The Heritage of the Desert.................................................................................................................................1

Zane Grey .................................................................................................................................................1

The words stung John Hare's fainting spirit into life. He opened his eyes. The desert still stretched before

him, the appalling thing that had overpowered him with its deceiving purple distance. Near by stood a sombre

"Leave him here," said one, addressing a graybearded giant. "He's the fellow sent into southern Utah to spy

out the cattle thieves. He's all but dead. Dene's outlaws are after him. Don't cross Dene."

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

"Martin Cole, I will not go a hair'sbreadth out of my way for Dene or any other man. You forget your

"Yes, August Naab, I know," replied the little man, bitterly. "You would cast the Scriptures in my teeth, and

liken this man to one who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves. But I've suffered

The formal speech, the Biblical references, recalled to the reviving Hare that he was still in the land of the

Mormons. As he lay there the strange words of the Mormons linked the hard experience of the last few days

"Martin Cole, I hold to the spirit of our fathers," replied Naab, like one reading from the Old Testament.

"They came into this desert land to worship and multiply in peace. They conquered the desert; they prospered

with the years that brought settlers, cattlemen, sheepherders, all hostile to their religion and their

livelihood. Nor did they ever fail to succor the sick and unfortunate. What are our toils and perils compared to

theirs? Why should we forsake the path of duty, and turn from mercy because of a cutthroat outlaw? I like

"August Naab, I am a Mormon too," returned Cole, "but my hands are stained with blood. Soon yours will be

if you keep your waterholes and your 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 on you. He'll ignore your water rights and drive your stock. Soon Dene will steal cattle

Suddenly, with livid face and shaking hand, Cole pointed westward. "There! Dene and his band! See, under

The desert, gray in the foreground, purple in the distance, sloped to the west. Eyes keen as those of hawks

searched die waste, and followed the red mountain rampart, which, sheer in bold height and processional in

its craggy sweep, shut out the north. Far away little puffs of dust rose above the white sage, and creeping

"See them? Ah! then look, August Naab, look in the heavens above for my prophecy," cried Cole, fanatically.

A broad bar of dense black shut out the April sky, except in the extreme west, where a strip of pale blue

formed background for several clouds of striking color and shape. They alone, in all that expanse, were dyed

in the desert's sunset crimson. The largest projected from behind the dark cloudbank in the shape of a huge

fist, and the others, small and round, floated below. To Cole it seemed a giant hand, clutching, with

inexorable strength, a bleeding heart. His terror spread to his companions as they stared.

Then, as light surrendered to shade, the sinister color faded; the tracing of the closed hand softened; flush and

glow paled, leaving the sky purple, as if mirroring the desert floor. One golden shaft shot up, to be blotted out

"That may be God's will," said August Naab. "So be it. Martin Cole, take your 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 rush of 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 fear your generous actcan't save me . . .

"Don't try to talk yet," said August Naab. "You're faint. Heredrink." He stooped to Hare, who was leaning

against a sagebush, and held a flask 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 the sanddune we'll have longer."

Hare's flagging senses rallied, and he forgot himself in wonder. While the bustle went on, unhitching of

wagonteams, hobbling and feeding of horses, unpacking of campsupplies, Naab appeared to be lost in deep

meditation or prayer. Not once did he glance backward over the trail on which peril was fast approaching. His

gaze was fastened on a ridge to the east where desert line, fringed by stunted cedars, met the paleblue sky,

and for a long time he neither spoke nor stirred. At length he turned to the campfire; he raked out red coals,

and placed the iron pots in position, by way of assistance to the women who were preparing the evening

A cool wind blew in from the desert, rustling the sage, sifting the sand, fanning the dull coals to burning

opals. Twilight failed and night fell; one by one great stars shone out, cold and bright. From the zone of

blackness surrounding the camp burst the short bark, the hungry whine, the longdrawnout wail of desert

"Supper, sons," called Naab, as he replenished the fire with an armful of greasewood.

Naab's sons had his stature, though not his bulk. They were wiry, rangy men, young, yet somehow old. The

desert had multiplied their years. Hare could not have told one face from another, the bronze skin and steel

eye and hard line of each were so alike. The women, one middleaged, the others young, were of comely,

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 family bowed their heads, he extended his

"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 this stranger within our gates. Help us to help him. Teach us Thy ways, O

Hare found himself flushing and thrilling, found himself unable to control a painful binding in his throat. In

fortyeight hours he had learned to hate the Mormons unutterably; here, in the presence of this austere man,

he felt that hatred wrenched from his heart, and in its place stirred something warm and living. He was glad,

for if he had to die, as he believed, either from the deed of evil men, or from this last struggle of his wasted

body, he did not want to die in bitterness. That simple 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 and hurt his mother while

grace was being said at the breakfasttable. Now he was alone in the world, sick and dependent upon the

kindness of these strangers. But they were really friendsit was a wonderful thought.

"Mescal, wait on the stranger," said August Naab, and the girl knelt beside him, tendering meat and drink.

His nerveless fingers refused to hold the cup, and she put it to his lips while he drank. Hot coffee revived

him; he ate and grew stronger, and readily began to talk when the Mormon asked for his story.

"There isn't much to tell. My name is Hare. I am twentyfour. My parents are dead. I came West because the

doctors said I couldn't live in the East. At first I got better. But my money gave out and work became a

necessity. I tramped from place to place, ending up ill in Salt Lake City. People were kind to me there. Some

one got me a job with a big cattle company, and sent me to Marysvale, southward over the bleak plains. It

was cold; I was ill when I reached Lund. Before I even knew what my duties were for at Lund I was to begin

workmen called me a spy. A fellow named Chance threatened me. An innkeeper led me out the back 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 I dropped here where you

"You missed the road to Bane," said Naab. "This is the trail to White Sage. It's a trail of sand and stone that

leaves no tracks, a lucky thing for you. Dene wasn't in Lund while you were thereelse you wouldn't be

here. He hasn't seen you, and he can't be certain of your trail. Maybe he rode to Bane, but still we may find a

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

"Here, get up," he said, extending a hand to Hare. "Pretty shaky, eh? Can you walk? Give me a holdthere. .

. . Mescal, come." The slender girl obeyed, gliding noiselessly like a shadow. "Take his arm." Between them

"It wouldn't do to hide," continued Naab, lowering his voice to a swift whisper, "that might be fatal. You're in

sight from the campfire, but indistinct. Byandby the outlaws will get here, and if any of them prowl

around close, you and Mescal must pretend to be sweethearts. Understand? They'll pass by Mormon

lovemaking without a second look. Now, lad, courage . . . Mescal, it may save his life."

Naab returned to the fire, his shadow looming in gigantic proportions on the white canopy of a covered

wagon. Fitful gusts of wind fretted the blaze; it roared and crackled and sputtered, now illuminating the still

forms, then enveloping them in fantastic obscurity. Hare shivered, per haps from the cold air, perhaps from

growing dread. Westward lay the desert, an impenetrable black void; in front, the gloomy mountain wall

lifted 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 watched intently as it

moved and rose from behind the summit of the ridge to make a bold black figure silhouetted against the cold

clearness of sky. He saw it distinctly, realized it was close, and breathed hard as the windswept mane and

tail, the lean, wild shape and single plume resolved themselves into the unmistakable outline of an Indian

"Look!" he whispered to the girl. "See, a mounted Indian, there on the ridgethere, he's goneno, I see him

again. But that's another. Look! there are more." He ceased in breathless suspense and stared fearfully at a

line of mounted Indians moving in single file over the ridge to become lost to view in the intervening

blackness. A faint rattling of gravel and the peculiar crack of unshod hoof on stone gave reality to that

"Navajos!" he echoed. "I heard of them at Lund; 'desert hawks' the men called them, worse than Piutes. Must

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

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

"I don't know; I only guess. We used to ride often to White Sage and Lund; now we go seldom, and when we

do there seem to be Navajos near the camp at night, and riding the ridges by day. I believe Father Naab

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

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

"Why!" exclaimed Hare. "When you came out of the wagon I took you for an Indian girl. But the moment

"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 question seemed curious and unnecessary. His

interest was aroused; he realized suddenly that he had found pleasure in her low voice; it was new and

strange, unlike any woman's voice he had ever heard; and he regarded her closely. He had only time for a

glance at her straight, cleancut profile, 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 a hand, slowly bent toward the wind, and

Hare heard nothing save the barking of coyotes and the breeze in the sage. He saw, however, the men rise

from round the campfire to face the north, and the women climb into the wagon, and close the canvas flaps.

And he prepared himself, with what fortitude he could command for the approach of the outlaws. He waited,

straining to catch a sound. His heart throbbed audibly, like a muffled drum, and for an endless moment his

ears seemed deadened to aught else. Then a stronger puff of wind whipped 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 black mass hurled itself over the border of opaque

August Naab deliberately threw a bundle of greasewood upon the campfire. A blaze leaped up, sending

Three horsemen advanced to the foreground; others, a troop of eight or ten, remained in the shadow, a silent

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

Hare was nervously alive to the handsome presence of the outlaw. Glimpses that he had caught of "bad" men

returned vividly as he noted the cleanshaven face, the youthful, supple body, the cool, careless mien. Dene's

eyes glittered as he pulled off his gauntlets and beat the sand out of them; and but for that quick fierce glance

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

"Cole and his men were in a hurry to make White Sage tonight. They were travelling light; I've heavy

"Heerd of a young feller thet was in Lundpale chaplunger, we'd call him back West?"

The outlaw stared hard at him. Apparently he was about to speak of the Navajos, for his quick uplift of head

at Naab's blunt affirmative suggested the impulse. But he checked himself and slowly drew on his gloves.

"Naab, I'm shore comin' to visit you some day. Never been over thet range. Heerd you hed fine water, fine

cattle. An' say, I seen thet little Navajo girl you have, an' I wouldn't mind seein' her again."

August Naab kicked the fire into brighter blaze. "Yes fine range," he presently replied, his gaze fixed on

Dene. "Fine water, fine cattle, fine browse. I've a fine graveyard, too; thirty graves, and not one a woman's.

Fine place for graves, the canyon country. You don't have to dig. There's one grave the Indians never named;

"Thet must be in hell," replied Dene, with a smile, ignoring the covert meaning. 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 saddle as

"Get down, get down," returned the Mormon. The deep voice, unwelcoming, vibrant with an odd ring, would

have struck a less suspicious man than Dene. The outlaw wrung his leg back over the pommel, sagged in the

saddle, and appeared to be pondering the question. Plainly he was uncertain of his ground. But his indecision

Hare, watching this scene, became conscious that his fear had intensified with the recognition of TwoSpot

as Chance, the outlaw whom he would not soon forget. In his excitement he moved against Mescal and felt

The outlaw rummaged in one of the wagons, pulled aside the canvas flaps of the other, laughed harshly, and

then with clinking spurs tramped through the camp, kicking the beds, overturning a pile of saddles, and

making disorder generally, till he spied the couple sitting on the stone in the shadow.

As the outlaw lurched that way, Hare, with a start of recollection, took Mescal in his arms and leaned his

head against hers. He felt one of her hands lightly brush his shoulder and rest there, trembling.

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

The coarse laugh gave place to moving footsteps. The rattling clink of stirrup and spur mingled with the

restless stamp of horse. Chance had mounted. Dene's voice drawled out: "Goodbye, Naab, I shore will see

you all some day." The heavy thuds of many hoofs evened into a roar that diminished as it rushed away.

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

He was fainting, yet his sensations were singularly acute. Mescal's hand dropped from his shoulder; her

cheek, that had been cold against his, grew hot; she quivered through all her slender length. Confusion

claimed his senses. Gratitude and hope flooded his soul. Something sweet and beautiful, the touch of this

desert girl, rioted in his blood; his heart swelled in exquisite agony. Then he was whirling in darkness; and he

THE night was as a blank to Hare; the morning like a drifting of hazy clouds before his eyes. He felt himself

moving; and when he awakened clearly to consciousness he lay upon a couch on the vinecovered porch of a

cottage. He saw August Naab open a garden gate to admit Martin Cole. 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. His welcome

"Elder, I heard you were safe in," he said, fervently. "We fearedI know not what. I was distressed till I got

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

"He's drinking and in an ugly mood. It seems he traded horses with Jeff Larsen, and got the worst of the deal.

