon--all were passed in the persistent ploddingclimb. The canon grew narrower toward its source; the creek lostits volume; patches of snow gleamed in sheltered places. At last theyellow-streaked walls edged out upon a grassy hollow and the great darkpines of Coconina shadowed the snow. 

"We're up, " panted Hare. "What a climb! Five hours! One more day--thenhome!"

Silvermane's ears shot up and Wolf barked. Two gray deer loped out of athicket and turned inquisitively. Reaching for his rifle Hare threw backthe lever, but the action clogged, it rasped with the sound of crunchingsand, and the cartridge could not be pressed into the chamber orejected. He fumbled about the breach of the gun and his brow clouded. 

"Sand! Out of commission!" he exclaimed. "Mescal, I don't like that. "

"Use your Colt, " suggested Mescal. 

The distance was too great. Hare missed, and the deer bounded away intothe forest. 

Hare built a fire under a sheltering pine where no snow covered the softmat of needles, and while Mescal dried the blankets and roasted the lastportion of meat he made a wind-break of spruce boughs. When they hadeaten, not forgetting to give Wolf a portion, Hare fed Silvermane thelast few handfuls of grain, and tied him with a long halter on thegrassy bank. The daylight failed and darkness came on apace. The oldfamiliar roar of the wind in the pines was disturbing; it might meanonly the lull and crash of the breaking night-gusts, and it might meanthe north wind, storm, and snow. It whooped down the hollow, scatteringthe few scrub-oak leaves; it whirled the red embers of the fire awayinto the dark to sputter in the snow, and blew the burning logs into awhite glow. Mescal slept in the shelter of the spruce boughs with Wolfsnug and warm beside her. Hare stretched his tired limbs in the heat ofthe blaze. 

When he awakened the fire was low and he was numb with cold. He tookcare to put on logs enough to last until morning; then he lay down oncemore, but did not sleep. The dawn came with a gray shade in the forest;it was a cloud, and it rolled over him soft, tangible, moist, and cool, and passed away under the pines. With its vanishing the dawn lightened. "Mescal, if we're on the spur of Coconina, it's only ten miles or so toSilver Cup, " said Hare, as he saddled Silvermane. "Mount now and we'llgo up out of the hollow and get our bearings. "

While ascending the last step to the rim Hare revolved in his mind theprobabilities of marking a straight course to Silver Cup. 

"Oh! Jack!" exclaimed Mescal, suddenly. "Vermillion Cliffs and home!"

"I've travelled in a circle!" replied Hare. 

Mescal was enraptured at the scene. Vermillion Cliffs shone red asa rose. The split in the wall marking the oasis defined its outlinessharply against the sky. Miles of the Colorado River lay in sight. Hareknew he stood on the highest point of Coconina overhanging the GrandCanyon and the Painted Desert, thousands of feet below. He noted thewondrous abyss sleeping in blue mist at his feet, while he gazed acrossto the desert awakening in the first red rays of the rising sun. 

"Mescal, your Thunder River Canyon is only one little crack in therocks. It is lost in this chasm, " said Hare. 

"It's lost, surely. I can t even see the tip of the peak that stood sohigh over the valley. "

Once more turning to the left Hare ran his eye over the VermillionCliffs, and the strip of red sand shining under them, and so calculatinghis bearings he headed due north for Silver Cup. What with the snow andthe soggy ground the first mile was hard going for Hare, and Silvermaneoften sank deep. Once off the level spur of the mountain they madebetter time, for the snow thinned out on the slope and gradually gaveway to the brown dry aisles of the forest. Hare mounted in front ofMescal, and put the stallion to an easy trot; after two hours of ridingthey struck a bridle-trail which Hare recognized as one leading down tothe spring. In another hour they reached the steep slope of Coconina, and saw the familiar red wall across the valley, and caught glimpses ofgray sage patches down through the pines. 

"I smell smoke, " said Hare. 

"The boys must be at the spring, " rejoined Mescal. 

"Maybe. I want to be sure who's there. We'll leave the trail and slipdown through the woods to the left. I wish we could get down on the homeside of the spring. But we can't; we've got to pass it. "

With many a pause to peer through openings in the pines Hare traversed adiagonal course down the slope, crossed the line of cedars, and reachedthe edge of the valley a mile or more above Silver Cup. Then he turnedtoward it, still cautiously leading Silvermane under cover of the fringeof cedars. 

"Mescal, there are too many cattle in the valley, " he said, looking ather significantly. 

"They can't all be ours, that's sure, " she replied. "What do you think?"

"Holderness!" With the word Hare's face grew set and stern. He kept on, cautiously leading the horse under the cedars, careful to avoid breakingbrush or rattling stones, occasionally whispering to Wolf; and so workedhis way along the curve of the woody slope till further progress waschecked by the bulging wall of rock. 

"Only cattle in the valley, no horses, " he said. "I've a good chance tocut across this cube and reach the trail. If I take time to climb up andsee who's at the spring maybe the chance will be gone. I don't believeDave and the boys are there. "

He pondered a moment, then climbed up in front of Mescal, and directedthe gray out upon the valley. Soon he was among the grazing cattle. Hefelt no surprise to see the H brand on their flanks. 

"Jack, look at that brand, " said Mescal, pointing to a white-flankedsteer. "There's an old brand like a cross, Father Naab's cross, and anew brand, a single bar. Together they make an H!"

"Mescal! You've hit it. I remember that steer. He was a very devil tobrand. He's the property of August Naab, and Holderness has added thebar, making a clumsy H. What a rustler's trick! It wouldn't deceive achild. "

They had reached the cedars and the trail when Wolf began to sniffsuspiciously at the wind. 

"Look!" whispered Mescal, calling Hare's attention from the dog. "Look!A new corral!"

Bending back to get in line with her pointing finger Hare looked througha network of cedar boughs to see a fence of stripped pines. Farther upwere piles of unstripped logs, and close by the spring there was a newcabin with smoke curling from a stone chimney. Hare guided Silvermaneoff the trail to softer ground and went on. He climbed the slope, passedthe old pool, now a mud-puddle, and crossed the dry wash to be broughtsuddenly to a halt. Wolf had made an uneasy stand with his nose pointingto the left, and Silvermane pricked up his ears. Presently Hare heardthe stamping of hoofs off in the cedars, and before he had fullydetermined the direction from which the sound came three horses and aman stepped from the shade into a sunlit space. 

As luck would have it Hare happened to be well screened by a thickcedar; and since there was a possibility that he might remain unseen hechose to take it. Silvermane and Wolf stood still in their tracks. Harefelt Mescal's hands tighten on his coat and he pressed them to reassureher. Peeping out from his covert he saw a man in his shirt-sleevesleading the horses--a slender, clean-faced, dark-haired man--Dene! Theblood beat hotly in Hare's temples and he gripped the handle of hisColt. It seemed a fatal chance that sent the outlaw to that trail. Hewas whistling; he had two halters in one hand and with the other he ledhis bay horse by the mane. Then Hare saw that he wore no belt; he wasunarmed; on the horses were only the halters and clinking hobbles. Haredropped his Colt back into its holster. 

Dene sauntered on, whistling "Dixie. " When he reached the trail, insteadof crossing it, as Hare had hoped, he turned into it and came down. 

Hare swung the switch he had broken from an aspen and struck Silvermanea stinging blow on the flanks. The gray leaped forward. The crash ofbrush and rattle of hoofs stampeded Dene's horses in a twinkling. Butthe outlaw paled to a ghastly white and seemed rooted to the trail. Itwas not fear of a man or a horse that held Dene fixed; in his startingeyes was the terror of the supernatural. 

The shoulder of the charging stallion struck Dene and sent him spinningout of the trail. In a backward glance Hare saw the outlaw fall, thenrise unhurt to shake his fists wildly and to run yelling toward thecabin. 

XVII. THE SWOOP OF THE HAWK

"JACK! the saddle's slipping!" cried Mescal, clinging closer to him. "What luck!" Hare muttered through clinched teeth, and pulled hard onthe bridle. But the mouth of the stallion was iron; regardless of thesawing bit, he galloped on. Hare called steadily: "Whoa there, Silver!Whoa--slow now--whoa--easy!" and finally halted him. Hare swung down, and as he lifted Mescal off, the saddle slipped to the ground. 

"Lucky not to get a spill! The girth snapped. It was wet, and driedout. " Hare hurriedly began to repair the break with buckskin thongs thathe found in a saddle-bag. 

"Listen! Hear the yells! Oh! hurry!" cried Mescal. 

"I've never ridden bareback. Suppose you go ahead with Silver, and I'llhide in the cedars till dark, then walk home!"

"No--No. There's time, but hurry. "

"It's got to be strong, " muttered Hare, holding the strap over his kneeand pulling the laced knot with all his strength, "for we'll have toride some. If it comes loose--Good-bye!"

Silvermane's broad chest muscles rippled and he stamped restlessly. Thedog whined and looked back. Mescal had the blanket smooth on thegray when Hare threw the saddle over him. The yells had ceased, butclattering hoofs on the stony trail were a greater menace. While Hare'sbrown hands worked swiftly over buckle and strap Mescal climbed to aseat behind the saddle. 

"Get into the saddle, " said Hare, leaping astride and pressing forwardover the pommel. "Slip down--there! and hold to me. Go! Silver!"

The rapid pounding of the stallion's hoofs drowned the clatter comingup the trail. A backward glance relieved Hare, for dust-clouds some fewhundred yards in the rear showed the position of the pursuing horsemen. He held in Silvermane to a steady gallop. The trail was up-hill, andsteep enough to wind even a desert racer, if put to his limit. 

"Look back!" cried Mescal. "Can you see them? Is Snap with them?"

"I can't see for trees, " replied Hare, over his shoulder. "There'sdust--we're far in the lead--never fear, Mescal. The lead's all wewant. "

Cedars grew thickly all the way up the steeper part of the divide, andended abruptly at a pathway of stone, where the ascent became gradual. When Silvermane struck out of the grove upon this slope Hare keptturning keen glances rearward. The dust cloud rolled to the edge of thecedars, and out of it trooped half-a-dozen horsemen who began to shootas soon as they had reached the open. Bullets zipped along the redstone, cutting little puffs of red dust, and sung through the air. 

"Good God!" cried Hare. "They're firing on us! They'd shoot a woman!"

"Has it taken you so long to learn that?"

Hare slashed his steed with the switch. But Silvermane needed no goador spur; he had been shot at before, and the whistle of one bullet wassufficient to stretch his gallop into a run. Then distance between himand his pursuers grew wider and wider and soon he was out of range. Theyells of the rustlers seemed at first to come from baffled rage, butMescal's startled cry shoveled their meaning. Other horsemen appearedahead and to the right of him, tearing down the ridge to the divide. Evidently they had been returning from the western curve of Coconina. 

The direction in which Silvermane was stretching was the only possibleone for Hare. If he swerved off the trail to the left it would be uponrough rising ground. Not only must he outride this second band to thepoint where the trail went down on the other side of the divide, butalso he must get beyond it before they came within rifle range. 

"Now! Silver! Go! Go!" Fast as the noble stallion was speeding heanswered to the call. He was in the open now, free of stones and brush, with the spang of rifles in the air. The wind rushed into Hare's ears, filling them with a hollow roar; the ground blurred by in reddishsheets. The horsemen cut down the half mile to a quarter, lessened that, swept closer and closer, till Hare recognized Chance and Culver, andSnap Naab on his cream-colored pinto. Seeing that they could not headthe invincible stallion they sheered more to the right. But Silvermanethundered on, crossing the line ahead of them a full three hundredyards, and went over the divide, drawing them in behind him. 

