X. Riding the Ranges

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

　　THE shepherds were home in the oasis that evening, and next day thetragedy of the sheep was a thing of the past. No other circumstance ofHare's four months with the Naabs had so affected him as this swiftinevitable sweeping away of the flock; nothing else had so vividly toldhim 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 the oasis,for he felt a sense of freedom which otherwise would have been lacking.He spent the whole of a long calm summer day in the orchard and thevineyard. 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 girls werepicking 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 pushed herblack nose over the fence, and whinnied for apples; the turkeys strutted,the peafowls preened their beautiful plumage, the guinea-hens ran likequail. Save for those frowning red cliffs Hare would have forgottenwhere he was; the warm sun, the yellow fruit, the merry screams ofchildren, the joyous laughter of girls, were pleasant reminders of autumnpicnic days long gone. But, in the face of those dominating wind-scarredwalls, he could not forget.

　　That night Hare endeavored to see Mescal alone for a few moments, to seeher 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 the pack-horses, a dull ache in his heart; for amid the cheering crowd of childrenand women who bade them good-bye he had caught the wave of Mescal's handand a look of her eyes that would be with him always. What might happenbefore he returned, if he ever did return! For he knew now, as well as hecould feel Silvermane's easy stride, that out there under the white glareof desert, the white gleam of the slopes of Coconina, was wild lifeawaiting him. And he shut his teeth, and narrowed his eyes, and faced itwith an eager joy that was in strange contrast to the pang 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 the fatalityof the sheep-drive, when, for one day out of the year, a moistened dankbreeze had met the flock on the narrow bench. Soon the bench lay farbehind them, and the strip of treacherous sand, and the maze ofsculptured cliff under the Blue Star, and the hummocky low ridges beyond,with their dry white washes. Silvermane kept on in front. Already Harehad learned that the gray would have no horse before him. His pace wasswift, steady, tireless. Dave was astride his Navajo mount, anIndian-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 was agrassy plot which afforded a good survey of the valley and the trails.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 time onold 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 at thespring 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 of theplugged waterhole, the scent of the Colorado, and the plunge of the sheepinto 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 that almostmade up for his lack of experience; he bade fair to develop into aright-hand man for Dave, under whose watchful eye he worked. His naturalqualifications were soon shown; he could ride, though his seat was awk-ward and clumsy compared to that of the desert rangers, a fault that Davesaid would correct itself as time fitted him close to the saddle and tothe swing of his horse. His sight had become extraordinarily keen for anew-comer on the ranges, and when experience had taught him the land-marks, the trails, the distances, the difference between smoke and dustand haze, when he could distinguish a band of mustangs from cattle, andrange-riders from outlaws or Indians; in a word, when he had learned toknow what it was that he saw, to trust his judgment, he would haveacquired the basic feature of a rider's training. But he showed no giftfor the lasso, that other essential requirement 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 when hemissed 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 he wasbeautiful 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 of hisrope. 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 of whichthese Mormons were made. No obstacle barred them. They penetrated thegullies to the last step; they rode weathered slopes that were difficultfor deer to stick upon; they thrashed the bayonet-guarded manzanitacopses; they climbed into labyrinthine fastnesses, penetrating to everynook 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, hehung on till he hardened into a leather lunged, wire-muscled man, capableof 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 would neighhis gladness. Hare had come to love Silvermane and talked to him andtreated him as if he were human.

　　When the mustangs were brought into camp the day's work began, the samework as that of yesterday, and yet with endless variety, withever-changing situations that called for quick wits, steel arms, stouthearts, 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 shadow ofthe cedars.

　　In the beginning of this toil-filled time Hare had resolutely set himselfto forget Mescal, and he had succeeded at least for a time, when he wasso sore and weary that he scarcely thought at all. But she came back tohim, and then there was seldom an hour that was not hers. The longmonths 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, where theyfound 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 Cup towinter. 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, muchinclined to joking, and he seemed to have entirely forgotten his ani-mosity 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; theconcluding 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, hisheart, 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; if shecame to mind he told himself the truth, that the weeks and months hadonly added to his love. And though it was bitter-sweet there was reliefin 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, and grainfor 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. Hethought that range-riders were camping at the springs, and he meant tosee what they were about. After three hours of brisk travel he reachedthe top of a low rolling knoll that hid Seeping Springs. He rememberedthe springs were up under the red wall, and that the pool where thecattle drank was lower down in a clump of cedars. He saw smoke rising ina column from the 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 it ajostling horned mass of cattle were pressing against a high corral. Theflume 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 wasnot many 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 slope ofCoconina just as the shadowy valley awakened from its misty sleep intodaylight. 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 redsagespotted 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' youwant?"

　　"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 such dirtytricks. That's enough for me. I was foreman of this ranch till thisminute. 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've no 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 in himthe 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, of thetracks 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 had slowlygained ground; it was scarcely hinted, but it was believed. Hisfriendship with Dene had become offensive to the Mormons, who hadformerly been on good footing with him. Dene's killing of Martin Colewas believed to have been at Holderness's instigation. Cole hadthreatened Holderness. Then Dene and Cole had met in the main street ofWhite 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 leave thevillage without seeing Holderness, urging the futility of such a meeting.

　　"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. "IfI weren't able to take care of myself August Naab would never have saidso."

　　Had Hare asked himself what he intended to do when he faced Holderness hecould not have told. His feelings were pent-in, bound, but at the bottomsomething 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 behind apile 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 in Hare'seyes that suddenly quieted the room. Hare had once vowed to himself thathe would never forget the scarred face; it belonged to the outlaw 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.

　　HolderDess 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, and nohonest man will work for a water-thief, a cattle-rustler, a sheep-killer.You're shown up, Holderness. Leave the country before some one killsyou--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.