"Small wonder. Larsen is mean; he's as bad as we've got and that's saying a good deal. Snap has done worse

things than fight with Larsen. He's doing a worse thing now, Augusthe's too friendly with Dene."

"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 our neighbors, perhaps men we trust, are secret members of this rustler's

"You're right, Cole. There are Mormons who are cattlethieves. To my eternal shame I confess it. Under

cover of night they ride with Dene, and here in our midst they meet him in easy tolerance. Driven from

"August, some of our young men need no one to corrupt them. Dene had no great task to win them. He rode

in here with a few outlaws and now he has a strong band. We've got to face it. We haven't any law, but he can

be killed. Some one must kill him. Yet bad as Dene is, he doesn't threaten our living as Holderness does.

Dene steals a few cattle, kills a man here and there. Holderness reaches out and takes our springs. Because

we've no law to stop him, he steals the blood of our lifewater waterGod's gift to the desert! Some one

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

"No, it's not prayer I need, Elder," replied Cole, stubbornly. "I'm still a good Mormon. What I want is the

August Naab had no answer for his friend. A very old man with snowwhite hair and beard came out on the

"Black doubt and no light," said Cole, despondently. "I'm of the younger generation of Mormons, and faith is

harder for me. I see signs you can't see. I've had trials hard to bear. I was rich in cattle, sheep, and water.

These Gentiles, this rancher Holderness and this outlaw Dene, have driven my cattle, killed my sheep, piped

my water off my fields. I don't like the present. We are no longer in the old days. Our young men are drifting

away, and the few who return come with ideas opposed to Mormonism. Our girls and boys are growing up

influenced by the Gentiles among us. They intermarry, and that's a deathblow to our creed."

"Martin, cast out this poison from your heart. Return to your faith. The millennium will come. Christ will

reign on earth again. The ten tribes of Israel will be restored. The Book of Mormon is the Word of God. The

creed will live. We may suffer here and die, but our spirits will go marching on; and the City of Zion will be

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

"A Mormon custom, 'the laying on of hands.' We know its efficacy in trouble and illness. A Bishop of the

Mormon Church has the gift of tongues, of prophecy, of revelation, of healing. Let him administer to you. It

Thereupon Naab spoke a few low words to some one through the open door. Voices ceased; soft footsteps

sounded without; women crossed the threshold, followed by tall young men and rosychecked girls and

roundeyed children. A whitehaired old woman came forward with solemn dignity. She carried a silver

bowl which she held for the Bishop as he stood 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's head, and offered up a brief

The ceremony ended, the onlookers came forward with pleasant words on their lips, pleasant smiles on their

faces. The children filed by his couch, bashful yet sympathetic; the women murmured, the young men

grasped his hand. Mescal flitted by with downcast eye, with shy smile, but no word.

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

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

Mescal brought a little table and a pillow, and the other girls soon followed with food and drink; then they

"They said I fell among thieves," mused Hare, when he was once more alone. "I've fallen among saints as

well." He felt that he could never repay this August Naab. "If only I might live!" he ejaculated. How restful

was this cottage garden! The green sward was a balm to his eyes. Flowers new to him, though of familiar

springtime hue, lifted fresh faces everywhere; fruittrees, with branches intermingling, blended the white and

pink of blossoms. There was the soft laughter of children in the garden. Strange birds darted among the trees.

Their notes were new, but their song was the old delicious monotonethe joy of living and love of spring. A

greenbowered irrigation ditch led by the porch and unseen water flowed gently, with gurgle and tinkle, with

Hare fell asleep. Upon returning drowsily to consciousness he caught through halfopen eyes the gleam of

level shafts of gold sunlight low down in the trees; then he felt himself being carried into the house to be laid

upon a bed. Some one gently unbuttoned his shirt at the neck, removed his shoes, and covered him with a

blanket. Before he had fully awakened he was left alone, and quiet settled over the house. A languorous sense

of ease and rest lulled him to sleep again. In another moment, it seemed to him, he was awake; bright daylight

The drag in his breathing which was always a forerunner of a coughingspell warned him now; he put on

coat and shoes and went outside, where his cough attacked him, had its sway, and left him.

"Goodmorning," sang out August Naab's cheery voice. "Sixteen hours of sleep, my lad!"

"I did sleep, didn't I? No wonder I feel well this morning. A peculiarity of my illness is that one day I'm

"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 busy day for me, shoeing the horses and packing supplies. I want to start for home

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 Mormon intended to take him to his desert home. He hoped so, and warmed

anew to this friend. But he had no enthusiasm for himself; his future seemed hopeless.

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

"You're kindI'm only a sort of beggarI've no strength left to work my way. I'll gothough it's only to

"I haven't the gift of revelationyet somehow I see that you won't die of this illness. You will come home

with me. It's a beautiful place, my Navajo oasis. The Indians call it the Garden of Eschtah. If you can get well

"No man can ever tell what he may do for another. The time may come well, John, is it settled?" He

"It's settledI" Hare faltered as he put his hand in Naab's. The Mormon's grip straightened his frame and

braced him. Strength and simplicity flowed from the giant's toilhardened palm. Hare swallowed his thanks

along with his emotion, and for what he had intended to say he substituted: "No one ever called me John. I

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

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

The wide street, bordered by cottages peeping out of green and white orchards, stretched in a straight line to

the base of the ascent which led up to the Pink Cliffs. A green square enclosed a gray church, a schoolhouse

and public hall. Farther down the main thoroughfare were several weatherboarded whitewashed stores. Two

dusty men were riding along, one on each side of the wildest, most vicious little horse Hare had ever seen. It

reared and bucked and kicked, trying to escape from two lassoes. In front of the largest store were a number

of mustangs all standing free, with bridles thrown over their heads and trailing on the ground. The loungers

leaning against the railing and about the doors were lank brown men very like Naab's sons. Some wore

sheepskin "chaps," some blue overalls; all wore boots and spurs, wide soft hats, and in their belts, far to the

"We'll buy what you need, just as if you expected to ride the ranges for me tomorrow," said Naab. "The first

"I could ride before I got so weak. I've never handled a revolver, but I can shoot a rifle. Never shot at

"Good. We'll show you some targetslions, bears, deer, cats, wolves. There's a fine fortyfour Winchester

here that my friend Abe has been trying to sell. It has a long barrel and weighs eight pounds. Our desert riders

like the light carbines that go easy on a saddle. Most of the mustangs aren't weightcarriers. This rifle has a

great range; I've shot it, and it's just the gun for you to use on wolves and coyotes. You'll need a Colt and a

"Bytheway," he went on, as they mounted the store steps, "here's the kind of money we use in this

country." He handed Hare a slip of blue paper, a written check for a sum of money, signed, but without

southern Utah. Most of the Gentiles lately come in have money, and some of us Mormons have a bag or two

of gold, 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 a check means sheep, cattle, horses, grain, merchandise or labor.

They went into a wide door to tread a maze of narrow aisles between boxes and barrels, stacks of canned

vegetables, and piles of harness and dry goods; they entered an open space where several men leaned on a

"Hello, August. Yes, Snap's inside. So's Holderness. Says he rode in off the range on purpose to see you."

Abe designated an open doorway from which issued loud voices. Hare glanced into a long narrow room full

of smoke and the fumes of rum. Through the haze he made out a crowd of men at a rude bar. Abe went to the

door and called out: "Hey, Snap, your dad wants you. Holderness, here's August Naab."

A man staggered up the few steps leading to the store and swayed in. His long face had a hawkish cast, and it

was gray, not with age, but with the sagegray of the desert. His eyes were of the same hue, cold yet burning

with little fiery flecks in their depths. He appeared short of stature because of a curvature of the spine, but

straightened up he would have been tall. He wore a blue flannel shirt, and blue overalls; round his lean hips

was a belt holding two Colt's revolvers, their heavy, dark butts projecting outward, and he had on high boots

"I'm packing today," returned August Naab. "We ride out tomorrow. I need your help."

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

He bit out the last words with a peculiar snap of his long teeth, a circumstance which caused Hare instantly to

associate the savage clicking with the name he had heard given this man. August Naab looked at him with

gloomy eyes and stern shut mouth, an expression of righteous anger, helplessness and grief combined, the

look of a man to whom obstacles had been nothing, at last confronted with crowning defeat. Hare realized

that this son was Naab's firstborn, bestloved, a thorn in his side, a black sheep.

"Say, father, is that the spy you found on the trail?" Snap's pale eyes gleamed on Hare and the little flames

"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. Dene has named him and Dene has marked him. Don't take him home, as you've

taken so many sick and hunted men before. What's the good of it? You never made a Mormon of one of them

Hare recoiled with a shock. Snap Naab swayed to the door, and stepped down, all the time with his face over

The several loungers went out; August engaged the storekeeper in conversation, introducing Hare and

explaining their wants. They inspected the various needs of a rangerider, selecting, in the end, not the few

suggested by Hare, but the many chosen by Naab. The last purchase was the rifle Naab had talked about. It

was a beautiful weapon, finely polished and carved, entirely out of place among the plain coarsesighted and

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

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

"August, you must be going to shoot some?" queried Abe. "Something bigger than rabbits and coyotes. Its

about timeeven if you are an Elder. We Mormons must" he broke off, continuing in a low tone: "Here's

Hare wheeled with the interest that had gathered with the reiteration of this man's name. A newcomer

stooped to get in the door. He outtopped even Naab in height, and was a superb blondbearded man,

"Well, Hare, I'm Holderness. You'll recall my name. You were sent to Lund by men interested in my ranges. I

Hare met the proffered hand with his own, and as he had recoiled from Snap Naab so now he received

another shock, different indeed but impelling in its power, instinctive of some great portent. Hare was

impressed by an indefinable subtlety, a nameless distrust, as colorless as the clear penetrating amber lightness

"You mean about his being a spy? Well, Naab, the truth is that was his job. I advised against sending a man

down here for that sort of work. It won't do. These Mormons will steal each other's cattle, and they've got to

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 rustlers wouldn't. I'll take Hare out to the ranch and give him work, if he wants. But he'd do

Holderness accepted this with an almost imperceptible nod, and he swept Hare with eyes that searched and

probed for latent possibilities. It was the keen intelligence of a man who knew what development meant on

the desert; not in any sense an interest in the young man at present. Then he turned his back.

Hare, feeling that Holderness wished to talk with Naab, walked to the counter, and began assorting his

'He's all in. Better send him out of the country. He's got the name of Dene's spy and he'll never get another on

this desert. Dene will kill him. This isn't good judgment, Naab, to take him with you. Even your friends don't

"Well, remember, I've warned you. I've tried to be friendly with you, Naab, but you won't have it. Anyway,

"Why not?" demanded Holderness. "Oh, well, I can't take that as an insult. I know there's not enough money

in Utah to get a girl away from a Mormon. . . . About the offer for the waterrightshow do we stand? I'll

give you ten thousand dollars for the rights to Seeping Springs and Silver Cup."

"Ten thousand!" ejaculated Naab. "Holderness, I wouldn't take a hundred thousand. 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 the Government, and though your ranges are across the Arizona line they really figure

as Utah land. My company's spending big money, and the Government won't let you have a monopoly. No

one man can control the watersupply of a hundred miles of range. Times are changing. You want to see that.

"Holderness, this is a desert. No men save Mormons could ever have made it habitable. The Government

scarcely knows of its existence. It'll be fifty years before man can come in here to take our water."

"Because of the unwritten law of the desert. No Mormon would refuse you or your horse a drink, or even a

reasonable supply for your stock. But you can't come in here and take our water for your own use, to supplant

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

Naab scorned to reply. The men faced each other for a silent moment, their glances scintillating. Then

"Get out of my way," said the rancher, in the disgust of intense irritation. He swung his arm, and his open

"Jack," said Naab, breathing hard, "Holderness showed his real self today. 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 seelet us go."

On the return to the Bishop's cottage Naab did not speak once; the transformation which had begun with the

appearance of his drunken son had reached a climax of gloomy silence after the clash with Holderness. Naab

went directly to the Bishop, and presently the quavering voice of the old minister rose in prayer.