Then, at the sharp crack of the rifles, leaden messengers whizzed highin the air over horse and riders, and skipped along the red shale infront of the running dog. 

"Oh--Silvermane!" cried Hare. It was just a call, as if the horse werehuman, and knew what that pace meant to his master. The stern businessof the race had ceased to rest on Hare. Silvermane was out to the front!He was like a level-rushing thunderbolt. Hare felt the instantaneouspause between his long low leaps, the gather of mighty muscles, thestrain, the tension, then the quivering expulsion of force. It was aperilous ride down that red slope, not so much from the hissingbullets as from the washes and gullies which Silvermane sailed over inmagnificent leaps. Hare thrilled with savage delight in the wonderfulprowess of his desert king, in the primal instinct of joy at escapingwith the woman he loved. 

"Outrun!" he cried, with blazing eyes. Mescal's white face was pressedclose to his shoulder. "Silver has beaten them. They'll hang on tillwe reach the sand-strip, hoping the slow-down will let them come up intime. But they'll be far too late. "

The rustlers continued on the trail, firing desultorily, till Silvermaneso far distanced them that even the necessary lapse into a walk in thered sand placed him beyond range when they arrived at the strip. 

"They've turned back, Mescal. We're safe. Why, you look as you did theday the bear ran for you. "

"I'd rather a bear got me than Snap. Jack, did you see him?"

"See him? Rather! I'll bet he nearly killed his pinto. Mescal, what doyou think of Silvermane now? Can he run? Can he outrun Bolly?"

"Yes--yes. Oh! Jack! how I'll love him! Look back again. Are we safe?Will we ever be safe?"

It was still daylight when they rounded the portal of the oasisand entered the lane with the familiar wall on one side, the peeledfence-pickets on the other. Wolf dashed on ahead, and presently a chorusof barks announced that he had been met by the other dogs. Silvermaneneighed shrilly, and the horses and mustangs in the corrals troopednoisily to the lower sides and hung inquisitive heads over the top bars. 

A Navajo whom Hare remembered stared with axe idle by the woodpile, thenJudith Naab dropped a bundle of sticks and with a cry of gladness ranfrom the house. Before Silvermane had come to a full stop Mescal wasoff. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, then she leftJudith to dart to the corral where a little black mustang had begun towhistle and stamp and try to climb over the bars. 

August Naab, bareheaded, with shaggy locks shaking at every step, strodeoff the porch and his great hands lifted Hare from the saddle. 

"Every day I've watched the river for you, " he said. His eyes were warmand his grasp like a vise. 

"Mescal--child!" he continued, as she came running to him. "Safe andwell. He's brought you back. Thank the Lord!" He took her to his breastand bent his gray head over her. 

Then the crowd of big and little Naabs burst from the house and cameunder the cottonwoods to offer noisy welcome to Mescal and Hare. 

"Jack, you look done up, " said Dave Naab solicitously, when the firstgreetings had been spoken, and Mother Ruth had led Mescal indoors. "Silvermane, too--he's wet and winded. He's been running?"

"Yes, a little, " replied Hare, as he removed the saddle from the wearyhorse. 

"Ah! What's this?" questioned August Naab, with his hand on Silvermane'sflank. He touched a raw groove, and the stallion flinched. "Hare, abullet made that!"

"Yes. "

"Then you didn't ride in by the Navajo crossing?"

"No. I came by Silver Cup. "

"Silver Cup? How on earth did you get down there?"

"We climbed out of the canyon up over Coconina, and so made the spring. "

Naab whistled in surprise and he flashed another keen glance over Hareand his horse. "Your story can wait. I know about what it is--afteryou reached Silver Cup. Come in, come in, Dave will look out for thestallion. "

But Hare would allow no one else to attend to Silvermane. He rubbed thetired gray, gave him a drink at the trough, led him to the corral, andtook leave of him with a caress like Mescal's. Then he went to his roomand bathed himself and changed his clothes, afterward presenting himselfat the supper-table to eat like one famished. Mescal and he ate alone, as they had been too late for the regular hour. The women-folk waitedupon them as if they could not do enough. There were pleasant words andsmiles; but in spite of them something sombre attended the meal. Therewas a shadow in each face, each step was slow, each voice subdued. Naaband his sons were waiting for Hare when he entered the sitting room, andafter his entrance the door was closed. They were all quiet and stern, especially the father. "Tell us all, " said Naab, simply. 

While Hare was telling his adventures not a word or a move interruptedhim till he spoke of Silvermane's running Dene down. 

"That's the second time!" rolled out Naab. "The stallion will kill himyet!"

Hare finished his story. 

"What don't you owe to that whirlwind of a horse!" exclaimed Dave Naab. No other comment on Hare or Silvermane was offered by the Naabs. 

"You knew Holderness had taken in Silver Cup?" inquired Hare. 

August Naab nodded gloomily. 

"I guess we knew it, " replied Dave for him. "While I was in White Sageand the boys were here at home, Holderness rode to the spring and tookpossession. I called to see him on my way back, but he wasn't around. Snap was there, the boss of a bunch of riders. Dene, too, was there. "

"Did you go right into camp?" asked Hare. 

"Sure. I was looking for Holderness. There were eighteen or twentyriders in the bunch. I talked to several of them, Mormons, good fellows, they used to be. Also I had some words with Dene. He said: 'I shore wassorry Snap got to my spy first. I wanted him bad, an' I'm shore goin'to have his white horse. ' Snap and Dene, all of them, thought you werenumber thirty-one in dad's cemetery. "

"Not yet, " said Hare. "Dene certainly looked as if he saw a ghost whenSilvermane jumped for him. Well, he's at Silver Cup now. They're allthere. What's to be done about it? They're openly thieves. The new brandon all your stock proves that. "

"Such a trick we never heard of, " replied August Naab. "If we had wemight have spared ourselves the labor of branding the stock. "

"But that new brand of Holderness's upon yours proves his guilt. "

"It's not now a question of proof. It's one of possession. Holdernesshas stolen my water and my stock. "

"They are worse than rustlers; firing on Mescal and me proves that. "

"Why didn't you unlimber the long rifle?" interposed Dave, curiously. 

"I got it full of water and sand. That reminds me I must see aboutcleaning it. I never thought of shooting back. Silvermane was runningtoo fast. "

"Jack, you can see I am in the worst fix of my life, " said August Naab. "My sons have persuaded me that I was pushed off my ranges too easily. I've come to believe Martin Cole; certainly his prophecy has cometrue. Dave brought news from White Sage, and it's almost unbelievable. Holderness has proclaimed himself or has actually got himself electedsheriff. He holds office over the Mormons from whom he steals. Scarcelya day goes by in the village without a killing. The Mormons north ofLund finally banded together, hanged some rustlers, and drove the othersout. Many of them have come down into our country, and Holderness nowhas a strong force. But the Mormons will rise against him. I know it; Isee it. I am waiting for it. We are God-fearing, life-loving men, slowto wrath. But--"

The deep rolling burr in his voice showed emotion too deep for words. 

"They need a leader, " replied Hare, sharply. 

August Naab rose with haggard face and his eyes had the look of a manaccused. 

"Dad figures this way, " put in Dave. "On the one hand we lose our waterand stock without bloodshed. We have a living in the oasis. There'slittle here to attract rustlers, so we may live in peace if we give upour rights. On the other hand, suppose Dad gets the Navajos down hereand we join them and go after Holderness and his gang. There's going tobe an all-fired bloody fight. Of course we'd wipe out the rustlers, butsome of us would get killed--and there are the wives and kids. See!"

The force of August Naab's argument for peace, entirely aside from hisChristian repugnance to the shedding of blood, was plainly unassailable. 

"Remember what Snap said?" asked Hare, suddenly. "One man to kill Dene!Therefore one man to kill Holderness! That would break the power of thisband. "

"Ah! you've said it, " replied Dave, raising a tense arm. "It's a one-manjob. D--n Snap! He could have done it, if he hadn't gone to the bad. Butit won't be easy. I tried to get Holderness. He was wise, and his menpolitely said they had enjoyed my call, but I wasn't to come again. "

"One man to kill Holderness!" repeated Hare. 

August Naab cast at the speaker one of his far-seeing glances; thenhe shook himself, as if to throw off the grip of something hard andinevitable. "I'm still master here, " he said, and his voice showed theconquest of his passions. 

"I give up Silver Cup and my stock. Maybe that will content Holderness. "

Some days went by pleasantly for Hare, as he rested from his longexertions. Naab's former cheer and that of his family reasserted itselfonce the decision was made, and the daily life went on as usual. Thesons worked in the fields by day, and in the evening played at pitchinghorseshoes on the bare circle where the children romped. The women wenton baking, sewing, and singing. August Naab's prayers were more ferventthan ever, and he even prayed for the soul of the man who had robbedhim. Mescal's cheeks soon rounded out to their old contour and her eyesshone with a happier light than Hare had ever seen there. The racesbetween Silvermane and Black Bolly were renewed on the long stretchunder the wall, and Mescal forgot that she had once acknowledged thesuperiority of the gray. The cottonwoods showered silken floss till thecabins and grass were white; the birds returned to the oasis; the sunkissed warm color into the cherries, and the distant noise of the riverseemed like the humming of a swarm of bees. 

"Here, Jack, " said August Naab, one morning, "get a spade and come withme. There's a break somewhere in the ditch. "

Hare went with him out along the fence by the alfalfa fields, and roundthe corner of red wall toward the irrigating dam. 

"Well, Jack, I suppose you'll be asking me for Mescal one of thesedays, " said Naab. 

"Yes, " replied Hare. 

"There's a little story to tell you about Mescal, when the day comes. "

"Tell it now. "

"No. Not yet. I'm glad you found her. I never knew her to be so happy, not even when she was a child. But somehow there's a better feelingbetween her and my womenfolk. The old antagonism is gone. Well, well, life is so. I pray that things may turn out well for you and her. But Ifear--I seem to see--Hare, I'm a poor man once more. I can't do for youwhat I'd like. Still we'll see, we'll hope. "

Hare was perfectly happy. The old Mormon's hint did not disturb him;even the thought of Snap Naab did not return to trouble his contentment. The full present was sufficient for Hare, and his joy bubbled over, bringing smiles to August's grave face. Never had a summer afternoon inthe oasis been so fair. The green fields, the red walls, the blue sky, all seemed drenched in deeper, richer hues. The wind-song in the crags, the river-murmur from the canyon, filled Hare's ears with music. Tobe alive, to feel the sun, to see the colors, to hear the sounds, wasbeautiful; and to know that Mescal awaited him, was enough. 

Work on the washed-out bank of the ditch had not gone far when Naabraised his head as if listening. 

"Did you hear anything?" he asked. 

"No, " replied Hare. 

"The roar of the river is heavy here. Maybe I was mistaken. I thoughtI heard shots. " Then he went on spading clay into the break, but hestopped every moment or so, uneasily, as if he could not get rid of somedisturbing thought. Suddenly he dropped the spade and his eyes flashed. 

"Judith! Judith! Here!" he called. Wheeling with a sudden premonition ofevil Hare saw the girl running along the wall toward them. Her face waswhite as death; she wrung her hands and her cries rose above the soundof the river. Naab sprang toward her and Hare ran at his heels. 

"Father!-- Father!" she panted. "Come--quick--the rustlers!--therustlers! Snap!--Dene--Oh--hurry! They've killed Dave--they've gotMescal!"

Death itself shuddered through Hare's veins and then a raging flood offire. He bounded forward to be flung back by Naab's arm. 

