XIX. Unleashed

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

　　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 feat which eventhe Navajos did not have to their credit. Yet Hare had no shrinking; hehad no doubt; he must go on. As he had been drawn to the Painted Desertby a voiceless call, so now he was urged forward by something 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, turnedsharply at wind-washed gullies, made winding detours, zigzagged levelsthat shone like a polished floor; and at last (so it seemed to Hare) shedoubled back on her trail. The black cliff receded over the waves ofsand; the stars changed positions, travelled round in the blue dome, andthe few that he knew finally sank below the horizon. Bolly never lagged;she was like the homeward - bound horse, indifferent to direction becausesure of it, eager to finish the journey because now it was short. Harewas glad though not surprised when she snorted and cracked her iron-shodhoof on a stone at the edge of the sand. He smiled with tightening lipsas he rode into the shadow of a rock which he recognized. Bolly hadcrossed the treacherous belt of dunes and washes and had struck the trailon 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 mile ofSilver 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 stone orsnapping a twig, and stopped every few paces to listen. There was nosound other than the wind in the cedars. Presently, with a gasp, hecaught 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 he struckthe mountain trail. Then, descending, he entered the cedars. At last hereached a point directly above the cliff-camp where he had spent so manydays, and this he knew overhung the cabin built by Holderness. He stoledown from tree to tree and slipped from thicket to thicket. The sun, redas blood, raised a bright crescent over the red wall; the soft mists ofthe valley began to glow and move; cattle were working in toward thespring. Never brushing a branch, never dislodging a stone, Haredescended the slope, his eyes keener, his ears sharper with every step.Soon the edge of the gray stone cliff below shut out the lower level ofcedars. While resting he listened. Then he marked his course down thelast bit of slanting ground to the cliff bench which faced the valley.This space was open, rough with crumbling rock and dead cedar brush--adifficult place to cross without sound. Deliberate in his choice ofsteps, very slow in moving, Hare went on with a stealth which satisfiedeven his intent ear. When the wide gray strip of stone drew slowly intothe circle of his downcast gaze he sank to the ground with a slighttrembling in all his limbs. There was a thick bush on the edge of thecliff; in three steps he could reach it and, unseen himself, look downupon 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 level ofhis conscious thought. "I'll watch till Holderness walks out into sight,jump up with a yell when he comes, give him time to see me, to draw hisgun--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 clinching hisrifle, 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 our 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 the westernedge of the sand-strip. Mescal had fallen into the hands of Snap Naab.But Mescal was surely alive and Snap was there to be killed; his longcareer of unrestrained cruelty was in its last day--something told Harethat this thing must and should be. The stern deliberation of his intentto kill Holderness, the passion of his purpose to pay his debt to AugustNaab, 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 thecamp-fire and raked the coals around the pots; others lounged on a benchwaiting for breakfast; some rolled out of their blankets; they stretchedand yawned, and pulling on their boots made for the spring. The last manto rise 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? Whetherhe came alone or at the head of his hard-riding Navajos he would arrivetoo late. Holderness's life was not worth a pinch of the ashes heflecked so carelessly from his cigarette. Snap Naab's gloom, his longstride, his nervous hand always on or near the butt of his Colt, spokethe keenness of his desert instinct. For him the sun had arisen red overthe red wall. Had he harmed Mescal? Why did he keep the cabin door shutand guard 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 toward thecedars. "If they come," he whispered, "I'll kill Holderness and Snap andany man who tries to open that cabin door."