Hare dropped wearily into the chair on the porch; and presently fell into a doze, from which he awakened

with a start. Naab's sons, with Martin Cole and several other men, were standing in the yard. Naab himself

was gently crowding the women into the house. When he got them all inside he closed the door and turned to

"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. Then they drewonly Snap was quicker. Larsen's gun went off as he fell. That

"Gone after his pinto. He was sober. Said he'd pack at once. Larsen's friends are ugly. Snap said to tell you to

hurry out of the village with young Hare, if you want to take him at all. Dene has ridden in; he swears you

"We're all packed and ready to hitch up," returned Naab. "We could start at once, only until dark I'd rather

"Father!" Dave Naab spoke sharply from where he stood high on a grassy bank. "Here's Dene now, riding up

with Culver, and some man I don't know. They're coming in. Dene's jumped the fence! Look out!"

A clatter of hoofs and rattling of gravel preceded the appearance of a black horse in the garden path. His rider

bent low to dodge the vines of the arbor, and reined in before the porch to slip out of the saddle with the

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

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

The rustler's gaze shifted warily from Naab to the quiet Mormons and back again. Then his right hand

quivered and shot downward. Naab's act was even quicker. A Colt gleamed and whirled to the grass, and the

Dave Naab leaped off the bank directly in front of Dene's approaching companions, and faced them, alert and

August Naab swung the outlaw against the porchpost and held him there with brawny arm.

"Whelp of an evil breed!" he thundered, shaking his gray head. "Do you think we fear you and your gunsharp

tricks? Look! See this!" He released Dene and stepped back with his hand before him. Suddenly it moved,

quicker than sight, and a Colt revolver lay in his outstretched palm. He dropped it back into the holster. "Let

that teach you never to draw on me again." He doubled his huge fist and shoved it before Dene's eyes. "One

blow would crack your skull like an eggshell. Why don't I deal it? Because, you mindless hellhound,

because there s a higher law than man'sGod's lawThou shalt not kill! Understand that if you can. Leave

"Out with you!" said Dave Naab. "Hurry! Get your horse. Hurry! I'm not so particular about God as Dad is!"

AFTER the departure of Dene and his comrades Naab decided to leave White Sage at nightfall. Martin Cole

and the Bishop's sons tried to persuade him to remain, urging that the trouble sure to come could be more

safely met in the village. Naab, however, was obdurate, unreasonably so, Cole said, unless there were some

good reason why he wished to strike the trail in the night. When twilight closed in Naab had his teams ready

and the women shut in the canvascovered wagons. Hare was to ride in an open wagon, one that Naab had

left at White Sage to be loaded with grain. When it grew so dark that objects were scarcely discernible a man

"Not so loud! The boys are coming," replied Dave in a whisper. "Dene is wild. I guess you snapped a bone in

his arm. He swears he'll kill us all. But Chance and the rest of the gang won't be in till late. We've time to

Dave and George Naab mounted their mustangs and rode through the gate; the first wagon rolled after them,

its white dome gradually dissolving in the darkness; the second one started; then August Naab stepped to his

seat on the third with a low cluck to the team. Hare shut the gate and climbed over the tailboard of the

A slight swish of weeds and grasses brushing the wheels was all the sound made in the cautious advance. A

bare field lay to the left; to the right low roofs and sharp chimneys showed among the trees; here and there

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

Hare thought he saw something in the deep shade of a line of poplartrees; he peered closer, and made out a

motionless horse and rider, just a shade blacker than the deepest gloom. The next instant they vanished, and

the rapid clatter of hoofs down the road told Hare his eyes had not deceived him.

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

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

Hare watched the glimmering lights of the village vanish one by one, like Jacko'lanterns. The horses kept a

steady, even trot on into the huge windy hall of the desert night. Fleecy clouds veiled the stars, yet

transmitted a wan glow. A chill crept over Hare. As he crawled under the blankets Naab had spread for him

his hand came into contact with a polished metal surface cold as ice. It was his rifle. Naab had placed it under

the blankets. Fingering the rifle Hare found the spring opening on the right side of the breech, and, pressing it

down, he felt the round head of a cartridge. Naab had loaded the weapon, he had placed it where Hare's hand

must find it, yet he had not spoken of it. Hare did not stop to reason with his first impulse. Without a word,

with silent insistence, disregarding his shattered health, August Naab had given him a man's part to play. The

full meaning lifted Hare out of his selfabasement; once more he felt himself a man.

Hare soon yielded to the warmth of the blankets; a drowsiness that he endeavored in vain to throw off

smothered his thoughts; sleep glued his eyelids tight. They opened again some hours later. For a moment he

could not realize where he was; then the whip of the cold wind across his face, the woolly feel and smell of

the blankets, and finally the steady trot of horses and the clink of a chain swinging somewhere under him,

recalled the actually of the night ride. He wondered how many miles had been covered, how the drivers knew

the direction and kept the horses in the trail, and whether the outlaws were in pursuit. When Naab stopped the

team and, climbing down, walked back some rods to listen, Hare felt sure that Dene was coming. He listened,

too, but the movements of the horses and the rattle of their harness were all the sounds he could hear. Naab

returned to his seat; the team started, now no longer in a trot; they were climbing. After that Hare fell into a

slumber in which he could hear the slow grating whirr of wheels, and when it ceased he awoke to raise

himself and turn his ear to the back trail. Byandby he discovered that the black night had changed to gray;

dawn was not far distant; he dozed and awakened to clear light. A rosered horizon lay far below and to the

eastward; the intervening descent was like a rolling sea with leaguelong swells.

"Glad you slept some," was Naab's greeting. "No sign of Dene yet. If we can get over the divide we're safe.

That's Coconina there, Fire Mountain in Navajo meaning. It's a plateau low and narrow at this end, but it runs

far to the east and rises nine thousand feet. It forms a hundred miles of the north rim of the Grand Canyon.

Hare followed the sweep of the ridge that rose to the eastward, but to his inexperienced eyes its appearance

"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 as you learn what light and air are in this country. It looks only half a mile to

the top of the divide; well, if we make it by midday we're lucky. There, see a black spot over this way, far

under the red wall? Look sharp. Good I That's Holderness's ranch. It's thirty miles from here. Nine Mile

Valley heads in there. Once it belonged to Martin Cole. Holderness stole it. And he's begun to range over the

The sun rose and warmed the chill air. Hare began to notice the increased height and abundance of the

sagebrush, which was darker in color. The first cedartree, stunted in growth, dead at the top, was the

halfway mark up the ascent, so Naab said; it was also the forerunner of other cedars which increased in

number toward the summit. At length Hare, tired of looking upward at the creeping white wagons, closed his

eyes. The wheels crunched on the stones; the horses heaved and labored; Naab's "Getup" was the only spoken

sound; the sun beamed down warm, then hot; and the hours passed. Some unusual noise roused Hare out of

his lethargy. The wagon was at a standstill. Naab stood on the seat with outstretched arm. George and Dave

were close by their mustangs, and Snap Naab, mounted on a creamcolored pinto, reined him under August's

"Maybe you'll make them out," said August. "I can't, and I've watched those dustclouds for hours. George

Hare, looking at Snap, was attracted by the eyes from which his father and brothers expected so much. If ever

a human being had the eyes of a hawk Snap Naab had them. The little brown flecks danced in clear pale

yellow. Evidently Snap had not located the perplexing dustclouds, for his glance drifted. Suddenly the

remarkable vibration of his pupils ceased, and his glance grew fixed, steely, certain.

Hare gazed till his eyes hurt, but could see neither clouds of dust nor moving objects. No more was said. The

sons wheeled their mustangs and rode to the fore; August Naab reseated himself and took up the reins; the

But it proceeded leisurely, with more frequent rests. At the end of an hour the horses toiled over the last rise

to the summit and entered a level forest of cedars; in another hour they were descending gradually.

Hare saw that they had come up with the other wagons. George Naab was leading a team down a rocky

declivity to a pool of yellow water. The other 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

It was not a pretty spot, this little rockstrewn glade where the white hard trail forked with the road. The

yellow water with its green scum made Hare sick. The horses drank with loud gulps. Naab and his sons drank

of it. The women filled a pail and portioned it out in basins and washed their faces and hands with evident

pleasure. Dave Naab whistled as he wielded an axe vigorously on a cedar. It came home to Hare that the

tension of the past night and morning had relaxed. Whether to attribute that fact to the distance from White

Sage or to the arrival at the waterhole he could not determine. But the certainty was shown in August's

cheerful talk to the horses as he slipped bags of grain over their noses, and in the subdued laughter of the

women. Hare sent up an unspoken thanksgiving that these good Mormons had apparently escaped from the

dangers incurred for his sake. He sat with his back to a cedar and watched the kindling of fires, the deft

manipulating of biscuit dough in a basin, and the steaming of pots. The generous meal was spread on a

canvas cloth, around which men and women sat crosslegged, after the fashion of Indians. Hare found it hard

to adapt his long legs to the posture, 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 hours of anxiety and abstinence to have Snap Naab

speak civilly to him, and to see him bow his head meekly as his father asked the blessing. Snap ate as though

he had utterly forgotten that he had recently killed a man; to hear the others talk to him one would suppose

All had finished eating, except Snap and Dave Naab, when one of the mustangs neighed shrilly. Hare would

not have noticed it but for looks exchanged among the men The glances were explained a few minutes later

when a pattering of hoofs came from the cedar forest, and a stream of mounted Indians poured into the glade.

The ugly glade became a place of color and action. The Navajos rode wiry, wildlooking mustangs and drove

ponies and burros carrying packs, most of which consisted of deerhides. Each Indian dismounted, and

unstrapping the blanket which had served as a saddle headed his mustang for the waterhole and gave him a

slap. Then the hides and packs were slipped from the packtrain, and soon the pool became a kicking,

splashing melee. Every cedartree circling the glade and every branch served as a peg for deer meat. Some of

it was in the haunch, the bulk in dark dried strips. The Indians laid their weapons aside. Every sagebush and

low stone held a blanket. A few of these blankets were of solid color, most of them had bars of white and

gray and red, the last color predominating. The mustangs and burros filed out among the cedars, nipping at

the sage and the scattered tufts of spare grass. A group of fires, sending up curling columns of blue smoke,

and surrounded by a circle of lean, halfnaked, bronzeskinned Indians, cooking and eating, completed a

picture which afforded Hare the satisfying fulfilment of boyish dreams. What a contrast to the memory of a

campsite on the Connecticut shore, with boy friends telling tales in the glow of the fire, and the wash of the

The sun sank low in the west, sending gleams through the gnarled branches of the cedars, and turning the

green into gold. At precisely the moment of sunset, the Mormon women broke into soft song which had the

element of prayer; and the lips of the men moved in silent harmony. Dave Naab, the only one who smoked,

This simple ceremony over, one of the boys put wood on the fire, and Snap took a jews'harp out of his

pocket and began to extract doleful discords from it, for which George kicked at him in disgust, finally

causing him to leave the circle and repair to the cedars, where he twanged with supreme egotism.

"Jack," said August Naab, "our friends the Navajo chiefs, Scarbreast and 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 for some

moments before appearing to see you. Scarbreast is a warchief. 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'll tell you

Hare tried very hard to appear unconscious when two tall Indians stalked into the circle of Mormons; he set

his eyes on the white heart of the campfire 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 a signal for Hare to use his eyes and ears. Another interval of silence followed

before they began to talk. Hare could see only their blanketed shoulders and black heads.

"Jack, come round here," said Naab at length. "I've been telling them about you. These Indians do not like the

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

The next Navajo greeted him with a guttural word. This was a warrior whose name might well have been

Scarface, for the signs of conflict were there. It was a face like a bronze mask, cast in the one expression of

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

This sign of friendship pleased Naab. He wished to enlist the sympathies of the Navajo chieftains in the

young man's behalf. In his ensuing speech, which was plentifully emphasized with gestures, he lapsed often

into English, saying "weakno strong" when he placed his hand on Hare's legs, and "bad" when he touched

Scarbreast regarded Hare with great earnestness, and when Naab had finished he said: "Chineagoping!"