"Fool! Would you throw away your life? Go slowly. We'll slip through thefields, under the trees. "

Sick and cold Hare hurried by Naab's side round the wall and into thealfalfa. There were moments when he was weak and trembling; others whenhe could have leaped like a tiger to rend and kill. 

They left the fields and went on more cautiously into the grove. Thescreaming and wailing of women added certainty to their doubt and dread. 

"I see only the women--the children--no--there's a man--Zeke, " saidHare, bending low to gaze under the branches. 

"Go slow, " muttered Naab. 

"The rustlers rode off--after Mescal--she's gone!" panted Judith. 

Hare, spurred by the possibilities in the half-crazed girl's speech, cast caution to the winds and dashed forward into the glade. Naab'sheavy steps thudded behind him. 

In the corner of the porch scared and stupefied children huddled in aheap. George and Billy bent over Dave, who sat white-faced against thesteps. Blood oozed through the fingers pressed to his breast. Zeke wastrying to calm the women. 

"My God! Dave!" cried Hare. "You're not hard hit? Don't say it!"

"Hard hit--Jack--old fellow, " replied Dave, with a pale smile. His facewas white and clammy. 

August Naab looked once at him and groaned, "My son! My son!"

"Dad--I got Chance and Culver--there they lie in the road--not bungled, either!"

Hare saw the inert forms of two men lying near the gate; one rested onhis face, arm outstretched with a Colt gripped in the stiff hand; theother lay on his back, his spurs deep in the ground, as if driven therein his last convulsion. 

August Naab and Zeke carried the injured man into the house. The womenand children followed, and Hare, with Billy and George, entered last. 

"Dad--I'm shot clean through--low down, " said Dave, as they laid him ona couch. "It's just as well I--as any one--somebody had to--start thisfight. "

Naab got the children and the girls out of the room. The women weresilent now, except Dave's wife, who clung to him with low moans. Hesmiled upon all with a quick intent smile, then he held out a hand toHare. 

"Jack, we got--to be--good friends. Don't forget--that--when youmeet--Holderness. He shot me--from behind Chance and Culver--and afterI fell--I killed them both--trying to get him. You--won't hang up--yourgun--again--will you?"

Hare wrung the cold hand clasping his so feebly. "No! Dave, no!" Thenhe fled from the room. For an hour he stood on the porch waiting in dumbmisery. George and Zeke came noiselessly out, followed by their father. 

"It's all over, Hare. " Another tragedy had passed by this man of thedesert, and left his strength unshaken, but his deadly quiet and thegloom of his iron face were more terrible to see than any grief. 

"Father, and you, Hare, come out into the road, " said George. 

Another motionless form lay beyond Chance and Culver. It was that of aslight man, flat on his back, his arms wide, his long black hair in thedust. Under the white level brow the face had been crushed into a bloodycurve. 

"Dene!" burst from Hare, in a whisper. 

"Killed by a horse!" exclaimed August Naab. "Ah! What horse?"

"Silvermane!" replied George. 

"Who rode my horse--tell me--quick!" cried Hare, in a frenzy. 

"It was Mescal. Listen. Let me tell you how it all happened. I was outat the forge when I heard a bunch of horses coming up the lane. I wasn'tpacking my gun, but I ran anyway. When I got to the house there was Davefacing Snap, Dene, and a bunch of rustlers. I saw Chance at first, butnot Holderness. There must have been twenty men. 

"'I came after Mescal, that's what, ' Snap was saying. 

"'You can't have her, ' Dave answered. 

"'We'll shore take her, an' we want Silvermane, too, ' said Dene. 

"'So you're a horse-thief as well as a rustler?' asked Dave. 

"'Naab, I ain't in any mind to fool. Snap wants the girl, an' I wantSilvermane, an' that damned spy that come back to life. '

"Then Holderness spoke from the back of the crowd: 'Naab, you'd betterhurry, if you don't want the house burned!'

"Dave drew and Holderness fired from behind the men. Dave fell, raisedup and shot Chance and Culver, then dropped his gun. 

"With that the women in the house began to scream, and Mescal ran outsaying she'd go with Snap if they'd do no more harm. 

"'All right, ' said Snap, 'get a horse, hurry--hurry!'

"Then Dene dismounted and went toward the corral saying, 'I shore wantSilvermane. '

"Mescal reached the gate ahead of Dene. 'Let me get Silvermane. He'swild; he doesn't know you; he'll kick you if you go near him. ' Shedropped the bars and went up to the horse. He was rearing and snorting. She coaxed him down and then stepped up on the fence to untie him. Whenshe had him loose she leaped off the fence to his back, screaming asshe hit him with the halter. Silvermane snorted and jumped, and inthree jumps he was going like a bullet. Dene tried to stop him, and wasknocked twenty feet. He was raising up when the stallion ran over him. He never moved again. Once in the lane Silvermane got going--Lord! howhe did run! Mescal hung low over his neck like an Indian. He was gonein a cloud of dust before Snap and the rustlers knew what had happened. Snap came to first and, yelling and waving his gun, spurred down thelane. The rest of the rustlers galloped after him. "

August Naab placed a sympathetic hand on Hare's shaking shoulder. 

"You see, lad, things are never so bad as they seem at first. Snap mightas well try to catch a bird as Silvermane. "

XVIII. THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT

"MESCAL'S far out in front by this time. Depend on it, Hare, " went onNaab. "That trick was the cunning Indian of her. She'll ride Silvermaneinto White Sage to-morrow night. Then she'll hide from Snap. The Bishopwill take care of her. She'll be safe for the present in White Sage. Nowwe must bury these men. To-morrow--my son. Then--"

"What then?" Hare straightened up. 

Unutterable pain darkened the flame in the Mormon's gaze. For an instanthis face worked spasmodically, only to stiffen into a stony mask. Itwas the old conflict once more, the never-ending war between flesh andspirit. And now the flesh had prevailed. 

"The time has come!" said George Naab. 

"Yes, " replied his father, harshly. 

A great calm settled over Hare; his blood ceased to race, his mind toriot; in August Naab's momentous word he knew the old man had foundhimself. At last he had learned the lesson of the desert--to strikefirst and hard. 

"Zeke, hitch up a team, " said August Naab. "No--wait a moment. Herecomes Piute. Let's hear what he has to say. "

Piute appeared on the zigzag cliff-trail, driving a burro at dangerousspeed. 

"He's sighted Silvermane and the rustlers, " suggested George, as theshepherd approached. 

Naab translated the excited Indian's mingling of Navajo andPiute languages to mean just what George had said. "Snap ahead ofriders--Silvermane far, far ahead of Snap--running fast--damn!"

"Mescal's pushing him hard to make the sand-strip, " said George. 

"Piute--three fires to-night--Lookout Point!" This order meant theexecution of August Naab's hurry-signal for the Navajos, and after hehad given it, he waved the Indian toward the cliff, and lapsed into asilence which no one dared to break. 

Naab consigned the bodies of the rustlers to the famous cemetery underthe red wall. He laid Dene in grave thirty-one. It was the grave thatthe outlaw had promised as the last resting-place of Dene's spy. Chanceand Culver he buried together. It was noteworthy that no Mormon riteswere conferred on Culver, once a Mormon in good standing, nor were anyprayers spoken over the open graves. 

What did August Naab intend to do? That was the question in Hare's mindas he left the house. It was a silent day, warm as summer, though thesun was overcast with gray clouds; the birds were quiet in the trees;there was no bray of burro or clarion-call of peacock, even the hum ofthe river had fallen into silence. Hare wandered over the farm and downthe red lane, brooding over the issue. Naab's few words had been fullof meaning; the cold gloom so foreign to his nature, had been even moreimpressive. His had been the revolt of the meek. The gentle, the loving, the administering, the spiritual uses of his life had failed. 

Hare recalled what the desert had done to his own nature, how it hadbred in him its impulse to fight, to resist, to survive. If he, astranger of a few years, could be moulded in the flaming furnace ofits fiery life, what then must be the cast of August Naab, born on thedesert, and sleeping five nights out of seven on the sands for sixtyyears?

The desert! Hare trembled as he grasped all its meaning. Then he slowlyresolved that meaning. There were the measureless distances to narrowthe eye and teach restraint; the untrodden trails, the shifting sands, the thorny brakes, the broken lava to pierce the flesh; the heights anddepths, unscalable and unplumbed. And over all the sun, red and burning. 

The parched plants of the desert fought for life, growing far apart, sending enormous roots deep to pierce the sand and split the rock formoisture, arming every leaf with a barbed thorn or poisoned sap, neverthriving and ever thirsting. 

The creatures of the desert endured the sun and lived without water, andwere at endless war. The hawk had a keener eye than his fellow of morefruitful lands, sharper beak, greater spread of wings, and claws ofdeeper curve. For him there was little to eat, a rabbit now, a rock-ratthen; nature made his swoop like lightning and it never missed its aim. The gaunt wolf never failed in his sure scent, in his silent hunt. Thelizard flicked an invisible tongue into the heart of a flower; and thebee he caught stung with a poisoned sting. The battle of life went tothe strong. 

So the desert trained each of its wild things to survive. No eye ofthe desert but burned with the flame of the sun. To kill or to escapedeath--that was the dominant motive. To fight barrenness and heat--thatwas stern enough, but each creature must fight his fellow. 

What then of the men who drifted into the desert and survived? They mustof necessity endure the wind and heat, the drouth and famine; they mustgrow lean and hard, keen-eyed and silent. The weak, the humble, thesacrificing must be winnowed from among them. As each man developed hetook on some aspect of the desert--Holderness had the amber clearnessof its distances in his eyes, its deceit in his soul; August Naab, themagnificence of the desert-pine in his giant form, its strength in hisheart; Snap Naab, the cast of the hawk-beak in his face, its crueltyin his nature. But all shared alike in the common element ofsurvival--ferocity. August Naab had subdued his to the promptings ofa Christ-like spirit; yet did not his very energy, his wonderfultirelessness, his will to achieve, his power to resist, partake of thatfierceness? Moreover, after many struggles, he too had been overcome bythe desert's call for blood. His mystery was no longer a mystery. Alwaysin those moments of revelation which he disclaimed, he had seen himselfas faithful to the desert in the end. 

Hare's slumbers that night were broken. He dreamed of a great grayhorse leaping in the sky from cloud to cloud with the lightning and thethunder under his hoofs, the storm-winds sweeping from his silver mane. He dreamed of Mescal's brooding eyes. They were dark gateways of thedesert open only to him, and he entered to chase the alluring starsdeep into the purple distance. He dreamed of himself waiting in sereneconfidence for some unknown thing to pass. He awakened late in themorning and found the house hushed. The day wore on in a reposeunstirred by breeze and sound, in accord with the mourning of AugustNaab. At noon a solemn procession wended its slow course to the shadowof the red cliff, and as solemnly returned. 

Then a long-drawn piercing Indian whoop broke the midday hush. Itheralded the approach of the Navajos. In single-file they rode up thelane, and when the falcon-eyed Eschtah dismounted before his whitefriend, the line of his warriors still turned the corner of the redwall. Next to the chieftain rode Scarbreast, the grim war-lord of theNavajos. His followers trailed into the grove. Their sinewy bronzebodies, almost naked, glistened wet from the river. Full a hundredstrong were they, a silent, lean-limbed desert troop. 

