"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 Hare and his horse. "Your story can wait. I know about what it is–after you reached Silver Cup. Come in, come in, Dave will look out for the stallion."
But Hare would allow no one else to attend to Silvermane. He rubbed the tired gray, gave him a drink at the trough, led him to the corral, and took leave of him with a caress like Mescal's. Then he went to his room and bathed himself and changed his clothes, afterward presenting himself at 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 waited upon them as if they could not do enough. There were pleasant words and smiles; but in spite of them something sombre attended the meal. There was a shadow in each face, each step was slow, each voice subdued. Naab and his sons were waiting for Hare when he entered the sitting room, and after 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 interrupted him till he spoke of Silvermane's running Dene down.
"That's the second time!" rolled out Naab." The stallion will kill him yet!"
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 Sage and the boys were here at home, Holderness rode to the spring and took possession. 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 twenty riders 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 was sorry 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 were number thirty-one in dad's cemetery."
"Not yet," said Hare. "Dene certainly looked as if he saw a ghost when Silvermane jumped for him. Well, he's at Silver Cup now. They're all there. What's to be done about it? They're openly thieves. The new brand on all your stock proves that."
"Such a trick we never heard of," replied August Naab. "If we had we might 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. Holderness has 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 about cleaning it. I never thought of shooting back. Silvermane was running too 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 come true. Dave brought news from White Sage, and it's almost unbelievable. Holderness has proclaimed himself or has actually got himself elected sheriff. He holds office over the Mormons from whom he steals. Scarcely a day goes by in the village without a killing. The Mormons north of Lund finally banded together, hanged some rustlers, and drove the others out. Many of them have come down into our country, and Holderness now has a strong force. But the Mormons will rise against him. I know it; I see it. I am waiting for it. We are God-fearing, life-loving men, slow to 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 man accused.
"Dad figures this way," put in Dave." On the one hand we lose our water and stock without bloodshed. We have a living in the oasis. There's little here to attract rustlers, so we may live in peace if we give up our rights. On the other hand, suppose Dad gets the Navajos down here and we join them and go after Holderness and his gang. There's going to be an all-fired bloody fight. Of course we'd wipe out the rustlers, but some 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 his Christian 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 this band."
"Ah! you've said it," replied Dave, raising a tense arm. "It's a one-man job. D n Snap! He could have done it, if he hadn't gone to the bad. But it won't be easy. I tried to get Holderness. He was wise, and his men politely 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; then he shook himself, as if to throw off the grip of something hard and inevitable. "I'm still master here," he said, and his voice showed the conquest 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 long exertions. Naab's former cheer and that of his family reasserted itself once the decision was made, and the daily life went on as usual. The sons worked in the fields by day, and in the evening played at pitching horseshoes on the bare circle where the children romped. The women went on baking, sewing, and singing. August Naab's prayers were more fervent than ever, and he even prayed for the soul of the man who had robbed him. Mescal's cheeks soon rounded out to their old contour and her eyes shone with a happier light than Hare had ever seen there. The races between Silvermane and Black Bolly were renewed on the long stretch under the wall, and Mescal forgot that she had once acknowledged the superiority of the gray. The cottonwoods showered silken floss till the cabins and grass were white; the birds returned to the oasis; the sun kissed warm color into the cherries, and the distant noise of the river seemed like the humming of a swarm of bees.
"Here, Jack," said August Naab, one morning, "get a spade and come with me. There's a break somewhere in the ditch."
Hare went with him out along the fence by the alfalfa fields, and round the corner of red wall toward the irrigating dam.
"Well, Jack, I suppose you'll be asking me for Mescal one of these days," 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 feeling between 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 I fear–I seem to see–Hare, I'm a poor man once more. I can't do for you what I'd like. Still we'll see, we'll hope."