"Sick," repeated Eschtah, whose English was intelligible. He appeared to be casting about in his mind for

additional words to express his knowledge of the white man's tongue, and, failing, continued in Navajo:

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

Other Indians, russetskinned warriors, with black hair held close by bands round their foreheads, joined the

circle, and sitting before the fire clasped their knees and talked. Hare listened awhile, and then, being

fatigued, he sought the cedartree where he had left his blankets. The dry mat of needles made an odorous

bed. He placed a sack of grain for a pillow, and doubling up one blanket to lie upon, he pulled the others over

him. Then he watched and listened. The cedarwood burned with a clear flame, and occasionally snapped out

a red spark. The voices of the Navajos, scarcely audible, sounded "toa's" and "taa's"syllables he soon

learned were characteristic and dominantin 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 that recalled

the kinship between her and the Navajo chieftain. He looked about, endeavoring to find her in the ring of

light, for he felt in her a fascination akin to the charm of this twilight hour. Dusky forms passed to and fro

under the trees; the tinkle of bells on hobbled mustangs rang from the forest; coyotes had begun their night

quest with wild howls; the campfire burned red, and shadows flickered on the blanketed Indians; the wind

Hare lay back in his blankets and saw lustrous stars through the network of branches. With their light in his

face and the cold wind waving his hair on his brow he thought of the strangeness of it all, of its remoteness

from anything ever known to him before, of its inexpressible wildness. And a rush of emotion he failed

wholly to stifle proved to him that he could have loved this life ifif he had not of late come to believe that

he had not long to live. Still Naab's influence exorcised even that one sad thought; and he flung it from him in

Sleep did not come so readily; he was not very well this night; the flush of fever was on his cheek, and the

heat of feverish blood burned his body. He raised himself and, resolutely seeking for distraction, once more

stared at the campfire. Some time must have passed during his dreaming, for only three persons were in

sight. Naab's broad back was bowed and his head nodded. Across the fire in its ruddy flicker sat Eschtah

beside a slight, dark figure. At second glance Hare recognized Mescal. Surprise claimed him, not more for

her presence there than for the white band binding her smooth black tresses. She had not worn such an

ornament before. That slender band lent her the one touch which made her a Navajo. Was it worn in respect

to her aged grandfather? What did this mean for a girl reared with Christian teaching? Was it desert blood?

Hare had no answers for these questions. They only increased the mystery and romance. He fell asleep with

the picture in his mind of Eschtah and Mescal, sitting in the glow of the fire, and of August Naab, nodding

"Jack, Jack, wake up." The words broke dully into his slumbers; wearily he opened his eyes. August Naab

"Not so well this morning, eh? Here's a cup of coffee. We're all packed and starting. Drink now, and climb

Hare rose presently and, laboring into the wagon, lay down on the sacks. He had one of his blind, sickening

headaches. The familiar lumbering of wheels began, and the clanking of the wagonchain. Despite jar and

jolt he dozed at times, awakening to the scrape of the wheel on the leathern brake. After a while the rapid

descent of the wagon changed to a roll, without the irritating rattle. He saw a narrow valley; on one side the

green, slowswelling cedar slope of the mountain; on the other the perpendicular red wall, with its pinnacles

like spears against the sky. All day this backward outlook was the same, except that each time he opened

aching eyes the valley had lengthened, the red wall and green slope had come closer together in the distance.

By and by there came a halt, the din of stamping horses and sharp commands, the bustle and confusion 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. The camp had been pitched close under the

red wall. A lichencovered cliff, wet with dripping water, overhung a round pool. A ditch led the water down

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; still others were climbing the ridge and passing down on both sides.

"You look as if you enjoyed that water," remarked Naab, when Hare presented 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 today is where my cattle

range. At the other end 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 the sea; the valley snuggled deep in the

embrace of wall and mountain. Hare took a place on the seat beside Naab and faced the descent. The line of

Navajos, a graceful straggling curve of color on the trail, led the way for the whitedomed 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 has gone in for water. Wolves and lions range this valley. We lose hundreds of calves

"If not overstocked, this range is the best in Utah," said Naab. "I say Utah, but it's really Arizona. The Grand

Canyon seems to us Mormons to mark the line. There's enough browse here to feed a hundred thousand

cattle. But water's the thing. In some seasons the springs go almost dry, though Silver Cup holds her own well

Hare marked the tufts of grass lying far apart on the yellow earth; evidently there was sustenance enough in

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

"Wild mustangs," replied Naab. "There are perhaps five thousand on the mountain, and they are getting to be

a nuisance. They're almost as bad as sheep on the browse; and I should tell you that if sheep pass over a range

once the cattle will starve. The mustangs are getting too plentiful. There are also several bands of wild

"I haven't figured that out yet. Some say the Spaniards left horses in here three hundred years ago. Wild?

They are wilder than any naturally wild animal that ever ran on four legs. Wait till you get a look at

"Wild stallions. Silvermane is an iron gray, with a silver mane, the most beautiful horse I ever saw.

Whitefoot's an old black shaggy demon, with one white foot. Both stallions ought to be killed. They fight my

horses and lead off the mares. I had a chance to shoot Silvermane on the way over this trip, but he looked so

"Run? Whew! Just you wait till you see Silvermane cover ground! He can look over his shoulder at you and

beat any horse in this country. The Navajos have given up catching him as a bad job. Whyhere! Jack!

Naab pulled on the reins, and pointed to one side. Hare discerned three grayish sharpnosed beasts sneaking

off in the sage, and he reached back for the rifle. Naab whistled, stopping the coyotes; then Hare shot. The

"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's

It was in this way that August and Hare fell far behind the other wagons. The nearer Naab got to his home the

more genial he became. When he was not answering Hare's queries he was giving information of his own

accord, telling about the cattle and the range, the mustangs, the Navajos, and the desert. Naab liked to talk; he

had said he had not the gift of revelation, but he certainly had the gift of tongues.

The sun was in the west when they began to climb a ridge. A short ascent, and a long turn to the right brought

them under a bold spur of the mountain which shut out the northwest. Camp had been pitched in a grove of

trees of a species new to Hare. From under a bowlder gushed the sparkling spring, a grateful sight and sound

"Jack, no man knows how old this cup is, or anything about it. We named the spring after itSilver Cup.

The strange thing is that the cup has never been lost nor stolen. Butcould any desert man, or outlaw, or

The cup was nicked and battered, bright on the sides, mossgreen on the bottom. When Hare drank from it he

That evening there was rude merriment around the campfire. Snap Naab buzzed on his jews'harp and sang.

He stirred some of the younger braves to dancing, and they stamped and swung their arms, singing,

Several of the braves showed great interest in Snap's jews'harp and repeatedly asked him for it. Finally the

Mormon grudgingly lent it to a curious Indian, who in trying to play it went through such awkward motions

and made such queer sounds that his companions set upon him and fought for possession of the instrument.

Then Snap, becoming solicitous for its welfare, jumped into the fray. They tussled for it amid the clamor of a

delighted circle. Snap, passing from jest to earnest, grew so strenuous in his efforts to regain the harp that he

tossed the Navajos about like shuttlecocks. He got the harp and, concealing it, sought to break away. But the

braves laid hold upon him, threw him to the ground, and calmly sat astride him while they went through his

pockets. August Naab roared his merriment and Hare laughed till he cried. The incident was as surprising to

him as it was amusing. These serious Mormons and silent Navajos were capable of mirth.

Hare would have stayed up as late as any of them, but August's saying to him, "Get to bed: tomorrow will

be bad!" sent him off to his blankets, where he was soon fast asleep. Morning found him well, hungry, eager

They rode out of the gray pocket in the ridge and began to climb. Hare had not noticed the rise till they were

started, and then, as the horses climbed steadily he grew impatient at the monotonous ascent. There was

nothing to see; frequently it seemed that they were soon to reach the summit, but still it rose above them.

Hare gasped. He saw a red world. His eyes seemed bathed in blood. Red scaly ground, bare of vegetation,

sloped down, down, far down to a vast irregular rent in the earth, which zigzagged through the plain beneath.

To the right it bent its crooked way under the brow of a blacktimbered plateau; to the left it straightened its

angles to find a Vshaped vent in the wall, now uplifted to a mountain range. Beyond this earthriven line

lay something vast and illimitable, a farreaching vision of white wastes, of purple plains, of low mesas lost

"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 the Painted Desert where the Navajos live; Coconina Mountain shows his flat

head there to the right, and the wall on our left rises to the Vermillion Cliffs. Now, look while you can, for

Naab had not ceased speaking when Hare saw that the train of Indians trailing down the slope was enveloped

in red clouds. Then the white wagons disappeared. Soon he was struck in the back by a gust which justified

Naab's warning. It swept by; the air grew clear again; once more he could see. But presently a puff, taking

him unawares, filled his eyes with dust difficult of removal. Whereupon he turned his back to the wind.

The afternoon grew apace; the sun glistened on the white patches of Coconina Mountain; it set; and the wind

There was no trail. All before was red sand, hollows, slopes, levels, dunes, in which the horses sank above

their fetlocks. The wheels ploughed deep, and little red streams trailed down from the tires. Naab trudged on

foot with the reins in his hands. Hare essayed to walk also, soon tired, and floundered behind till Naab

"There! thankful I am when we get off that strip! But, Jack, that trailless waste prevents a night raid on my

home. Even the Navajos shun it after dark. We'll be home soon. There's my sign. See? Night or day we call it

There was cheer in Naab's "Getup," now, and the horses quickened with it. Their ironshod hoofs struck fire

from the rosy road. "Easy, easy soho!" cried Naab to his steeds. In the pitchy blackness under the shelving

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 distant thunder, filled his

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

AUGUST NAAB'S oasis was an oval valley, level as a floor, green with leaf and white with blossom,

enclosed by a circle of colossal cliffs of vivid vermilion hue. At its western curve the Colorado River split the

red walls from north to south. When the wind was west a sullen roar, remote as of some faroff driving mill,

filled the valley; when it was east a dreamy hollow hum, a somnolent song, murmured through the

cottonwoods; when no wind stirred, silence reigned, a silence not of serene plain or mountain fastness, but

shut in, compressed, strange, and breathless. Safe from the storms of the elements as well as of the world was

Naab had put Hare to bed on the unroofed porch of a log house, but routed him out early, and when Hare

lifted the blankets a shower of cottonblossoms drifted away like snow. A grove of graybarked trees spread

green canopy overhead, and through the intricate web shone crimson walls, soaring with resistless onsweep

Hare accompanied him out through the grove to a road that flanked the first rise of the red wall; they

followed this for half a mile, and turning a corner came into an unobstructed view. A roar of rushing waters

had prepared Hare, but the river that he saw appalled him. It was red and swift; it slid onward like an

enormous slippery snake; its constricted head raised a crest of leaping waves, and disappeared in a dark

"That opening where she jumps off is the head of the Grand Canyon," said Naab. "It's five hundred feet deep

there, and thirty miles below it's five thousand. Oh, once in, she tears in a hurry! Come, we turn up the bank

Hare could find no speech, and he felt immeasurably small. All that he had seen in reaching this isolated spot

was dwarfed in comparison. This "Crossing of the Fathers," as Naab called it, was the gateway of the desert.

This roar of turbulent waters was the sinister monotone of the mighty desert symphony of great depths, great

On a sandy strip of bank the Navajos had halted. This was as far as they could go, for above the wall jutted

out into the river. From here the head of the Canyon was not visible, and the roar of the rapids was

accordingly lessened in volume. But even in this smooth water the river spoke a warning.

"The Navajos go in here and swim their mustangs across to that sand bar," explained Naab. "The current

"I can't believe it possible. What danger they must runthose little mustangs!" exclaimed Hare.

"Danger? Yes, I suppose so," replied Naab, as if it were a new idea. "My lad, the Mormons crossed here by

the hundreds. Many were drowned. This trail and crossing were unknown except to Indians before the

The mustangs had to be driven into the water. Scarbreast led, and his mustang, after many kicks and reluctant

steps, went over his depth, wetting the stalwart chief to the waist. Barelegged Indians waded in and urged

Dave and George Naab in flat boats rowed slowly on the downstream side of the Indians. Presently all the

mustangs and ponies were in, the procession widening out in a triangle from Scarbreast, the leader. The

packponies appeared to swim better than the mounted mustangs, or else the packs of deerpelts made them

more buoyant. When onethird way across the head of the swimming train met the current, and the line of

progress broke. Mustang after mustang swept down with a rapidity which showed the power of the current.