"The White Prophet's fires burned bright, " said the chieftain. "Eschtahis here. "

"The Navajo is a friend, " replied Naab. "The white man needs counsel andhelp. He has fallen upon evil days. "

"Eschtah sees war in the eyes of his friend. "

"War, chief, war! Let the Navajo and his warriors rest and eat. Then weshall speak. "

A single command from the Navajo broke the waiting files of warriors. Mustangs were turned into the fields, packs were unstrapped from theburros, blankets spread under the cottonwoods. When the afternoon wanedand the shade from the western wall crept into the oasis, August Naabcame from his cabin clad in buckskins, with a large blue Colt swinginghandle outward from his left hip. He ordered his sons to replenishthe fire which had been built in the circle, and when the fierce-eyedIndians gathered round the blaze he called to his women to bring meatand drink. 

Hare's unnatural calmness had prevailed until he saw Naab stride outto front the waiting Indians. Then a ripple of cold passed over him. He leaned against a tree in the shadow and watched the gray-faced giantstalking to and fro before his Indian friends. A long while he strodein the circle of light to pause at length before the chieftains and tobreak the impressive silence with his deep voice. 

"Eschtah sees before him a friend stung to his heart. Men of his owncolor have long injured him, yet have lived. The Mormon loved hisfellows and forgave. Five sons he laid in their graves, yet his heartwas not hardened. His first-born went the trail of the fire-water and isan outcast from his people. Many enemies has he and one is a chief. Hehas killed the white man's friends, stolen his cattle, and his water. To-day the white man laid another son in his grave. What thinks thechief? Would he not crush the scorpion that stung him?"

The old Navajo answered in speech which, when translated, was as statelyas the Mormon's. 

"Eschtah respects his friend, but he has not thought him wise. The WhiteProphet sees visions of things to come, but his blood is cold. He askstoo much of the white man's God. He is a chief; he has an eye like thelightning, an arm strong as the pine, yet he has not struck. Eschtahgrieves. He does not wish to shed blood for pleasure. But Eschtah'sfriend has let too many selfish men cross his range and drink at hissprings. Only a few can live on the desert. Let him who has found thesprings and the trails keep them for his own. Let him who came too latego away to find for himself, to prove himself a warrior, or let hisbones whiten in the sand. The Navajo counsels his white friend to kill. "

"The great Eschtah speaks wise words, " said Naab. "The White Prophet isricher for them. He will lay aside the prayers to his unseeing God, andwill seek his foe. "

"It is well. "

"The white man's foe is strong, " went on the Mormon; "he has many men, they will fight. If Eschtah sends his braves with his friend there willbe war. Many braves will fall. The White Prophet wishes to save themif he can. He will go forth alone to kill his foe. If the sun sets fourtimes and the white man is not here, then Eschtah will send his greatwar-chief and his warriors. They will kill whom they find at the whiteman's springs. And thereafter half of all the white man's cattle thatwere stolen shall be Eschtah's, so that he watch over the water andrange. "

"Eschtah greets a chief, " answered the Indian. "The White Prophet knowshe will kill his enemy, but he is not sure he will return. He is notsure that the little braves of his foe will fly like the winds, yet hehopes. So he holds the Navajo back to the last. Eschtah will watch thesun set four times. If his white friend returns he will rejoice. If hedoes not return the Navajo will send his warriors on the trail. "

August Naab walked swiftly from the circle of light into the darkness;his heavy steps sounded on the porch, and in the hallway. His three sonswent toward their cabins with bowed heads and silent tongues. Eschtahfolded his blanket about him and stalked off into the gloom of thegrove, followed by his warriors. 

Hare remained in the shadow of the cottonwood where he had stoodunnoticed. He had not moved a muscle since he had heard August Naab'sdeclaration. That one word of Naab's intention, "Alone!" had arrestedhim. For it had struck into his heart and mind. It had paralyzed himwith the revelation it brought; for Hare now knew as he had never knownanything before, that he would forestall August Naab, avenge the deathof Dave, and kill the rustler Holderness. Through blinding shock hepassed slowly into cold acceptance of his heritage from the desert. 

The two long years of his desert training were as an open page to Hare'sunveiled eyes. The life he owed to August Naab, the strength built up bythe old man's knowledge of the healing power of plateau and range--theselay in a long curve between the day Naab had lifted him out of the WhiteSage trail and this day of the Mormon's extremity. A long curve withHolderness's insulting blow at the beginning, his murder of a belovedfriend at the end! For Hare remembered the blow, and never would heforget Dave's last words. Yet unforgetable as these were, it was dutyrather than revenge that called him. This was August Naab's hour ofneed. Hare knew himself to be the tool of inscrutable fate; he was theone to fight the old desert-scarred Mormon's battle. Hare recalledhow humbly he had expressed his gratitude to Naab, and the apparentimpossibility of ever repaying him, and then Naab's reply: "Lad, you cannever tell how one man may repay another. " Hare could pay his own debtand that of the many wanderers who had drifted across the sands to finda home with the Mormon. These men stirred in their graves, and from outthe shadow of the cliff whispered the voice of Mescal's nameless father:"Is there no one to rise up for this old hero of the desert?"

Softly Hare slipped into his room. Putting on coat and belt and catchingup his rifle he stole out again stealthily, like an Indian. In thedarkness of the wagon-shed he felt for his saddle, and finding it, hegroped with eager hands for the grain-box; raising the lid he filled ameasure with grain, and emptied it into his saddle-bag. Then lifting thesaddle he carried it out of the yard, through the gate and across thelane to the corrals. The wilder mustangs in the far corral began to kickand snort, and those in the corral where Black Bolly was kept troopednoisily to the bars. Bolly whinnied and thrust her black muzzle over thefence. Hare placed a caressing hand on her while he waited listeningand watching. It was not unusual for the mustangs to get restless at anytime, and Hare was confident that this would pass without investigation. 

Gradually the restless stampings and suspicious snortings ceased, andHare, letting down the bars, led Bolly out into the lane. It was thework of a moment to saddle her; his bridle hung where he always kept it, on the pommel, and with nimble fingers he shortened the several strapsto fit Bolly's head, and slipped the bit between her teeth. Then he putup the bars of the gate. 

Before mounting he stood a moment thinking coolly, deliberatelynumbering the several necessities he must not forget--grain for Bolly, food for himself, his Colt and Winchester, cartridges, canteen, matches, knife. He inserted a hand into one of his saddle-bags expecting to findsome strips of meat. The bag was empty. He felt in the other one, andunder the grain he found what he sought. The canteen lay in the coil ofhis lasso tied to the saddle, and its heavy canvas covering was dampto his touch. With that he thrust the long Winchester into itssaddle-sheath, and swung his leg over the mustang. 

The house of the Naabs was dark and still. The dying council-fire castflickering shadows under the black cottonwoods where the Navajos slept. The faint breeze that rustled the leaves brought the low sullen roar ofthe river. 

Hare guided Bolly into the thick dust of the lane, laid the bridleloosely on her neck for her to choose the trail, and silently rode outinto the lonely desert night. 

XIX. UNLEASHED

HARE, listening breathlessly, rode on toward the gateway of the cliffs, and when he had passed the corner of the wall he sighed in relief. Spurring Bolly into a trot he rode forward with a strange elation. Hehad slipped out of the oasis unheard, and it would be morning beforeAugust Naab discovered his absence, perhaps longer before he divined hispurpose. Then Hare would have a long start. He thrilled with somethingakin to fear when he pictured the old man's rage, and wondered whatchange it would make in his plans. Hare saw in mind Naab and his sons, and the Navajos sweeping in pursuit to save him from the rustlers. 

But the future must take care of itself, and he addressed all thefaculties at his command to cool consideration of the present. The stripof sand under the Blue Star had to be crossed at night--a featwhich even the Navajos did not have to their credit. Yet Hare had noshrinking; he had no doubt; he must go on. As he had been drawn tothe Painted Desert by a voiceless call, so now he was urged forward bysomething nameless. 

In the blackness of the night it seemed as if he were riding through avaulted hall swept by a current of air. The night had turned cold, thestars had brightened icily, the rumble of the river had died away whenBolly's ringing trot suddenly changed to a noiseless floundering walk. She had come upon the sand. Hare saw the Blue Star in the cliff, andonce more loosed the rein on Bolly's neck. She stopped and champed herbit, and turned her black head to him as if to intimate that she wantedthe guidance of a sure arm. But as it was not forthcoming she steppedonward into the yielding sand. 

With hands resting idly on the pommel Hare sat at ease in the saddle. The billowy dunes reflected the pale starlight and fell away from him todarken in obscurity. So long as the Blue Star remained in sight he kepthis sense of direction; when it had disappeared he felt himself lost. Bolly's course seemed as crooked as the jagged outline of the cliffs. She climbed straight up little knolls, descended them at an angle, turned sharply at wind-washed gullies, made winding detours, zigzaggedlevels that shone like a polished floor; and at last (so it seemed toHare) she doubled back on her trail. The black cliff receded over thewaves of sand; the stars changed positions, travelled round in the bluedome, and the few that he knew finally sank below the horizon. Bollynever lagged; she was like the homeward-bound horse, indifferent todirection because sure of it, eager to finish the journey because nowit was short. Hare was glad though not surprised when she snorted andcracked her iron-shod hoof on a stone at the edge of the sand. He smiledwith tightening lips as he rode into the shadow of a rock which herecognized. Bolly had crossed the treacherous belt of dunes and washesand had struck the trail on the other side. 

The long level of wind-carved rocks under the cliffs, the ridges of thedesert, the miles of slow ascent up to the rough divide, the gradualdescent to the cedars--these stretches of his journey took the nighthours and ended with the brightening gray in the east. Within a mileof Silver Cup Spring Hare dismounted, to tie folded pads of buckskin onBolly's hoofs. When her feet were muffled, he cautiously advanced on thetrail for the matter of a hundred rods or more; then sheered off to theright into the cedars. He led Bolly slowly, without rattling a stoneor snapping a twig, and stopped every few paces to listen. There wasno sound other than the wind in the cedars. Presently, with a gasp, he caught the dull gleam of a burned-out camp-fire. Then his movementsbecame as guarded, as noiseless as those of a scouting Indian. The dawnbroke over the red wall as he gained the trail beyond the spring. 

He skirted the curve of the valley and led Bolly a little way up thewooded slope to a dense thicket of aspens in a hollow. This thicketencircled a patch of grass. Hare pressed the lithe aspens aside to admitBolly and left her there free. He drew his rifle from its sheath and, after assuring himself that the mustang could not be seen or heard frombelow, he bent his steps diagonally up the slope. 

Every foot of this ground he knew, and he climbed swiftly until hestruck the mountain trail. Then, descending, he entered the cedars. Atlast he reached a point directly above the cliff-camp where he had spentso many days, and this he knew overhung the cabin built by Holderness. He stole down from tree to tree and slipped from thicket to thicket. Thesun, red as blood, raised a bright crescent over the red wall; thesoft mists of the valley began to glow and move; cattle were working intoward the spring. Never brushing a branch, never dislodging a stone, Hare descended the slope, his eyes keener, his ears sharper with everystep. Soon the edge of the gray stone cliff below shut out the lowerlevel of cedars. While resting he listened. Then he marked his coursedown the last bit of slanting ground to the cliff bench which faced thevalley. This space was open, rough with crumbling rock and dead cedarbrush--a difficult place to cross without sound. Deliberate in hischoice of steps, very slow in moving, Hare went on with a stealth whichsatisfied even his intent ear. When the wide gray strip of stone drewslowly into the circle of his downcast gaze he sank to the ground with aslight trembling in all his limbs. There was a thick bush on the edgeof the cliff; in three steps he could reach it and, unseen himself, lookdown upon the camp. 