　　So he waited in tense watchfulness, his gaze alternating between the wavyline of the divide and the camp glade. Out in the valley it was stilldaylight, but under the cliff twilight had fallen. All day Hare hadstrained his ears to hear the talk of the rustlers, and it now occurredto him that if he climbed down through the split in the cliff to thebench where Dave and George had always hidden to watch the spring hewould be just above the camp. This descent involved risk, but since itwould enable him to see the cabin door when darkness set in, he decidedto venture. The moment was propitious, for the rustlers were bustlingaround, cooking dinner, unrolling blankets, and moving to and fro fromspring and corral. Hare crawled back a few yards and along the cliffuntil he reached the split. It was a narrow steep crack which he wellremembered. Going down was attended with two dangers--losing his hold,and the possible rattling of stones. Face foremost he slipped downwardwith the gliding, sinuous movement of a snake, and reaching the grassybench 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. Thecabin 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 dishevelled hairalmost 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 ruddyfaced 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 holster andwas 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 the doorand 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 sight ofMescal, blessed relief to see her unscathed, pride in her fightingspirit--these came side by side with gratitude to the kind Nebraskarustler, strange deepening insight into Holderness's game,unextinguishable white-hot hatred of Snap Naab. And binding all was theever-mounting will to rescue Mescal, which was held in check by aninexorable judgment; he must continue to wait. And he did wait withblind faith in the something to be, keeping ever in mind the last resort--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 turned tohis 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 you bald-headed; the next,she'll melt in your mouth like sugar. An' I'll be darned if thechangeablest one ain't the kind to hold a feller longest. But it's h--1.I was married onct. Not any more for mine! A pal I had used to say thetwhiskey riled him, thet rattlesnake pisen het up his blood some, but ittook a woman to make him plumb bad. D__n if it ain't so. When there's awoman 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. "Noshells!" 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 Snap Naabhad 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 could almostfeel pity for Holderness. His doom was close. Twice, when the rustlerchief had sauntered nearer to the cabin door, as if to enter, Hare hadcovered him with the rifle, waiting, waiting for the step upon thethreshold. 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-fire slowlyburned down. The night hours wore on to the soft wail of the breeze andthe 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.Gently he slipped aside his blankets and began to rise. He was slow andguarded of movement; it took him long to stand erect. He stepped betweenthe rustlers 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 in theflickering 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 seemed tohave but one issue--the killing of Holderness. Mescal would soon be uponSilvermane, far out on the White Sage trail, and this time there would beno sand-strip to trap her. But Hare could not kill the rustler while hewas sleeping; and he could not awaken him without revealing to his menthe escape of the girl. Hare stood there on the bench, gazing down onthe blanketed Holderness. Why not kill him now, ending forever hispower, and trust to chance for the rest? No, no! Hare flung thetemptation from him. To ward off pursuit as long as possible, to aidMescal 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 the littlehollow where he had left Bolly. The darkness of the forest hindered him,but he came at length to the edge of the aspen thicket; he penetrated it,and guided toward Bolly by a suspicious stamp and neigh, he found her andquieted her with a word. He rode down the hollow, out upon the levelvalley.

　　The clouds had broken somewhat, letting pale light down through rifts.All about him cattle were lying in a thick gloom. It was penetrable foronly 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 loudly ashe dared. The stallion melted into the misty curtain, the beating ofhoofs softened and ceased. Hare spurred Bolly to her fleetest. He had along, 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; itpassed while he watched Silvermane grow smaller and smaller and disappearon the looming slope of Coconina. Hare's fear that Mescal would run intothe riders Holderness expected from his ranch grew less and less aftershe had reached the cover of the cedars. That she would rest thestallion at the Navajo pool on the mountain he made certain. Late in thenight he came to the camping spot and found no trace to prove that shehad halted there even to let Silvermane drink. So he tied the tiredmustang 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.Far along the winding white trail shone a speck. It was Silvermanealmost out 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, but theywere 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 time herein 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 chanceNaab may 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 in theorchard. I'll stay outside to-night, sleep a little--for I'm dead tired--and watch in the morning. Holderness will come here with his men,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, clear theblur from his eyes, ease the pain in his head and weariness of limbs--allthese weaknesses of which he had suddenly become conscious. Time andagain he had almost wooed slumber to him when soft footsteps on thegravel paths, low voices, the gentle closing of the gate, brought himback to the unreal listening wakefulness. The sounds continued late intothe night, and when he did fall asleep he dreamed of them. He awoke to adawn clearer than the light from the noonday sun. In his ears was theringing of a bell. He could not stand still, and his movements weresubtle 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 thefront, his red-gold beard shining in the sunlight. The steady clip-cropof hoofs and clinking of iron stirrups broke the morning quiet.Holderness, with two of his men, dismounted before the Bishop's gate; theothers of the band trotted on down the road. The ring of Holderness'slaugh preceded 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 fixed onthe spurred and belted rustler. Holderness stepped out in front of hiscompanions, 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 of red--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.