Yet they swam steadily with flanks shining, tails sometimes afloat, sometimes under, noses up, and riders

holding weapons aloft. But the packponies labored when the current struck them, and whirling about, they

held back the Indians who were leading them, and blocked those behind. The orderly procession of the start

became a broken line, and then a rout. Here and there a Navajo slipped into the water and swam, leading his

mustang; others pulled on packponies and beat their mounts; strongswimming mustangs forged ahead;

While Hare feared for the lives of some of the Navajos, and pitied the laden ponies, he could not but revel in

the scene, in its vivid action and varying color, in the cries and shrill whoops of the Indians, and the snorts of

the frightened mustangs, in Naab's hoarse yells to his sons, and the everpresent menacing roar from around

the bend. The wildness of it all, the necessity of peril and calm acceptance of it, stirred within Hare the call,

August Naab's stentorian voice rolled out over the river. "Ho! Davethe yellow pintopull him

looseGeorge, back this waythere's a pack slippingdown now, downstream, turn that straggler

inDave, in that tanglequick! There's a boy drowning his foot's caught he's been kicked Hurry!

Hurry! pull him in the boat There's a pony under Too late, George, let that one go let him go, I tell

So the crossing of the Navajos proceeded, never an instant free from danger in that churning current. The

mustangs and ponies floundered somewhat on the sandbar and then parted the willows and appeared on a

trail skirting the red wall. Dave Naab moored his boat on that side of the river, and returned with George.

"We'll look over my farm," said August, as they retraced their steps. He led Hare through fields of alfalfa, in

all stages of growth, explaining that it yielded six crops a year. Into one tenacre lot pigs and cows had been

turned to feed at will. Everywhere the ground was soggy; little streams of water trickled down ditches. Next

to the fields was an orchard, where cherries were ripe, apricots already large, plumtrees shedding their

blossoms, and appletrees just opening into bloom. Naab explained that the products of his oasis were

abnormal; the ground was exceedingly rich and could be kept always wet; the reflection of the sun from the

walls robbed even winter of any rigor, and the spring, summer, and autumn were tropical. He pointed to

grapevines as large as a man's thigh and told of bunches of grapes four feet long; he showed sprouting

plants on which watermelons and pumpkins would grow so large that one man could not lift them; he told of

"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 own use, for we cannot transport things across the desert."

The water which was the prime factor in all this richness came from a small stream which Naab, by making a

dam and tunnelling a corner of cliff, had diverted from its natural course into his oasis.

Between the fence and the red wall there was a wide bare plain which stretched to the house. At its farthest

end was a green enclosure, which Hare recognized as the cemetery mentioned by Snap. Hare counted thirty

graves, a few with crude monuments of stone, the others marked by wooden headpieces.

"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 no women 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 keeping their secrets. I've numbered those unknown

graves and have kept a description of the men, so, if the chance ever comes, I may tell some one where a

father or brother lies buried. Five sons of mine, not one of whom died a natural death, found graves

hereGod rest them! Here's the grave of Mescal's father, a Spaniard. He was an adventurer. I helped him

over in Nevada when he was ill; he came here with me, got well, and lived nine years, and he died without

"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 quiet nook, with its steady light, its simple dignity of bare plain graves fitting

"We break wild mustangs along this stretch," said Naab, drawing Hare away. "It's a fine run. Wait till you see

Three huge corrals filled a wide curved space in the wall. In one corral were the teams that had hauled the

wagons from White Sage; in another upward of thirty burros, drooping, lazy little fellows half asleep; in the

third a dozen or more mustangs and some horses which delighted Hare. Snap Naab's cream pinto, a bay, and

"Our best stock is out on the range," said Naab. "The white is Charger, my saddlehorse. When he was a

yearling he got away and ran wild for three years. But we caught him. He's a weightcarrier and he can run

"Yes," returned Hare, "but II'll never ride again." He said it brightly, smiling the while; still the look in his

"I've not the gift of revelation, yet I seem to see you on a big gray horse with a shining mane." Naab appeared

The cottonwood grove, at the western curve of the oasis, shaded the five log huts where August's grown sons

lived with their wives, and his own cabin, which was of considerable dimensions. It had a covered porch on

one side, an open one on the other, a shingle roof, and was a roomy and comfortable habitation.

Naab was pointing out the schoolhouse when he was interrupted by childish laughter, shrieks of glee, and

A frantic crowd of tousledheaded little ones were running from the log schoolhouse to form a circle under

the trees. There were fourteen of them, from four years of age up to ten or twelve. Such sturdy, gladeyed

children Hare had never seen. In a few moments, as though their happy screams were signals, the shady circle

was filled with hounds, and a string of puppies stepping on their long ears, and ruffling turkeygobblers, that

gobbled and gobbled, and guineahens with their shrill cries, and cackling chickens, and a lame wild goose

that hobbled along alone. Then there were shiny peafowls screeching clarion calls from the trees overhead,

and flocks of singing blackbirds, and pigeons hovering over and alighting upon the house. Last to approach

were a woolly sheep that added his baabaa to the din, and a baldfaced burro that walked in his sleep. These

two became the centre of clamor. After many tumbles four chubby youngsters mounted the burro; and the

others, with loud acclaim, shouting, "Noddle, Noddle, getup! getup!" endeavored to make him go. But

Noddle nodded and refused to awaken or budge. Then an ambitious urchin of six fastened his hands in the fur

of the sheep and essayed to climb to his back. Willing hands assisted him. "Ride him, Billy, ride him. Getup,

Navvy evidently had never been ridden, for he began a fair imitation of a bucking bronco. Billy held on, but

"Hang on, Billy, hang on," cried August Naab, in delight. Billy hung on a moment longer, and then Navvy,

bewildered by the pestering crowd about him, launched out and, butting into Noddle, spilled the four

This recesstime completed Hare's introduction to the Naabs. There were Mother Mary, and Judith and

Esther, whom he knew, and Mother Ruth and her two daughters very like their sisters. Mother Ruth, August's

second wife, was younger than Mother Mary, more comely of face, and more sad and serious of expression.

The wives of the five sons, except Snap Naab's frail bride, were stalwart women, fit to make homes and rear

"Now, Jack, things are moving all right," said August. "For the present you must eat and rest. Walk some, but

don't tire yourself. We'll practice shooting a little every day; that's one thing I'll spare time for. I've a trick

with a gun to teach you. And if you feel able, take a burro 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 since he had sat down to a full meal; longer still since he had eaten whole some

food. And now he had come to a "land overflowing with milk and honey," as Mother Ruth smilingly said. He

could not choose between roast beef and chicken, and so he waived the question by taking both; and what

with the biscuits and butter, applesauce and blackberry jam, cherry pie and milk like cream, there was

danger of making himself ill. He told his friends that he simply could not help it, which shameless confession

For several days Hare was remarkably well, for an invalid. He won golden praise from August at the rifle

practice, and he began to take lessons in the quick drawing and rapid firing of a Colt revolver. Naab was

wonderfully proficient in the use of both firearms; and his skill in drawing the smaller weapon, in which his

movement was quicker than the eye, astonished Hare. "My lad," said August, "it doesn't follow because I'm a

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, a carpenter, 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 the fact that necessity is the mother of invention. He was a mason; the levee that buffeted back the rage of

the Colorado in flood, the wall that turned the creek, the irrigation tunnel, the zigzag trail cut on the face of

the cliffall these attested his eye for line, his judgment of distance, his strength in toil. He was a farmer, a

cattle man, a grafter of fruittrees, a breeder of horses, a herder of sheep, a preacher, a physician. Best and

strangest of all in this wonderful man was the instinct and the heart to heal. "I don't combat the doctrine of the

Mormon church," he said, "but I administer a little medicine with my healing. I learned that from the

Navajos." The children ran to him with bruised heads, and cut fingers, and stubbed toes; and his blacksmith's

hands were as gentle as a woman's. A mustang with a lame leg claimed his serious attention; a sick sheep

gave him an anxious look; a steer with a gored skin sent him running for a bucket of salve. He could not pass

by a crippled quail. The farm was overrun by Navajo sheep which he had found strayed and lost on the

desert. Anything hurt or helpless had in August Naab a friend. Hare found himself looking up to a great and

As the days passed Hare learned many other things. For a while illness confined him to his bed on the porch.

At night he lay listening to the roar of the river, and watching the stars. Twice he heard a distant crash and

rumble, heavy as thunder, and he knew that somewhere along the cliffs avalanches were slipping. By day he

watched the cotton snow down upon him, and listened to the many birds, and waited for the merry show at

recesstime. After a short time the children grew less shy and came readily to him. They were the most

wholesome children he had ever known. Hare wondered about it, and decided it was not so much Mormon

teaching as isolation from the world. These children had never been out of their cliffwalled home, and

civilization was for them as if it were not. He told them stories, and after school hours they would race to him

He exhausted his supply of fairystories and animal stories; and had begun to tell about the places and cities

which he had visited when the eagereyed children were peremptorily called within by Mother Mary. This

pained him and he was at a loss to understand it. Enlightenment came, however, in the way of an argument

between Naab and Mother Mary which he overheard. The elder wife said that the stranger was welcome to

the children, but she insisted that they hear nothing of the outside world, and that they be kept to the

teachings of the Mormon geographywhich made all the world outside Utah an untrodden wilderness.

August Naab did not hold to the letter of the Mormon law; he argued that if the children could not be raised

as Mormons with a full knowledge of the world, they would only be lost in the end to the Church.

Other developments surprised Hare. The house of this good Mormon was divided against itself. Precedence

was given to the first and elder wifeMother Mary; Mother Ruth's life was not without pain. The men were

out on the ranges all day, usually two or more of them for several days at a time, and this left the women

alone. One daughter taught the school, the other daughters did all the chores about the house, from feeding

the stock to chopping wood. The work was hard, and the girls would rather have been in White Sage or Lund.

They disliked Mescal, and said things inspired by jealousy. Snap Naab's wife was vindictive, and called

It struck him on hearing this gossip that he had missed Mescal. What had become of her? Curiosity

That she was a shepherdess pleased Hare, and he thought of her as free on the open range, with the wind

One day when Hare felt stronger he took his walk round the farm with new zest. Upon his return to the house

he saw Snap's cream pinto in the yard, and Dave's mustang cropping the grass near by. A dusty pack lay on

the ground. Hare walked down the avenue of cottonwoods and was about to turn the corner of the old forge

"Now mind you, I'll take a bead on this whitefaced spy if you send him up there."

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

"Stand there!" August Naab exclaimed in wrath. "Listen. You have been drinking again or you wouldn't talk

of killing a man. I warned you. I won't do this thing you ask of me till I have your promise. Why won't you

Hare moved away silently; the shock of Snap's first words had kept him fast in his tracks long enough to hear

the conversation. Why did Snap threaten him? Where was August Naab going to send him? Hare had no

means of coming to an understanding of either question. He was disturbed in mind and resolved to keep out

of Snap's way. He went to the orchard, but his stay of an hour availed nothing, for on his return, after

threading the maze of cottonwoods, he came face to face with the man he wanted to avoid.

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

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

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

Hare walked back to his bed, where he lay for a long time with his whole inner being in a state of strife. It

gradually wore off as he strove for calm. The playground was deserted; no one had seen Snap's action, and

for that he was glad. Then his attention was diverted by a clatter of ringing hoofs on the road; a mustang and

"Mescal and Black Bolly!" he exclaimed, and sat up quickly. The mustang turned in the gate, slid to a stop,

and stood quivering, restive, tossing its thoroughbred head, black as a coal, with freedom and fire in every

line. Mescal leaped off lightly. A gray form flashed in at the gate, fell at her feet and rose to leap about her. It

This was the Mescal whom he remembered, yet somehow different. The sombre homespun garments had

"For me?" he asked, wonderingly, as she approached with the bridle of the 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

He looked up at her, at the black sweep of her hair under the white band, at her eyes, like jet; and suddenly

realized, with a gladness new and strange to him, that he liked to look at her, that she was beautiful.

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

"That's bad," rejoined August." Jack, there's evidently some real shooting in store for you. We'll pack today

and get an early start tomorrow. I'll put you on Noddle; he's slow, but the easiest climber I ever owned. He's

like riding . . . What's the matter with you? What's happened to make you angry?"