A little cloud or smoke rose lazily and capped a slender column of blue. Sounds were wafted softly upward, the low voices of men in conversation, a merry whistle, and then the humming of a tune. Hare's mouth was dryand his temples throbbed as he asked himself what it was best to do. Theanswer came instantaneously as though it had lain just below the levelof his conscious thought. "I'll watch till Holderness walks out intosight, jump up with a yell when he comes, give him time to see me, todraw his gun--then kill him!"

Hare slipped to the bush, drew in a deep long breath that stilled hisagitation, and peered over the cliff. The crude shingles of the cabinfirst rose into sight; then beyond he saw the corral with a number ofshaggy mustangs and a great gray horse. Hare stared blankly. As in adream he saw the proud arch of a splendid neck, the graceful wave of awhite-crested mane. 

"Silvermane!. .. My God!" he gasped, suddenly. "They caught him--afterall!"

He fell backward upon the cliff and lay there with hands clinchinghis rifle, shudderingly conscious of a blow, trying to comprehend itsmeaning. 

"Silvermane!. .. They caught him--after all!" he kept repeating; then ina flash of agonized understanding he whispered: "Mescal. .. Mescal!"

He rolled upon his face, shutting out the blue sky; his body stretchedstiff as a bent spring released from its compress, and his nails dentedthe stock of his rifle. Then this rigidity softened to sobs that shookhim from head to foot. He sat up, haggard and wild-eyed. 

Silvermane had been captured, probably by rustlers waiting at thewestern edge of the sand-strip. Mescal had fallen into the hands of SnapNaab. But Mescal was surely alive and Snap was there to be killed; hislong career of unrestrained cruelty was in its last day--something toldHare that this thing must and should be. The stern deliberation of hisintent to kill Holderness, the passion of his purpose to pay his debt toAugust Naab, were as nothing compared to the gathering might of this newresolve; suddenly he felt free and strong as an untamed lion broken freefrom his captors. 

From the cover of the bush he peered again over the cliff. The cabinwith its closed door facing him was scarcely two hundred feet down fromhis hiding-place. One of the rustlers sang as he bent over the camp-fireand raked the coals around the pots; others lounged on a bench waitingfor breakfast; some rolled out of their blankets; they stretched andyawned, and pulling on their boots made for the spring. The last man torise was Snap Naab, and he had slept with his head on the threshold ofthe door. Evidently Snap had made Mescal a prisoner in the cabin, and noone could go in or out without stepping upon him. The rustler-foreman ofHolderness's company had slept with his belt containing two Colts, norhad he removed his boots. Hare noted these details with grim humor. Nowthe tall Holderness, face shining, gold-red beard agleam, rounded thecabin whistling. Hare watched the rustlers sit down to breakfast, andhere and there caught a loud-spoken word, and marked their leisurelycare-free manner. Snap Naab took up a pan of food and a cup of coffee, carried them into the cabin, and came out, shutting the door. 

After breakfast most of the rustlers set themselves to their varioustasks. Hare watched them with the eyes of a lynx watching deer. Severalmen were arranging articles for packing, and their actions were slow tothe point of laziness; others trooped down toward the corral. Holdernessrolled a cigarette and stooped over the campfire to reach a burningstick. Snap Naab stalked to and fro before the door of the cabin. Healone of the rustler's band showed restlessness, and more than once heglanced up the trail that led over the divide toward his father's oasis. Holderness sent expectant glances in the other direction toward SeepingSprings. Once his clear voice rang out:

"I tell you, Naab, there's no hurry. We'll ride in tomorrow. "

A thousand thoughts flitted through Hare's mind--a steady stream ofquestions and answers. Why did Snap look anxiously along the oasistrail? It was not that he feared his father or his brothers alone, butthere was always the menace of the Navajos. Why was Holderness in nohurry to leave Silver Cup? Why did he lag at the spring when, if heexpected riders from his ranch, he could have gone on to meet them, obviously saving time and putting greater distance between him and themen he had wronged? Was it utter fearlessness or only a deep-playedgame? Holderness and his rustlers, all except the gloomy Naab, wereblind to the peril that lay beyond the divide. How soon would AugustNaab strike out on the White Sage trail? Would he come alone? Whether hecame alone or at the head of his hard-riding Navajos he would arrive toolate. Holderness's life was not worth a pinch of the ashes he flecked socarelessly from his cigarette. Snap Naab's gloom, his long stride, hisnervous hand always on or near the butt of his Colt, spoke the keennessof his desert instinct. For him the sun had arisen red over the redwall. Had he harmed Mescal? Why did he keep the cabin door shut andguard it so closely?

While Hare watched and thought the hours sped by. Holderness loungedabout and Snap kept silent guard. The rustlers smoked, slept, and movedabout; the day waned, and the shadow of the cliff crept over the cabin. To Hare the time had been as a moment; he was amazed to find the sun hadgone down behind Coconina. If August Naab had left the oasis at dawn hemust now be near the divide, unless he had been delayed by a wind-stormat the strip of sand. Hare longed to see the roan charger come up overthe crest; he longed to see a file of Navajos, plumes waving, darkmustangs gleaming in the red light, sweep down the stony ridge towardthe cedars. "If they come, " he whispered, "I'll kill Holderness and Snapand any man who tries to open that cabin door. "

So he waited in tense watchfulness, his gaze alternating between thewavy line of the divide and the camp glade. Out in the valley it wasstill daylight, but under the cliff twilight had fallen. All day Harehad strained his ears to hear the talk of the rustlers, and it nowoccurred to him that if he climbed down through the split in the cliffto the bench where Dave and George had always hidden to watch the springhe would be just above the camp. This descent involved risk, but sinceit would enable him to see the cabin door when darkness set in, hedecided to venture. The moment was propitious, for the rustlers werebustling around, cooking dinner, unrolling blankets, and moving to andfro from spring and corral. Hare crawled back a few yards and along thecliff until he reached the split. It was a narrow steep crack which hewell remembered. Going down was attended with two dangers--losing hishold, and the possible rattling of stones. Face foremost he slippeddownward with the gliding, sinuous movement of a snake, and reaching thegrassy bench he lay quiet. Jesting voices and loud laughter from belowreassured him. He had not been heard. His new position afforded everychance to see and hear, and also gave means of rapid, noiseless retreatalong the bench to the cedars. Lying flat he crawled stealthily to thebushy fringe of the bench. 

A bright fire blazed under the cliff. Men were moving and laughing. The cabin door was open. Mescal stood leaning back from Snap Naab, struggling to release her hands. 

"Let me untie them, I say, " growled Snap. 

Mescal tore loose from him and stepped back. Her hands were bound beforeher, and twisting them outward, she warded him off. Her dishevelledhair almost hid her dark eyes. They burned in a level glance of hate anddefiance. She was a little lioness, quivering with fiery life, fight inevery line of her form. 

"All right, don't eat then--starve!" said Snap. 

"I'll starve before I eat what you give me. "

The rustlers laughed. Holderness blew out a puff of smoke and smiled. Snap glowered upon Mescal and then upon his amiable companions. One ofthem, a ruddy-faced fellow, walked toward Mescal. 

"Cool down, Snap, cool down, " he said. "We're not goin' to stand for agirl starvin'. She ain't eat a bite yet. Here, Miss, let me untie yourhands--there. . . . Say! Naab, d--n you, her wrists are black an' blue!"

"Look out! Your gun!" yelled Snap. 

With a swift movement Mescal snatched the man's Colt from its holsterand was raising it when he grasped her arm. She winced and dropped theweapon. 

"You little Indian devil!" exclaimed the rustler, in a rapt admiration. "Sorry to hurt you, an' more'n sorry to spoil your aim. Thet wasn't kindto throw my own gun on me, jest after I'd played the gentleman, now, wasit?"

"I didn't--intend--to shoot--you, " panted Mescal. 

"Naab, if this's your Mormon kind of wife--excuse me! Though I ain'tdenyin' she's the sassiest an' sweetest little cat I ever seen!"

"We Mormons don't talk about our women or hear any talk, " returned Snap, a dancing fury in his pale eyes. "You're from Nebraska?"

"Yep, jest a plain Nebraska rustler, cattle-thief, an' all round no-goodcustomer, though I ain't taken to houndin' women yet. "

For answer Snap Naab's right hand slowly curved upward before him andstopped taut and inflexible, while his strange eyes seemed to shootsparks. 

"See here, Naab, why do you want to throw a gun on me?" asked therustler, coolly. "Haven't you shot enough of your friends yet? I reckonI've no right to interfere in your affairs. I was only protestin'friendly like, for the little lady. She's game, an' she's called yourhand. An' it's not a straight hand. Thet's all, an' d--n if I carewhether you are a Mormon or not. I'll bet a hoss Holderness will back meup. "

"Snap, he's right, " put in Holderness, smoothly. "You needn't be sotouchy about Mescal. She's showed what little use she's got for you. Ifyou must rope her around like you do a mustang, be easy about it. Let'shave supper. Now, Mescal, you sit here on the bench and behave yourself. I don't want you shooting up my camp. "

Snap turned sullenly aside while Holderness seated Mescal near thedoor and fetched her food and drink. The rustlers squatted round thecamp-fire, and conversation ceased in the business of the meal. 

To Hare the scene had brought a storm of emotions. Joy at the sightof Mescal, blessed relief to see her unscathed, pride in her fightingspirit--these came side by side with gratitude to the kindNebraska rustler, strange deepening insight into Holderness's game, unextinguishable white-hot hatred of Snap Naab. And binding all wasthe ever-mounting will to rescue Mescal, which was held in check byan inexorable judgment; he must continue to wait. And he did waitwith blind faith in the something to be, keeping ever in mind the lastresort--the rifle he clutched with eager hands. Meanwhile the darknessdescended, the fire sent forth a brighter blaze, and the rustlersfinished their supper. Mescal arose and stepped across the threshold ofthe cabin door. 

"Hold on!" ordered Snap, as he approached with swift strides. "Stick outyour hands!"

Some of the rustlers grumbled; and one blurted out: "Aw no, Snap, don'ttie her up--no!"

"Who says no?" hissed the Mormon, with snapping teeth. As he wheeledupon them his Colt seemed to leap forward, and suddenly quivered atarm's-length, gleaming in the ruddy fire-rays. 

Holderness laughed in the muzzle of the weapon. "Go ahead, Snap, tie upyour lady love. What a tame little wife she's going to make you! Tie herup, but do it without hurting her. "

The rustlers growled or laughed at their leader's order. Snap turnedto his task. Mescal stood in the doorway and shrinkingly extended herclasped hands. Holderness whirled to the fire with a look which betrayedhis game. Snap bound Mescal's hands securely, thrust her inside thecabin, and after hesitating for a long moment, finally shut the door. 

"It's funny about a woman, now, ain't it?" said Nebraska, confidentially, to a companion. "One minnit she'll snatch youbald-headed; the next, she'll melt in your mouth like sugar. An' I'll bedarned if the changeablest one ain't the kind to hold a feller longest. But it's h--l. I was married onct. Not any more for mine! A pal I hadused to say thet whiskey riled him, thet rattlesnake pisen het up hisblood some, but it took a woman to make him plumb bad. D--n if it ain'tso. When there's a woman around there's somethin' allus comin' off. "

But the strain, instead of relaxing, became portentous. Holdernesssuddenly showed he was ill at ease; he appeared to be expecting arrivalsfrom the direction of Seeping Springs. Snap Naab leaned against the sideof the door, his narrow gaze cunningly studying the rustlers before him. More than any other he had caught a foreshadowing. Like the desert-hawkhe could see afar. Suddenly he pressed back against the door, halfopening it while he faced the men. 

"Stop!" commanded Holderness. The change in his voice was as if it hadcome from another man. "You don't go in there!"

"I'm going to take the girl and ride to White Sage, " replied Naab, inslow deliberation. 

"Bah! You say that only for the excuse to get into the cabin with her. You tried it last night and I blocked you. Shut the door, Naab, orsomething'll happen. "

"There's more going to happen than ever you think of, Holderness. Don'tinterfere now, I'm going. "

"Well, go ahead--but you won't take the girl!"

Snap Naab swung off the step, slamming the door behind him. 

"So-ho!" he exclaimed, sneeringly. "That's why you've made me foreman, eh?" His claw-like hand moved almost imperceptibly upward while his paleeyes strove to pierce the strength behind Holderness's effrontery. Therustler chief had a trump card to play; one that showed in his sardonicsmile. 

"Naab, you don't get the girl. "

"Maybe you'll get her?" hissed Snap. 

"I always intended to. "

Surely never before had passion driven Snap's hand to such speed. HisColt gleamed in the camp-fire light. Click! Click! Click! The hammerfell upon empty chambers. 

"H--l!" he shrieked. 

Holderness laughed sarcastically. 

"That's where you're going!" he cried. "Here's to Naab's trick with agun--Bah!" And he shot his foreman through the heart. 

Snap plunged upon his face. His hands beat the ground like the shufflingwings of a wounded partridge. His fingers gripped the dust, spreadconvulsively, straightened, and sank limp. 

Holderness called through the door of the cabin. "Mescal, I've rid youof your would-be husband. Cheer-up!" Then, pointing to the fallen man, he said to the nearest bystanders: "Some of you drag that out for thecoyotes. "

The first fellow who bent over Snap happened to be the Nebraska rustler, and he curiously opened the breech of the six-shooter he picked up. "No shells!" he said. He pulled Snap's second Colt from his belt, andunbreeched that. "No shells! Well, d--n me!" He surveyed the group ofgrim men, not one of whom had any reply. 

Holderness again laughed harshly, and turning to the cabin, he fastenedthe door with a lasso. 

It was a long time before Hare recovered from the starting revelation ofthe plot which had put Mescal into Holderness's power. Bad as SnapNaab had been he would have married her, and such a fate was infinitelypreferable to the one that now menaced her. Hare changed his positionand settled himself to watch and wait out the night. Every hourHolderness and his men tarried at Silver Cup hastened their approachingdoom. Hare's strange prescience of the fatality that overshadowed thesemen had received its first verification in the sudden taking off of SnapNaab. The deep-scheming Holderness, confident that his strong band meantsure protection, sat and smoked and smiled beside the camp-fire. He hadnot caught even a hint of Snap Naab's suggested warning. Yet somewhereout on the oasis trail rode a man who, once turned from the saving oflife to the lust to kill, would be as immutable as death itself. Behindhim waited a troop of Navajos, swift as eagles, merciless as wolves, desert warriors with the sunheated blood of generations in their veins. As Hare waited and watched with all his inner being cold, he couldalmost feel pity for Holderness. His doom was close. Twice, when therustler chief had sauntered nearer to the cabin door, as if to enter, Hare had covered him with the rifle, waiting, waiting for the step uponthe threshold. But Holderness always checked himself in time, and Hare'sfinger eased its pressure upon the trigger. 

The night closed in black; the clouded sky gave forth no starlight; thewind rose and moaned through the cedars. One by one the rustlers rolledin their blankets and all dropped into slumber while the camp-fireslowly burned down. The night hours wore on to the soft wail of thebreeze and the wild notes of far-off trailing coyotes. 

Hare, watching sleeplessly, saw one of the prone figures stir. The manraised himself very cautiously; he glanced at his companions, and lookedlong at Holderness, who lay squarely in the dimming light. Then hesoftly lowered himself. Hare wondered what the rustler meant to do. Presently he again lifted his head and turned it as if listeningintently. His companions were motionless in deep-breathing sleep. Gentlyhe slipped aside his blankets and began to rise. He was slow and guardedof movement; it took him long to stand erect. He stepped between therustlers with stockinged feet which were as noiseless as an Indian's, and he went toward the cabin door. 

He softly edged round the sleeping Holderness, showing a glintingsix-shooter in his hand. Hare's resolve to kill him before he reachedthe door was checked. What did it mean, this rustler's stealthymovements, his passing by Holderness with his drawn weapon! Again doomhovered over the rustler chief. If he stirred!--Hare knew instantly thatthis softly stepping man was a Mormon; he was true to Snap Naab, to thewoman pledged in his creed. He meant to free Mescal. 

If ever Hare breathed a prayer it was then. What if one of the bandawakened! As the rustler turned at the door his dark face gleamed inthe flickering light. He unwound the lasso and opened the door without asound. 

Hare whispered: "Heavens! if he goes in she'll scream! that will wakeHolderness--then I must shoot--I must!"

But the Mormon rustler added wisdom to his cunning and stealth. 

"Hist!" he whispered into the cabin. "Hist!"

Mescal must have been awake; she must have guessed instantly the meaningof that low whisper, for silently she appeared in the doorway, silentlyshe held forth her bound hands. The man untied the bonds and pointedinto the cedars toward the corral. Swift and soundless as a flittingshadow Mescal vanished in the gloom. The Mormon stole with wary, unhurried steps back to his bed and rolled in his blankets. 

Hare rose unsteadily, wavering in the hot grip of a moment that seemedto have but one issue--the killing of Holderness. Mescal would soon beupon Silvermane, far out on the White Sage trail, and this time therewould be no sand-strip to trap her. But Hare could not kill the rustlerwhile he was sleeping; and he could not awaken him without revealing tohis men the escape of the girl. Hare stood there on the bench, gazingdown on the blanketed Holderness. Why not kill him now, ending foreverhis power, and trust to chance for the rest? No, no! Hare flung thetemptation from him. To ward off pursuit as long as possible, toaid Mescal in every way to some safe hiding-place, and then to seekHolderness--that was the forethought of a man who had learned to wait. 

Under the dark projection of the upper cliff Hare felt his way to thecedar slope, and the trail, and then he went swiftly down into thelittle hollow where he had left Bolly. The darkness of the foresthindered him, but he came at length to the edge of the aspen thicket; hepenetrated it, and guided toward Bolly by a suspicious stamp and neigh, he found her and quieted her with a word. He rode down the hollow, outupon the level valley. 

The clouds had broken somewhat, letting pale light down through rifts. All about him cattle were lying in a thick gloom. It was penetrablefor only a few rods. The ground was like a cushion under Bolly's hoofs, giving forth no sound. The mustang threw up her head, causing Hare topeer into the night-fog. Rapid hoof-beats broke the silence, a vaguegray shadow moved into sight. He saw Silvermane and called as loudlyas he dared. The stallion melted into the misty curtain, the beating ofhoofs softened and ceased. Hare spurred Bolly to her fleetest. He hada long, silent chase, but it was futile, and unnecessarily hard on themustang; so he pulled her in to a trot. 

Hare kept Bolly to this gait the remainder of the night, and when theeastern sky lightened he found the trail and reached Seeping Springs atdawn. Silvermane's tracks were deep in the clay at the drinking-trough. He rested a few moments, gave Bolly sparingly of grain and water, andonce more took to the trail. 

From the ridge below the spring he saw Silvermane beyond the valley, miles ahead of him. This day seemed shorter than the foregoing one;it passed while he watched Silvermane grow smaller and smaller anddisappear on the looming slope of Coconina. Hare's fear that Mescalwould run into the riders Holderness expected from his ranch grew lessand less after she had reached the cover of the cedars. That she wouldrest the stallion at the Navajo pool on the mountain he made certain. Late in the night he came to the camping spot and found no trace toprove that she had halted there even to let Silvermane drink. So he tiedthe tired mustang and slept until daylight. 

He crossed the plateau and began the descent. Before he was half-waydown the warm bright sun had cleared the valley of vapor and shadow. Faralong the winding white trail shone a speck. It was Silvermane almostout of sight. 

"Ten miles--fifteen, more maybe, " said Hare. "Mescal will soon be in thevillage. "

Again hours of travel flew by like winged moments. Thoughts of time, distance, monotony, fatigue, purpose, were shut out from his mind. Arushing kaleidoscopic dance of images filled his consciousness, butthey were all of Mescal. Safety for her had unsealed the fountain ofhappiness. 

It was near sundown when he rode Black Bolly into White Sage, and tookthe back road, and the pasture lane to Bishop Caldwell's cottage. John, one of the Bishop's sons, was in the barn-yard and ran to open the gate. 

"Mescal!" cried Hare. 

"Safe, " replied the Mormon. 

"Have you hidden her?"

"She's in a secret cave, a Mormon hiding-place for women. Only a few menknow of its existence. Rest easy, for she's absolutely safe. "

"Thank God!. .. Then that's settled. " Hare drew a long, deep breath. 

"Mescal told us what happened, how she got caught at the sand-strip andescaped from Holderness at Silver Cup. Was Dene hurt?"

"Silvermane killed him. "

"Good God! How things come about! I saw you run Dene down that timehere in White Sage. It must have been written. Did Holderness shoot SnapNaab?"

"Yes. "

"What of old Naab? Won't he come down here now to lead us Mormonsagainst the rustlers?"

"He called the Navajos across the river. He meant to take the trailalone and kill Holderness, keeping the Indians back a few days. If hefailed to return then they were to ride out on the rustlers. But hisplan must be changed, for I came ahead of him. "

"For what? Mescal?"

"No. For Holderness. "

"You'll kill him!"

"Yes. "

"He'll be coming soon?--When?"

"To-morrow, possibly by daylight. He wants Mescal. There's a chance Naabmay have reached Silver Cup before Holderness left, but I doubt it. "

"May I know your plan?" The Mormon hesitated while his strong brown faceflashed with daring inspiration. "I--I've a good reason. "

"Plan?-- Yes. Hide Bolly and Silvermane in the little arbor down inthe orchard. I'll stay outside to-night, sleep a little--for I'm deadtired--and watch in the morning. Holderness will come here with hismen, perhaps not openly at first, to drag Mescal away. He'll mean to usestrategy. I'll meet him when he comes--that's all. "

"It's well. I ask you not to mention this to my father. Come in, now. You need food and rest. Later I'll hide Bolly and Silvermane in thearbor. "

Hare met the Bishop and his family with composure, but his arrivalfollowing so closely upon Mescal's, increased their alarm. They seemedrepelled yet fascinated by his face. Hare ate in silence. John Caldwelldid not come in to supper; his brothers mysteriously left the tablebefore finishing the meal. A subdued murmur of voices floated in at theopen window. 

Darkness found Hare wrapped in a blanket under the trees. He neededsleep that would loose the strange deadlock of his thoughts, clearthe blur from his eyes, ease the pain in his head and weariness oflimbs--all these weaknesses of which he had suddenly become conscious. Time and again he had almost wooed slumber to him when soft footstepson the gravel paths, low voices, the gentle closing of the gate, broughthim back to the unreal listening wakefulness. The sounds continued lateinto the night, and when he did fall asleep he dreamed of them. He awoketo a dawn clearer than the light from the noonday sun. In his ears wasthe ringing of a bell. He could not stand still, and his movementswere subtle and swift. His hands took a peculiar, tenacious, hold ofeverything he chanced to touch. He paced his hidden walk behind thearbor, at every turn glancing sharply up and down the road. Thoughtscame to him clearly, yet one was dominant. The morning was curiouslyquiet, the sons of the Bishop had strangely disappeared--a sense ofimminent catastrophe was in the air. 