Hare might still have tried to dissimulate; but one glance at August's stern face showed the uselessness of it.

"Drink makes my son unnatural," said Naab. He breathed heavily as one in conflict with wrath. "We'll not

Then quick surprise awakened for Hare in the meaning in Mescal's eyes; he caught only a fleeting glimpse, a

"Mescal," went on August, "go into the house, and keep out of Snap's way. Jack, watch me pack. You need to

learn these things. I could put all this outfit on two burros, but the trail is narrow, and a wide pack might

bump a burro off. Let's see, I've got all your stuff but the saddle; that we'll leave till we get a horse for you.

Mescal came at his call and, mounting Black Bolly, rode out toward the cliff wall, with Wolf trotting before

her. Hare bestrode Noddle. August, waving goodbye to his womenfolk, started the train of burros after

How they would be able to climb the face of that steep cliff puzzled Hare. Upon nearer view he discovered

the yardwide trail curving upward in corkscrew fashion round a projecting corner of cliff. The stone was a

soft red shale, and the trail had been cut in it at a steep angle. It was so steep that the burros appeared to be

climbing straight up. Noddle pattered into it, dropped his head and his long ears and slackened his pace to

The first thing that struck Hare was the way the burros in front of him stopped at the curves in the trail, and

turned in a space so small that their four feet were close together; yet as they swung their packs they scarcely

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 her brown

hands clasping the pommel. Then he looked out and down; already the green cluster of cottonwoods lay far

below. After that sensations pressed upon him. Round and round, up and up, steadily, surely, the beautiful

mustang led the train; there were sounds of rattling stones, and click of hoofs, and scrape of pack. On one

side towered the ironstained cliff, not smooth or glistening at close range, but of dull, dead, rotting rock.

The trail changed to a zigzag along a seamed and cracked buttress where ledges leaned outward waiting to

fall. Then a steeper incline, where the burros crept upward warily, led to a level ledge heading to the left.

Mescal halted on a promontory. She, with her windblown hair, the gleam of white band about her head, and a

dash of red along the fringed leggings, gave inexpressible life and beauty to that wild, jagged point of rock,

"This is Lookout Point," said Naab. "I keep an Indian here all the time during daylight. He's a peon, a Navajo

slave. He can't talk, as he was born without a tongue, or it was cut out, but he has the best eyes of any Indian I

know. You see this point commands the farm, the crossing, the Navajo Trail over the river, the Echo Cliffs

The oasis shone under the triangular promontory; the river with its rising roar wound in bold curve from the

split in the cliffs. To the right whitesloped Coconina breasted the horizon. Forward across the Canyon line

"With this peon watching here I'm not likely to be surprised," said Naab. "That strip of sand protects me at

night from approach, and I've never had anything to fear from across the river."

Naab's peon came from a little cave in the wall; and grinned the greeting he could not speak. To Hare's

uneducated eye all Indians resembled each other. Yet this one stood apart from the others, not differing in

blanketed leanness, or straggling black hair, or bronze skin, but in the birdofprey cast of his features and

the wildness of his glittering eyes. Naab gave him a bag from one of the packs, spoke a few words in Navajo,

The climb thenceforth was more rapid because less steep, and the trail now led among broken fragments of

cliff. The color of the stones had changed from red to yellow, and small cedars grew in protected places.

Hare's judgment of height had such frequent cause for correction that he gave up trying to estimate the

altitude. The ride had begun to tell on his strength, and toward the end he thought he could not manage to

stay longer upon Noddle. The air had grown thin and cold, and though the sun was yet an hour high, his

At last Black Bolly disappeared, likewise the bobbing burros, one by one, then Noddle, wagging his ears,

reached a level. Then Hare saw a graygreen cedar forest, with yellow crags rising in the background, and a

rush of cold wind smote his face. For a moment he choked; he could not get his breath. The air was thin and

rare, and he inhaled deeply trying to overcome the suffocation. Presently he realized that the trouble was not

with the rarity of the atmosphere, but with the bittersweet penetrating odor it carried. He was almost stifled.

"Ha! that's good!" said Naab, expanding his great chest. "That's air for you, my lad. Can you taste it? Well,

here's camp, your home for many a day, Jack. There's Piutehow do? how're the sheep?"

A short, squat Indian, goodhumored of face, shook his black head till the silver rings danced in his ears, and

"HowdoJack?" replied Piute, extending his hand, and then straightway began examining the new rifle.

"Jack, you'll find this Indian one you can trust, for all he's a Piute outcast," went on August. "I've had him

with me ever since Mescal found him on the Coconina Trail five years ago. What Piute doesn't know about

In a depression sheltered from the wind lay the camp. A fire burned in the centre; a conical tent, like a tepee

in shape, hung suspended from a cedar branch and was staked at its four points; a leaning slab of rock

furnished shelter for camp supplies and for the Indian, and at one end a spring gushed out. A graysheathed

cedartree marked the entrance to this 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. "Now I've spent my life sleeping on the

ground, and mother earth makes the best bed. I'll dig out a little pit in this soft mat of needles; that's for your

hips. Then the tarpaulin so; a blanket so. Now the other blankets. Your feet must be a little higher than your

head; you really sleep down hill, which breaks the wind. So you never catch cold. All you need do is to

change your position according to the direction of the wind. Pull up the blankets, and then the long end of the

tarpaulin. If it rains or snows cover your head, and sleep, my lad, sleep to the song of the wind!"

From where Hare lay, resting a weary body, he could see down into the depression which his position

guarded. Naab built up the fire; Piute peeled potatoes with deliberate care; Mescal, on her knees, her brown

arms bare, kneaded dough in a basin; Wolf crouched on the ground, and watched his mistress; Black Bolly

Naab called him to supper, and when Hare set to with a will on the bacon and eggs, and hot biscuits, he

nodded approvingly. "That's what I want to see," he said approvingly. "You must eat. Piute will get deer, or

you may shoot them yourself; eat all the venison you can. Remember what Scarbreast said. Then rest. That's

The edge of the wall was not a hundred paces from the camp; and when Hare strolled out to it after supper,

the sun had dipped the under side of its red disc behind the desert. He watched it sink, while the goldenred

flood of light grew darker and darker. Thought seemed remote from him then; he watched, and watched, until

he saw the last spark of fire die from the snowslopes of Coconina. The desert became dimmer and dimmer;

the oasis lost its outline in a bottomless purple pit, except for a faint light, like a star.

The bleating of sheep aroused him and he returned to camp. The fire was still bright. Wolf slept close to

Mescal's tent; Piute was not in sight; and Naab had rolled himself in blankets. Crawling into his bed, Hare

stretched 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 bell on Black Bolly, and the faint tinkle of lighter bells on some of the rams, drove

away sleep for a while. Accompanied by the sough of the wind through the cedars the music of the bells was

A thin coating of frost crackled on his bed when he awakened; and out from under the shelter of the cedar all

the ground was hoarwhite. As he slipped from his blankets the same strong smell of black sage and juniper

smote him, almost like a blow. His nostrils seemed glued together by some rich piny pitch; and when he

opened his lips to breathe a sudden pain, as of a knifethrust, pierced his lungs. The thought following was as

sharp as the pain. Pneumonia! What he had long expected! He sank against the cedar, overcome by the shock.

But he rallied presently, for with the reestablishment of the old settled bitterness, which had been forgotten in

the interest of his situation, he remembered that he had given up hope. Still, he could not get back at once to

his former resignation. He hated to acknowledge that the wildness of this desert canyon country, and the spirit

it sought to instil in him, had wakened a desire to live. For it meant only more to give 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 his

lungs. He found it not at the apex of the right lung, always the one sensitive spot, but all through his breast.

Little panting breaths did not hurt; but the deep inhalation, which alone satisfied him filled his whole chest

with thousands of pricking needles. In the depth of his breast was a hollow that burned.

When he had pulled on his boots and coat, and had washed himself in the runway of the spring, his hands

were so numb with cold they refused to hold his comb and brush; and he presented himself at the roaring fire

halffrozen, dishevelled, trembling, but cheerful. He would not tell Naab. If he had to die today, tomorrow

or next week, he would lie down under a cedar and die; he could not whine about it to this man.

"Up with the sun!" was Naab's greeting. His cheerfulness was as impelling as his splendid virility. Following

the wave of his hand Hare saw the sun, a palepink globe through a misty blue, rising between the golden

Mescal had a shy "goodmorning" for him, and Piute a broad smile, and familiar "howdo"; the peon slave,

who had finished breakfast and was about to depart, moved his lips in friendly greeting that had no sound.

"Did you hear the coyotes last night?" inquired August "No! Well, of all 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 shoot some.

You'll have practice with the rifle, but don't neglect the Colt. Practice particularly the draw I taught you. Piute

has a carbine, and he shoots at the coyotes, but who ever saw an Indian that could hit anything?"

"Damngun no good!" growled Piute, who evidently understood English pretty well. Naab laughed, and

while Hare ate breakfast he talked of the sheep. The flock he had numbered three thousand. They were a

goodly part of them Navajo stock: small, hardy sheep that could live on anything but cactus, and needed little

water. This flock had grown from a small number to its present size in a few years. Being remarkably free

from the diseases and pests which retard increase in low countries, the sheep had multiplied almost one for

one for every year. But for the ravages of wild beasts Naab believed he could raise a flock of many thousands

and in a brief time be rich in sheep alone. In the winter he drove them down into the oasis; the other seasons

he herded them on the high ranges where the cattle could not climb. There was grass enough on this plateau

for a million sheep. After the spring thaw in early March, occasional snows fell till the end of May, and frost

With the long rifle in the hollow of his arm Jack forgot that he was a sick man. When he came within gunshot

of the flock the smell of sheep effectually smothered the keen, tasty odor of black sage and juniper. Sheep

ranged everywhere under the low cedars. They browsed with noses in the frost, and from all around came the

"They're spread now," said August. "Mescal drives them on every little while 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 got in

Lund. She must have had a strain of wild blood. Once while I was hunting deer on Coconina she ran off with

timber wolves and we thought she 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. And she neglected the others. One died, and Mescal

raised the other. We called 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 the bell. I think it would be a good plan for her to tie

something red round his necka 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 to keep the flock compact, to head the

stragglers and turn them back; and he knew his part perfectly. There was dash and fire in his work. He never

barked. As he circled the flock the small Navajo sheep, edging ever toward forbidden ground, bleated their

way back to the fold, the larger ones wheeled reluctantly, and the old belled rams squared themselves,

lowering their massive horns as if to butt him. Never, however, did they stand their ground when he reached

them, for there was a decision about Wolf which brooked no opposition. At times when he was working on

one side a crafty sheep on the other would steal out into the thicket. Then Mescal called and Wolf flashed

back to her, lifting his proud head, eager, spirited, ready to take his order. A word, a wave of her whip

sufficed for the dog to rout out the recalcitrant sheep and send him bleating to his fellows.

"He manages them easily now," said Naab, "but when the lambs come they can't be kept in. The coyotes and

wolves hang out in the thickets and pick up the stragglers. The worst enemy of sheep, though, is the old

grizzly bear. Usually he is grouchy, and dangerous to hunt. He comes into the herd, kills the mother sheep,

and eats the milkbagno more! He will kill forty sheep in a night. Piute saw the tracks of one up on the

high range, and believes this bear is following the flock. Let's get off into the woods some little way, into the

edge of the thicketsfor Piute always keeps to the gladesand see if we can pick off a few coyotes."

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

"Watch sharp, Jack. I've seen two already. Look for moving things. Don't try to see one quiet, for you can't

till after your eye catches him moving. 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 sneak away, but they return. You can afford to make sure.

In the course of a mile, without keeping the sheep near at hand, they saw upward of twenty coyotes, five of

"You've got the hang of it," said Naab, rubbing his hands. "You'll kill the varmints. Piute will skin and salt

the pelts. Now I'm going up on the 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 through the thickets, spying out the cunning

coyotes. Then Naab's yell pealing out claimed his attention; he answered and returned. When they met he

"Well, you mustn't overdo the very first day. I've news for you. There are some wild horses on the high range.