A band of horsemen closely grouped turned into the road and trottedforward. Some of the men wore black masks. Holderness rode at the front, his red-gold beard shining in the sunlight. The steady clip-crop ofhoofs and clinking of iron stirrups broke the morning quiet. Holderness, with two of his men, dismounted before the Bishop's gate; the othersof the band trotted on down the road. The ring of Holderness's laughpreceded the snap of the gate-latch. 

Hare stood calm and cold behind his green covert watching the three menstroll up the garden path. Holderness took a cigarette from his lips ashe neared the porch and blew out circles of white smoke. Bishop Caldwelltottered from the cottage rapping the porch-floor with his cane. 

"Good-morning, Bishop, " greeted Holderness, blandly, baring his head. 

"To you, sir, " quavered the old man, with his wavering blue eyes fixedon the spurred and belted rustler. Holderness stepped out in front ofhis companions, a superb man, courteous, smiling, entirely at his ease. 

"I rode in to--"

Hare leaped from his hiding-place. 

"Holderness!"

The rustler pivoted on whirling heels. 

"Dene's spy!" he exclaimed, aghast. Swift changes swept his mobilefeatures. Fear flickered in his eyes as he faced his foe; then camewonder, a glint of amusement, dark anger, and the terrible instinct ofdeath impending. 

"Naab's trick!" hissed Hare, with his hand held high. The suggestion inhis words, the meaning in his look, held the three rustlers transfixed. The surprise was his strength. 

In Holderness's amber eyes shone his desperate calculation of chances. Hare's fateful glance, impossible to elude, his strung form slightlycrouched, his cold deliberate mention of Naab's trick, and more than allthe poise of that quivering hand, filled the rustler with a terror thathe could not hide. 

He had been bidden to draw and he could not summon the force. 

"Naab's trick!" repeated Hare, mockingly. 

Suddenly Holderness reached for his gun. 

Hare's hand leapt like a lightning stroke. Gleam of blue--spurt ofred--crash!

Holderness swayed with blond head swinging backward; the amber of hiseyes suddenly darkened; the life in them glazed; like a log he fellclutching the weapon he had half drawn. 

XX. THE RAGE OF THE OLD LION

"TAKE Holderness away--quick!" ordered Hare. A thin curl of blue smokefloated from the muzzle of his raised weapon. 

The rustlers started out of their statue-like immobility, and liftingtheir dead leader dragged him down the garden path with his spursclinking on the gravel and ploughing little furrows. 

"Bishop, go in now. They may return, " said Hare. He hurried up the stepsto place his arm round the tottering old man. 

"Was that Holderness?"

"Yes, " replied Hare. 

"The deeds of the wicked return unto them! God's will!"

Hare led the Bishop indoors. The sitting-room was full of wailing womenand crying children. None of the young men were present. Again Haremade note of their inexplicable absence. He spoke soothingly to thefrightened family. The little boys and girls yielded readily to hispersuasion, but the women took no heed of him. 

"Where are your sons?" asked Hare. 

"I don't know, " replied the Bishop. "They should be here to stand byyou. It's strange. I don't understand. Last night my sons were visitedby many men, coming and going in twos and threes till late. They didn'tsleep in their beds. I know not what to think. "

Hare remembered John Caldwell's enigmatic face. 

"Have the rustlers really come?" asked a young woman, whose eyes werered and cheeks tear-stained. 

"They have. Nineteen in all. I counted them, " answered Hare. 

The young woman burst out weeping afresh, and the wailing of the othersanswered her. Hare left the cottage. He picked up his rifle and wentdown through the orchard to the hiding-place of the horses. Silvermanepranced and snorted his gladness at sight of his master. The desert kingwas fit for a grueling race. Black Bolly quietly cropped the long grass. Hare saddled the stallion to have him in instant readiness, and thenreturned to the front of the yard. 

He heard the sound of a gun down the road, then another, and severalshots following in quick succession. A distant angry murmuring andtrampling of many feet drew Hare to the gate. Riderless mustangs weregalloping down the road; several frightened boys were fleeing across thesquare; not a man was in sight. Three more shots cracked, and the lowmurmur and trampling swelled into a hoarse uproar. Hare had heard thatsound before; it was the tumult of mob-violence. A black dense throngof men appeared crowding into the main street, and crossing toward thesquare. The procession had some order; it was led and flanked by mountedmen. But the upflinging of many arms, the craning of necks, and theleaping of men on the outskirts of the mass, the pressure inward and thehideous roar, proclaimed its real character. 

"By Heaven!" exclaimed Hare. "The Mormons have risen against therustlers. I understand now. John Caldwell spent last night in secretlyrousing his neighbors. They have surprised the rustlers. Now what?"

Hare vaulted the fence and ran down the road. A compact mob of men, a hundred or more, had halted in the village under the wide-spreadingcottonwoods. Hare suddenly grasped the terrible significance of thoseoutstretched branches, and out of the thought grew another which madehim run at bursting break-neck speed. 

"Open up! Let me in!" he yelled to the thickly thronged circle. Rightand left he flung men. "Make way!" His piercing voice stilled the angrymurmur. Fierce men with weapons held aloft fell back from his face. 

"Dene's spy!" they cried. 

The circle opened and closed upon him. He saw bound rustlers under armedguard. Four still forms were on the ground. Holderness lay outstretched, a dark-red blot staining his gray shirt. Flinty-faced Mormons, ruthlessnow as they had once been mild, surrounded the rustlers. John Caldwellstood foremost, with ashen lips breaking bitterly into speech:

"Mormons, this is Dene's spy, the man who killed Holderness!"

The listeners burst into the short stern shout of men proclaiming aleader in war. 

"What's the game?" demanded Hare. 

"A fair trial for the rustlers, then a rope, " replied John Caldwell. Thelow ominous murmur swelled through the crowd again. 

"There are two men here who have befriended me. I won't see themhanged. "

"Pick them out!" A strange ripple of emotion made a fleeting break inJohn Caldwell's hard face. 

Hare eyed the prisoners. 

"Nebraska, step out here, " said he. 

"I reckon you're mistaken, " replied the rustler, his blue eyes intentlyon Hare. "I never seen you before. An' I ain't the kind of a feller tocheat the man you mean. "

"I saw you untie the girl's hands. "

"You did? Well, d--n me!"

"Nebraska, if I save your life will you quit rustling cattle? Youweren't cut out for a thief. "

"Will I? D--n me! I'll be straight an' decent. I'll take a job ridin'for you, stranger, an' prove it. "

"Cut him loose from the others, " said Hare. He scrutinized the line ofrustlers. Several were masked in black. "Take off those masks!"

"No! Those men go to their graves masked. " Again the strange twinge ofpain crossed John Caldwell's face. 

"Ah, I see, " exclaimed Hare. Then quickly: "I couldn't recognize theother man anyhow; I don't know him. But Mescal can tell. He saved herand I'll save him. But how?"

Every rustler, except the masked ones standing stern and silent, clamored that he was the one to be saved. 

"Hurry back home, " said Caldwell in Hare's ear "Tell them to fetchMescal. Find out and hurry back. Time presses. The Mormons are wavering. You've got only a few minutes. "

Hare slipped out of the crowd, sped up the road, jumped the fence on therun, and burst in upon the Bishop and his family. 

"No danger--don't be alarmed--all's well, " he panted. "The rustlers arecaptured. I want Mescal. Quick! Where is she? Fetch her, somebody. "

One of the women glided from the room. Hare caught the clicking of alatch, the closing of a door, hollow footfalls descending on stone, and dying away under the cottage. They rose again, ending in swiftlypattering footsteps. Like a whirlwind Mescal came through the hall, black hair flying, dark eyes beaming. 

"My darling!" Oblivious of the Mormons he swung her up and held her inhis arms. "Mescal! Mescal!"

When he raised his face from the tumbling mass of her black hair, theBishop and his family had left the room. 

"Listen, Mescal. Be calm. I'm safe. The rustlers are prisoners. One ofthem released you from Holderness. Tell me which one?"

"I don't know, " replied Mescal. "I've tried to think. I didn't see hisface; I can't remember his voice. "

"Think! Think! He'll be hanged if you don't recall something to identifyhim. He deserves a chance. Holderness's crowd are thieves, murderers. But two were not all bad. That showed the night you were at Silver Cup. I saved Nebraska--"

"Were you at Silver Cup? Jack!"

"Hush! don't interrupt me. We must save this man who saved you. Think!Mescal! Think!"

"Oh! I can't. What--how shall I remember?"

"Something about him. Think of his coat, his sleeve. You must remembersomething. Did you see his hands?"

"Yes, I did--when he was loosing the cords, " said Mescal, eagerly. "Long, strong fingers. I felt them too. He has a sharp rough wart on onehand, I don't know which. He wears a leather wristband. "

"That's enough!" Hare bounded out upon the garden walk and raced backto the crowded square. The uneasy circle stirred and opened for him toenter. He stumbled over a pile of lassoes which had not been there whenhe left. The stony Mormons waited; the rustlers coughed and shiftedtheir feet. John Caldwell turned a gray face. Hare bent over the threedead rustlers lying with Holderness, and after a moment of anxiousscrutiny he rose to confront the line of prisoners. 

"Hold out your hands. "

One by one they complied. The sixth rustler in the line, a tall fellow, completely masked, refused to do as he was bidden. Twice Hare spoke. Therustler twisted his bound hands under his coat. 

"Let's see them, " said Hare, quickly. He grasped the fellow's arm andreceived a violent push that almost knocked him over. Grappling with therustler, he pulled up the bound hands, in spite of fierce resistance, and there were the long fingers, the sharp wart, the laced wristband. "Here's my man!" he said. 

"No, " hoarsely mumbled the rustler. The perspiration ran down his cordedneck; his breast heaved convulsively. 

"You fool!" cried Hare, dumfounded and resentful. "I recognized you. Would you rather hang than live? What's your secret?"

He snatched off the black mask. The Bishop's eldest son stood revealed. 

"Good God!" cried Hare, recoiling from that convulsed face. 

"Brother! Oh! I feared this, " groaned John Caldwell. 

The rustlers broke out into curses and harsh laughter. 

"--- --- you Mormons! See him! Paul Caldwell! Son of a Bishop! Thoughthe was shepherdin' sheep?"

"D--n you, Hare!" shouted the guilty Mormon, in passionate fury andshame. "Why didn't you hang me? Why didn't you bury me unknown?"

"Caldwell! I can't believe it, " cried Hare, slowly coming to himself. "But you don't hang. Here, come out of the crowd. Make way, men!"

The silent crowd of Mormons with lowered and averted eyes made passagefor Hare and Caldwell. Then cold, stern voices in sharp questions andorders went on with the grim trial. Leading the bowed and strickenMormon, Hare drew off to the side of the town-hall and turned his backupon the crowd. The constant trampling of many feet, the harsh medley ofmany voices swelled into one dreadful sound. It passed away, and a longhush followed. But this in turn was suddenly broken by an outcry:

"The Navajos! The Navajos!"

Hare thrilled at that cry and his glance turned to the eastern end ofthe village road where a column of mounted Indians, four abreast, wasriding toward the square. 

"Naab and his Indians, " shouted Hare. "Naab and his Indians! No fear!"His call was timely, for the aroused Mormons, ignorant of Naab'spursuit, fearful of hostile Navajos, were handling their guns ominously. 

But there came a cry of recognition--"August Naab!"