I didn't see them, but found tracks everywhere. If they come down here you send Piute to close the trail at the

upper end of the bench, and you close the one where we came up. There are only two trails where even a deer

can get off this plateau, and both are narrow splits in the wall, which can be barred by the gates. We made the

gates to keep the sheep in, and they'll serve a turn. If you get the wild horses on the bench send Piute for me

They passed the Indian herding the sheep into a corral built against an uprising ridge of stone. Naab

dispatched him to look for the dead coyotes. The three burros were in camp, two wearing empty

"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 would run off from me."

"Look out she doesn't go, hobbles and all. Jack, here's the other bit of news I have for you. There's a big

grizzly camping on the trail of our sheep. Now what I want to know isshall I leave him to you, or put off

"Why" said Jack, slowly, "whatever you say. If you think you can safely leave him to meI'm willing."

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

"If he comes down it's more than likely to be after dark. Don't risk hunting him then. Wait till morning, and

put Wolf on his trail. He'll be up in the rocks, and by holding in the dog you may find him asleep in a cave.

However, if you happen to meet him by day do this. Don't waste any shots. 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 grunt

when he's hit, and start for you, and keep coming till he's dead. Have confidence in yourself and your gun, for

you can kill him. Aim low, and shoot steady. If he keeps on coming there's always a fatal shot, and that is

when he rises. You'll see a bare spot on his breast. Put a fortyfour into that, and he'll go down."

August had spoken so easily, quite as if he were explaining how to shear a yearling sheep, that Jack's feelings

fluctuated between amazement and laughter. Verily this desert man was stripped of all the false fears of

"Now, Jack, I'm off. Goodbye and good luck. Mescal, look out for him. . . . Soho! Noddle! Getup!

Biscuit!" And with many a cheery word and slap he urged the burros into the forest, where they and his tall

Piute came stooping toward camp so burdened with coyotes that he could scarcely be seen under the gray

pile. With a fervent "damn" he tumbled them under a cedar, and trotted back into the forest for another load.

Jack insisted on assuming his share of the duties about camp; and Mescal assigned him to the task of

gathering firewood, breaking redhot sticks of 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 crept upon the coyotes, how so many had eluded him, how he had

missed a gray wolf. He plied her with questions about the sheep, and wanted to know if there would be more

wolves, and if she thought the "silvertip" would come. He was quite carried away by the events of the day.

The sunset drew him to the rim. Dark clouds were mantling the desert like rolling smoke from a prairiefire.

He almost stumbled over Mescal, who sat with her back to a stone. Wolf lay with his head in her lap, and he

"There's a storm on the desert," she said. "Those smoky streaks are flying sand. We may have snow tonight.

It's colder, and the wind is north. See, I've a blanket. You had better get one."

He thanked her and went for it. Piute was eating his supper, and the peon had just come in. The bright

campfire was agreeable, yet Hare did not feel cold. But he wrapped himself in a blanket and returned to

Mescal and sat beside her. The desert lay indistinct in the foreground, inscrutable beyond; the canyon lost its

line in gloom. The solemnity of the scene stilled his unrest, the strange freedom of longings unleashed that

day. What had come over him? He shook his head; but with the consciousness of self returned a feeling of

fatigue, the burning pain in his chest, the bittersweet smell of black sage and juniper.

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

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

Any other reply from her would not have been consistent with the impression she was making on him. As yet

he had hardly regarded her as a young girl; she had been part of this beautiful desertland. But he began to

see in her a responsive being, influenced by his presence. If the situation was wonderful to him what must it

be for her? Like a shy, illusive creature, unused to men, she was troubled by questions, fearful of the sound of

her own voice. Yet in repose, as she watched the lights and shadows, she was serene, unconscious; her dark,

quiet glance was dreamy and sad, and in it was the sombre, brooding strength of the desert.

Twilight and falling dew sent them back to the camp. Piute and Peon were skinning coyotes by the blaze of

the fire. The night wind had not yet risen; the sheep were quiet; there was no sound save the crackle of

burning cedar sticks. Jack began to talk; he had to talk, so, addressing Piute and the dumb peon, he struck at

random into speech, and words flowed with a rush. Piute approved, for he said "damn" whenever his

intelligence grasped a meaning, and the peon twisted his lips and fixed his diamond eyes upon Hare in rapt

gaze. The sound of a voice was welcome to the sentinels of that lonely sheeprange. Jack talked of cities, of

ships, of people, of simple things in the life he had left, and he discovered that Mescal listened. Not only did

she listen; she became absorbed; it was romance to her, fulfilment of her vague dreams. Nor did she seek her

From under the snugness of his warm blankets Jack watched out the last wakeful moments of that day of

days. A star peeped through the fringe of cedar foliage. The wind sighed, and rose steadily, to sweep over

him with breath of ice, with the fragrance of juniper and black sage and a tang of cedar.

But that day was only the beginning of eventful days, of increasing charm, of forgetfulness of self, of time

that passed unnoted. Every succeeding day was like its predecessor, only richer. Every day the hoarfrost

silvered the dawn; the sheep browsed; the coyotes skulked in the thickets; the rifle spoke truer and truer.

Every sunset Mescal's changing eyes mirrored the desert. Every twilight Jack sat beside her in the silence;

The Indians were appreciative listeners, whether they understood Jack or not, but his talk with them was only

a presence. He wished to reveal the outside world to Mescal, and he saw with pleasure that every day she

One evening he was telling of New York City, of the monster buildings where men worked, and of the

elevated railways, for the time was the late seventies and they were still a novelty. Then something

unprecedented occurred, inasmuch as Piute earnestly and vigorously interrupted Jack, demanding to have this

last strange story made more clear. Jack did his best in gesture and speech, but he had to appeal to Mescal to

translate his meaning to the Indian. This Mescal did with surprising fluency. The result, however, was that

Piute took exception to the story of trains carrying people through the air. He lost his grin and regarded Jack

with much disfavor. Evidently he was experiencing the bitterness of misplaced trust.

Piute's expressive doubt discomfited Hare, but only momentarily, for Mescal's silvery peal of laughter told

him that the incident had brought them closer together. He laughed with her and discovered a well of

joyousness behind her reserve. Thereafter he talked directly to Mescal. The ice being broken she began to ask

questions, shyly at first, yet more and more eagerly, until she forgot herself in the desire to learn of cities and

people; of women especially, what they wore and how they lived, and all that life meant to them.

The sweetest thing which had ever come to Hare was the teaching of this desert 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.

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

Lambingtime came late in May, and Mescal, Wolf, Piute and Jack knew no rest. Nighttime was safer for

the sheep than the day, though the howling of a thousand coyotes made it hideous for the shepherds. All in a

day, seemingly, the little fleecy lambs came, as if by magic, and filled the forest with piping bleats. Then they

were tottering after their mothers, gamboling at a day's growth, wilful as youthand the carnage began.

Boldly the coyotes darted out of thicket and bush, and many lambs never returned to their mothers. Gaunt

shadows hovered always near; the great timberwolves waited in covert for prey. Piute slept not at all, and

the dog's jaws were flecked with blood morning and night. Jack hung up fiftyfour coyotes the second day;

the third he let them lie, seventy in number. Many times the riflebarrel burned his hands. His aim grew

unerring, so that running brutes in range dropped in their tracks. Many a gray coyote fell with a lamb in his

One night when sheep and lambs were in the corral, and the shepherds rested round the campfire, the dog

rose quivering, sniffed the cold wind, and suddenly bristled with every hair standing erect.

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

Wolf, not heeding Mescal's cry, flashed like lightning under the cedars. The rush of the sheep, pattering

"Don't go," she implored, her hand on his arm. "Not at nightremember Father Naab said not."

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

PIUTE'S Indian sense of the advantage of position in attack stood Jack in good stead; he led him up the ledge

which overhung one end of the corral. In the pale starlight the sheep could be seen running in bands, massing

The Indian shouted, but Jack could not understand him. A large black object was visible in the shade of the

ledge. Piute fired his carbine. Before Jack could bring his rifle up the black thing moved into startlingly rapid

flight. Then spouts of red flame illumined the corral. As he shot, Jack got fleeting glimpses of the bear

moving like a dark streak against a blur of white. For all he could tell no bullet took effect.

When certain that the visitor had departed Jack descended into the corral. He and Piute searched for dead

sheep, but, much to their surprise, found none. If the grizzly had killed one he must have taken it with him;

and estimating his strength from the gap he had broken in the fence, he could easily have carried off a sheep.

"He's gone, Mescal. Come down," called Jack into the cedar. "Let me help youthere! Wasn't it lucky? He

wasn't so brave. Either the flashes from the guns or the dog scared him. I was amazed to see how fast he

"He nipped the brute, that's sure," said Jack. "Good dog! Maybe he kept the bear from Why Mescal! you're

whiteyou're shaking. There's no danger. Piute and I'll take turns watching with Wolf."

The sheep quieted down and made no further disturbance that night. The dawn broke gray, with a cold north

wind. Duncolored clouds rolled up, hiding the tips of the crags on the upper range, and a flurry of snow

whitened the cedars. After breakfast Jack tried to get Wolf to take the track of the grizzly, but the scent had

Next day Mescal drove the sheep eastward toward the crags, and about the middle of the afternoon reached

the edge of the slope. Grass grew luxuriantly and it was easy to keep the sheep in. Moreover, that part of the

forest had fewer trees, and scarcely any sage or thickets, so that the lambs were safer, barring danger which

might lurk in the seamed and cracked cliffs overshadowing the open grassy plots. Piute's task at the moment

was to drag dead coyotes to the rim, near at hand, and throw them over. Mescal rested on a stone, and Wolf

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

Suddenly a cry from Mescal halted him; another, a piercing scream of mortal fright, sent him flying down the

The white, wellbunched flock had spread, and streams of jumping sheep fled frantically from an enormous

As the bear struck right and left, a bruteengine of destruction, Jack sent a bullet into him at long range.

Stung, the grizzly whirled, bit at his side, and then reared with a roar of fury.

But he did not see Jack. He dropped down and launched his huge bulk for Mescal. The blood rushed back to

The grizzly hurdled the streams of sheep. Terror for Mescal dominated Jack; if he had possessed wings he

could not have flown quickly enough to head the bear. Checking himself with a suddenness that fetched him

to his knees, he levelled the rifle. It waved as if it were a stick of willow. The beadsight described a blurred

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

She had turned, her hands over her breast. Wolf spread his legs before her and crouched to spring, mane

By some lightning flash of memory, August Naab's words steadied Jack's shaken nerves. He aimed low and

ahead of the running bear. Down the beast went in a sliding sprawl with a muffled roar of rage. Up he sprang,

dangling a useless leg, yet leaping swiftly forward. One blow sent the attacking dog aside. Jack fired again.

The bear became a wrestling, fiery demon, deathstricken, but full of savage fury. Jack aimed low and shot

Slowly now the grizzly reared, his frosted coat bloodflecked, his great head swaying. Another shot. There

was one wide sweep of the huge paw, and then the bear sank forward, drooping slowly, and stretched all his

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

Jack, bounding up, made sure the bear was dead before he looked at Mescal. She was faint. Wolf whined

about her. Piute came running from the cedars. Her eyes were still fixed in a look of fear.

"I couldn't runI couldn't move," she said, shuddering. A blush drove the white from her cheeks as she

Hare laughed away his own fear and turned their attention to the stampeded sheep. It was dark before they

got the flock together again, and they never knew whether they had found them all. Suppertime was

unusually quiet that night. Piute was jovial, but no one appeared willing to talk save the peon, and he could

only grimace. The reaction of feeling following Mescal's escape had robbed Jack of strength of voice; he

could scarcely whisper. Mescal spoke no word; her black lashes hid her eyes; she was silent, but there was

that in her silence which was eloquent. Wolf, always indifferent save to Mescal, reacted to the subtle change,

and as if to make amends laid his head on Jack's knees. The quiet hour round the campfire passed, and sleep

claimed them. Another day dawned, awakening them fresh, faithful to their duties, regardless of what had

So the days slipped by. June came, with more leisure for the shepherds, better grazing for the sheep, heavier

dews, lighter frosts, snowsqualls half rain, and bursting blossoms on the prickly thorns, wildprimrose

The last snowstorm of June threatened all one morning; hung menacing over the yellow crags, in dull lead

clouds waiting for the wind. Then like ships heaving anchor to a single command they sailed down off the

heights; and the cedar forest became the centre of a blinding, eddying storm. The flakes were as large as

feathers, moist, almost warm. The low cedars changed to mounds of white; the sheep became drooping

curves of snow; 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. Winddriven toward the desert, it moaned its last in the cedars, and

swept away, a sheeted pall. Out over the Canyon it floated, trailing long veils of white that thinned out,

darkened, and failed far above the golden desert. The winding columns of snow merged into straight lines of

leaden rain; the rain flowed into vapory mist, and the mist cleared in the goldred glare of endless level and

Jack marched into camp with a snowy burden over his shoulder. He flung it down, disclosing a small deer;

then he shook the white mantle from his coat, and whistling, kicked the firelogs, and looked abroad at the

silver cedars, now dripping under the sun, at the rainbows in the settling mists, at the rapidly melting snow on

"Jack!" said Mescal. "Jack!" Memory had revived some forgotten thing. The dark olive of her skin

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

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

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 his heart.