Onward came the band, Naab in the lead on his spotted roan. The mustangswere spent and lashed with foam. Naab reined in his charger and thekeen-eyed Navajos closed in behind him. The old Mormon's eagle glancepassed over the dark forms dangling from the cottonwoods to the files ofwaiting men. 

"Where is he?"

"There!" answered John Caldwell, pointing to the body of Holderness. 

"Who robbed me of my vengeance? Who killed the rustler?" Naab'sstentorian voice rolled over the listening multitude. In it was a hungerof thwarted hate that held men mute. He bent a downward gaze at the deadHolderness as if to make sure of the ghastly reality. Then he seemedto rise in his saddle, and his broad chest to expand. "I know--I sawit all--blind I was not to believe my own eyes! Where is he? Where isHare?"

Some one pointed Hare out. Naab swung from his saddle and scatteredthe men before him as if they had been sheep. His shaggy gray head andmassive shoulders towered above the tallest there. 

Hare felt again a cold sense of fear. He grew weak in all his being. Hereeled when the gray shaggy giant laid a huge hand on his shoulder andwith one pull dragged him close. Was this his kind Mormon benefactor, this man with the awful eyes?

"You killed Holderness?" roared Naab. 

"Yes, " whispered Hare. 

"You heard me say I'd go alone? You forestalled me? You took uponyourself my work?. .. Speak. "

"I--did. "

"By what right?"

"My debt--duty--your family--Dave!"

"Boy! Boy! You've robbed me. " Naab waved his arm from the gaping crowdto the swinging rustlers. "You've led these white-livered Mormons to domy work. How can I avenge my sons--seven sons?"

His was the rage of the old desert-lion. He loosed Hare and strode inmagnificent wrath over Holderness and raised his brawny fists. 

"Eighteen years I prayed for wicked men, " he rolled out. "One by one Iburied my sons. I gave my springs and my cattle. Then I yielded to thelust for blood. I renounced my religion. I paid my soul to everlastinghell for the life of my foe. But he's dead! Killed by a wild boy! I soldmyself to the devil for nothing!"

August Naab raved out his unnatural rage amid awed silence. His revoltwas the flood of years undammed at the last. The ferocity of the desertspirit spoke silently in the hanging rustlers, in the ruthlessnessof the vigilantes who had destroyed them, but it spoke truest in thesonorous roll of the old Mormon's wrath. 

"August, young Hare saved two of the rustlers, " spoke up an old friend, hoping to divert the angry flood. "Paul Caldwell there, he was one ofthem. The other's gone. "

Naab loomed over him. "What!" he roared. His friend edged away, repeating his words and jerking his thumb backward toward the Bishop'sson. 

"Judas Iscariot!" thundered Naab. "False to thyself, thy kin, and thyGod! Thrice traitor!. .. Why didn't you get yourself killed? . .. Why areyou left? Ah-h! for me--a rustler for me to kill--with my own hands!--Arope there--a rope!"

"I wanted them to hang me, " hoarsely cried Caldwell, writhing in Naab'sgrasp. 

Hare threw all his weight and strength upon the Mormon's iron arm. "Naab! Naab! For God's sake, hear! He saved Mescal. This man, thief, traitor, false Mormon--whatever he is--he saved Mescal. "

August Naab's eyes were bloodshot. One shake of his great bodyflung Hare off. He dragged Paul Caldwell across the grass toward thecottonwood as easily as if he were handling an empty grain-sack. 

Hare suddenly darted after him. "August! August!--look! look!" hecried. He pointed a shaking finger down the square. The old Bishop cametottering over the grass, leaning on his cane, shading his eyes with hishand. "August. See, the Bishop's coming. Paul's father! Do you hear?"

Hare's appeal pierced Naab's frenzied brain. The Mormon Elder sawhis old Bishop pause and stare at the dark shapes suspended from thecottonwoods and hold up his hands in horror. 

Naab loosed his hold. His frame seemed wrenched as though by the passingof an evil spirit, and the reaction left his face transfigured. 

"Paul, it's your father, the Bishop, " he said, brokenly. "Be a man. Hemust never know. " Naab spread wide his arms to the crowd. "Men, listen, "he said. "Of all of us Mormons I have lost most, suffered most. Thenhear me. Bishop Caldwell must never know of his son's guilt. He wouldsink under it. Keep the secret. Paul will be a man again. I know. I see. For, Mormons, August Naab has the gift of revelation!"

XXI. MESCAL

SUMMER gleams of golden sunshine swam under the glistening red wallsof the oasis. Shadows from white clouds, like sails on a deep-blue sea, darkened the broad fields of alfalfa. Circling columns of smoke werewafted far above the cottonwoods and floated in the still air. Thedesert-red color of Navajo blankets brightened the grove. 

Half-naked bronze Indians lolled in the shade, lounged on the cabinporches and stood about the sunny glade in idle groups. They wore thedress of peace. A single black-tipped white eagle feather waved abovethe band binding each black head. They watched the merry children tumbleround the playground. Silvermane browsed where he listed under the shadytrees, and many a sinewy red hand caressed his flowing mane. Black Bollyneighed her jealous displeasure from the corral, and the other mustangstrampled and kicked and whistled defiance across the bars. The peacockspreened their gorgeous plumage and uttered their clarion calls. Thebelligerent turkey-gobblers sidled about ruffling their feathers. Theblackbirds and swallows sang and twittered their happiness to find oldnests in the branches and under the eaves. Over all boomed the dull roarof the Colorado in flood. 

It was the morning of Mescal's wedding-day. 

August Naab, for once without a task, sat astride a peeled log ofdriftwood in the lane, and Hare stood beside him. 

"Five thousand steers, lad! Why do you refuse them? They're worth tendollars a head to-day in Salt Lake City. A good start for a young man. "

"No, I'm still in your debt. "

"Then share alike with my sons in work and profit?"

"Yes, I can accept that. "

"Good! Jack, I see happiness and prosperity for you. Do you rememberthat night on the White Sage trail? Ah! Well, the worst is over. We canlook forward to better times. It's not likely the rustlers will rideinto Utah again. But this desert will never be free from strife. "

"Tell me of Mescal, " said Hare. 

"Ah! Yes, I'm coming to that. " Naab bent his head over the log andchipped off little pieces with his knife. "Jack, will you come into theMormon Church?"

Long had Hare shrunk from this question which he felt must inevitablycome, and now he met it as bravely as he could, knowing he would painhis friend. 

"No, August, I can't, " he replied. "I feel--differently from Mormonsabout--about women. If it wasn't for that! I look upon you as a father. I'll do anything for you, except that. No one could pray to be a betterman than you. Your work, your religion, your life-- Why! I've no wordsto say what I feel. Teach me what little you can of them, August, butdon't ask me--that. "

"Well, well, " sighed Naab. The gray clearness of his eagle eyes grewshadowed and his worn face was sad. It was the look of a strong wise manwho seemed to hear doubt and failure knocking at the gate of his creed. But he loved life too well to be unhappy; he saw it too clearly notto know there was nothing wholly good, wholly perfect, wholly withouterror. The shade passed from his face like the cloud-shadow from thesunlit lane. 

"You ask about Mescal, " he mused. "There's little more to tell. "

"But her father--can you tell me more of him?"

"Little more than I've already told. He was evidently a man of somerank. I suspected that he ruined his life and became an adventurer. Hishealth was shattered when I brought him here, but he got well after ayear or so. He was a splendid, handsome fellow. He spoke very seldom andI don't remember ever seeing him smile. His favorite walk was the rivertrail. I came upon him there one day, and found him dying. He askedme to have a care of Mescal. And he died muttering a Spanish word, awoman's name, I think. "

"I'll cherish Mescal the more, " said Hare. 

"Cherish her, yes. My Bible will this day give her a name. We know shehas the blood of a great chief. Beautiful she is and good. I raised herfor the Mormon Church, but God disposes after all, and I--"

A shrill screeching sound split the warm stillness, the long-drawn-outbray of a burro. 

"Jack, look down the lane. If it isn't Noddle!"

Under the shady line of the red wall a little gray burro came trottingleisurely along with one long brown ear standing straight up, the otherhanging down over his nose. 

"By George! it's Noddle!" exclaimed Hare. "He's climbed out of thecanyon. Won't this please Mescal?"

"Hey, Mother Mary, " called Naab toward the cabin. "Send Mescal out. Here's a wedding-present. "

With laughing wonder the women-folk flocked out into the yard. Mescalhung back shy-eyed, roses dyeing the brown of her cheeks. 

"Mescal's wedding-present from Thunder River. Just arrived!" called Naabcheerily, yet deep-voiced with the happiness he knew the tidings wouldgive. "A dusty, dirty, shaggy, starved, lop-eared, lazy burro--Noddle!"

Mescal flew out into the lane, and with a strange broken cry of joy thatwas half a sob she fell upon her knees and clasped the little burro'sneck. Noddle wearily flapped his long brown ears, wearily nodded hiswhite nose; then evidently considering the incident closed, he wentlazily to sleep. 

"Noddle! dear old Noddle!" murmured Mescal, with far-seeing, thought-mirroring eyes. "For you to come back to-day from our canyon!. .. Oh! The long dark nights with the thunder of the river and thelonely voices!. .. They come back to me. .. . Wolf, Wolf, here's Noddle, the same faithful old Noddle!"

August Naab married Mescal and Hare at noon under the shade of thecottonwoods. Eschtah, magnificent in robes of state, stood up withthem. The many members of Naab's family and the grave Navajos formed anattentive circle around them. The ceremony was brief. At its close theMormon lifted his face and arms in characteristic invocation. 

"Almighty God, we entreat Thy blessing upon this marriage. Many andinscrutable are Thy ways; strange are the workings of Thy will; wondrousthe purpose with which Thou hast brought this man and this womantogether. Watch over them in the new path they are to tread, help themin the trials to come; and in Thy good time, when they have reached thefulness of days, when they have known the joy of life and rendered theirservice, gather them to Thy bosom in that eternal home where we all prayto meet Thy chosen ones of good; yea, and the evil ones purified in Thymercy. Amen. "

Happy congratulations of the Mormon family, a merry romp of childrenflinging flowers, marriage-dance of singing Navajos--these, with thefeast spread under the cottonwoods, filled the warm noon-hours of theday. 

Then the chief Eschtah raised his lofty form, and turned his eyes uponthe bride and groom. 

"Eschtah's hundred summers smile in the face of youth. The arm of theWhite Chief is strong; the kiss of the Flower of the Desert is sweet. Let Mescal and Jack rest their heads on one pillow, and sleep under thetrees, and chant when the dawn brightens in the east. Out of his wiseyears the Navajo bids them love while they may. Daughter of my race, take the blessing of the Navajo. "

Jack lifted Mescal upon Black Bolly and mounted Silvermane. Piutegrinned till he shook his earrings and started the pack burros towardthe plateau trail. Wolf pattered on before, turning his white head, impatient of delay. Amid tears and waving of hands and cheers they beganthe zigzag ascent. 

When they reached the old camp on the plateau the sun was setting behindthe Painted Desert. With hands closely interwoven they watched the colorfade and the mustering of purple shadows. 

Twilight fell. Piute raked the red coals from the glowing centre of thecamp-fire. Wolf crouched all his long white length, his sharp nose onhis paws, watching Mescal. Hare watched her, too. The night shone in hereyes, the light of the fire, the old brooding mystic desert-spirit, andsomething more. The thump of Silvermane's hobbled hoofs was heard inthe darkness; Bolly's bell jangled musically. The sheep were bleating. Alonesome coyote barked. The white stars blinked out of the blue and thenight breeze whispered softly among the cedars.