"MescalMescal!" he cried, brokenly. The eyes were true that shed this sudden light on him; glad and sweet

were the lips that bade him hope and live again. Blindly, instinctively he kissed thema kiss unutterably

That flight ended in sheer exhaustion on the far rim of the plateau. The spreading cedars seemed to have eyes;

and he shunned eyes in this hour. "God! to think I cared so much," he whispered. "What has happened?" With

time 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 his own body.

He breathed to the depths of his lungs. No painonly ex hilaration! He pounded his chestno pain! He

dug his trembling fingers into the firm flesh over the apex of his right lungthe place of his tortureno

"I wanted to live!" he cried. He buried his face in the fragrant juniper; 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 eyes to new bright

green of cedar, to sky of a richer blue, to a desert, strange, beckoning, enthralling as life itself. He counted

backward a month, two months, and marvelled at the swiftness of time. He counted time forward, he looked

into the future, and all was beautifullong days, long hunts, long rides, service to his friend, freedom on the

wild steppes, bluewhite dawns upon the eastern crags, redgold sunsets over the lilac mountains of the

desert. He saw himself in triumphant health and strength, earning day by day the spirit of this wilderness,

coming to fight for it, to live for it, and in faroff time, when he had won his victory, to die for it.

Suddenly his mind was illumined. The lofty plateau with its healing breath of sage and juniper had given

back strength to him; the silence and solitude and strife of his surroundings had called to something deep

within him; but it was Mescal who made this wild life sweet and significant. It was Mescal, the embodiment

of the desert spirit. Like a man facing a great light Hare divined his love. Through all the days on the plateau,

living with her the natural free life of Indians, close to the earth, his unconscious love had ripened. He

understood now her charm for him; he knew now the lure of her wonderful eyes, flashing fire, deserttrained,

like the falcon eyes of her Indian grandfather. The knowledge of what she had become to him dawned with a

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; the peon sat grimacing at the fire. Hare told them to eat, and moved away

Mescal was at her favorite seat, with the white dog beside her; and she watched the desert where the last glow

of sunset gilded the mesas. How cold and calm was her face! How strange to him in this new character!

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 your lips than from any in the world. I mean to

live my life here where these wonderful things have come to me. The friendship of the good man who saved

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

The wind blew her dusky hair; he could not see her face; he tried gently to turn her to him. The hand he had

taken lay warm and trembling in his, but it was not withdrawn. As he waited, in fear, in hope, it became still.

Her slender form, rigid within his arm, gradually relaxed, and yielded to him; her face sank on his breast, and

her dark hair loosened from its band, covered her, and blew across his lips. That was his answer.

The wind sang in the cedars. No longer a sigh, sad as thoughts of a past forever flown, but a song of what had

LITTLE dew fell on the night of July first; the dawn brightened without mists; a hot sun rose; the short

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

"Ugh!" exclaimed Piute, lifting a dark finger. Black Bolly had thrown her nosebag and slipped her halter,

and she moved toward the opening in the cedars, her head high, her black ears straight up.

"I never knew Bolly to act that way," said Mescal. "Seeshe didn't eat half the oats. Well, BollyJack!

The white dog had risen and stood warily shifting his nose. He sniffed the wind, turned round and round, and

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

The warm breeze came down in puffs from the crags; it rustled in the cedars and blew fragrant whiffs of

campfire smoke into his face; and presently it bore a low, prolonged whistle. He had never before heard its

A third time the whistle rang down from the ridge, splitting the air, strong and trenchant, the fiery, shrill

Jack ran to the rise of ground above the camp, and looked over the cedars. "Oh!" he cried, and beckoned for

Mescal. She ran to him, and Piute, tying Black Bolly, hurried after. "Look! look!" cried Jack. He pointed to a

ridge rising to the left of the yellow crags. On the bare summit stood a splendid stallion clearly silhouetted

against the ruddy morning sky. He was an irongray, wild and proud, with long silverwhite mane waving in

"What a magnificent animal!" Jack stared at the splendid picture for the moment before the horse moved back

along the ridge and disappeared. Other horses, blacks and bays, showed above the sage for a moment, and

"He's got some of his band with him," said Jack, thrilled with excitement. "Mescal, they're down off the

upper range, and grazing along easy. The wind favors us. That whistle was just plain fight, judging from what

Naab told me of wild stallions. He came to the hilltop, and whistled 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 to the other range,

and you and Piute close the gate of our trail at this end. Then send Piute down to tell Naab we've got

Jack chose the lowest edge of the plateau rim where the cedars were thickest for his detour to get behind the

wild band; he ran from tree to 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 the slope, and threaded a way over masses of fallen cliff, until he reached the base of the wall.

The tracks of the wildhorse band were very fresh and 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 them up, making a gate ten feet high,

"Jack, Bolly will need more watching today than the sheep, unless I let her loose. Why, she pulls and strains

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

"Better keep her in," replied Jack, remembering Naab's warning. "I'll hobble her, so if she does break loose

When Mescal and Jack drove in the sheep that afternoon, rather earlier than usual, Piute had returned with

"Hello, Mescal," cheerily called August, as they came into camp. "Well Jackbless me! Why, my lad, how

fine and brownand yes, how you've filled out!" He crushed Jack's hand in his broad palm, and his gray

eyes beamed. "I've not the gift of revelationbut, Jack, you're going to get well."

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

"Black sage and juniper!" exclaimed August. "In this air if a man doesn't go off quickly with pneumonia, he'll

He questioned Piute and Mescal about the sheep, and was greatly pleased with their report. He shook his head

when Jack spread out the grizzlypelt, and asked for the story of the killing. Jack made a poor showing with

the tale and slighted his share in it, but Mescal told it as it actually happened. And Naab's great hand

resounded from Jack's shoulder. Then, catching sight of the pile of coyote skins under the stone shelf, he gave

vent to his surprise and delight. Then he came back to the object of his trip upon the plateau.

"So you've corralled Silvermane? Well, Jack, if he doesn't jump over the cliff he's ours. He can't get off any

"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's after Bolly. He has been a lot of trouble to ranchers all the way from the Nevada

line across Utah. The stallions he's killed, the mares he's led off! Well, Dave, shall we thirst him out, or line

"Better have a look around tomorrow," replied Dave. "It'll take a lot of chasing to run him down, but there's

not a spring on the bench where we can throw up a trapcorral. We'll have to chase him."

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

"Silvermane would care a lot about that, if he wanted Bolly, wouldn't he?" queried Dave in quiet scorn.

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

August was right. Black Bolly broke her halter about midnight and escaped into the forest, hobbled as she

"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 her rope, and I think Silvermane is close. Listen sharp now."

The slight breeze favored them, the campfire was dead, and the night was clear and starlit. They had not

been quiet many moments when the shrill neigh of a mustang rang out. The Naabs raised themselves and

"Bolly it was, confound her black hide!" added August. "Now, boys, did she whistle for Silvermane, or to

"No telling," answered Billy. "Let's lie low, and take a chance on him coming close. It proves one

thingyou can't break a wild mare. That spirit may sleep in her blood, maybe for years, but some time it'll

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

Presently sharp clicks preceded the rattles, and the sounds began to merge into a regular rhythmic tramp. It

softened at intervals, probably when the horses were under the cedars, and strengthened as they came out on

A black, undulating line wound out of the cedars, a line of horses approaching with drooping heads, hurrying

"Twentyodd, all blacks and bays," said August, "and some of them are mustangs. But where's

Out among the cedars rose the peculiar halting thump of a hobbled horse trying to cover ground, followed by

snorts and crashings of brush and the pound of plunging hoofs. The long black line stopped short and began

to stamp. Then into the starlit glade below moved two shadows, the first a great gray horse with snowy mane;

The stallion, in the fulfilment of a conquest such as had made him king of the wild ranges, was magnificent in

action. Wheeling about her, neighing, and plunging, he arched his splendid neck and pushed his head against

her. His action was that of a master. Suddenly Black Bolly snorted and whirled down the glade. Silvermane

whistled one blast of anger or terror and thundered after her. They vanished in the gloom of the cedars, and

"It's one on me," remarked Billy. "That little mare played us at the finish. Caught when she was a yearling,

broken better than any mustang we ever had, she has helped us run down many a stallion, and now she runs

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

"Mescal, that's a wellbehaved mustang of yours," said August; "not only did she break loose, but she

whistled an alarm to Silvermane and his band. Well, roll in now, everybody, and sleep."

At breakfast the following day the Naabs fell into a discussion upon the possibility of there being other means

of exit from the plateau than the two trails already closed. They had never run any mustangs on the plateau,

and in the case of a wild horse like Silvermane, who would take desperate chances, it was advisable to know

the ground exactly. Billy and Dave taking their mounts from the sheepcorral, where they had put them up

for the night, rode in opposite directions around the rim of the plateau. It was triangular in shape, and some

six or seven miles in circumference; and the brothers rode around it in less than an hour.

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

"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 her easily. She was off from the bunch, and it looks as though the mares were jealous. I

think we can run her into a cove under the wall, and get her. Then Mescal can help us run down the stallion.

And you can look out on this end for the best level stretch to drop the line of cedars and make our trap."

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

"Tonight you can stand on the rim here, and watch him signal across to the top of Echo Cliffs to the

Navajos," explained August to Jack. "I've sent for the best breaker of wild mustangs on the desert. Dave can

break mustangs, and Piute is very good; but I want the best man in the country, because this is a grand horse,

"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. No white man can break a wild mustang to the best advantage."

"I don't know. To be truthful, I have an idea it's bad temper and lack of patience. Just wait till you see this

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

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

What a pleasure it was to be in the saddle again, and to feel strength to remain there! He rode with August all

over the western end of the plateau. They came at length to a strip of ground, higher than the bordering forest,

which was comparatively free of cedars and brush; and when August had surveyed it once he slapped his

"Fine, better than I hoped for! This stretch is about a mile long, and narrow 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 it curves in a half

circle, which will save us work. We'll cut cedars, drag them in line, and make a big corral against the rock.

From the opening in the corral we'll build two fences of trees; then we'll chase Silvermane till he's done, run

him down into this level, and turn him inside the fence. No horse can break through a close line of cedars.

"Rather," said August, dryly. "It'll take a week to cut and drag the cedars, let alone to tire out that wild

stallion. When the finish comes you want to be on that ledge where we'll have the corral."

They returned to camp and prepared supper. Mescal and Piute soon arrived, and, later, Dave and Billy on

jaded mustangs. Black Bolly limped behind, stretching a long halter, an unhappy mustang with dusty,

"Not bad," said August, examining the lame leg. "She'll be fit in a few days, long before we need her to help

run down Silvermane. Bring the liniment and a cloth, one of you, and put her in the sheepcorral tonight."

Mescal's love for the mustang shone in her eyes while she smoothed out the crumpled mane, and petted the

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

When darkness fell they gathered on the rim to watch the signals. A fire blazed out of the black void below,

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

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

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 the desert keen sight was preeminently the chief of gifts.

"Jack, look sharp!" said August. "Peon is blanketing his fire. See the flicker? One, twoone, twoone.

Jack peered out into the shadowy space, starstudded above, ebony below. Far across the depths shone a

pinpoint of steady light. The Indian grunted again, August vented his "ha!" and then Jack saw the light blink

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

Work it certainly was, as Jack discovered next day. He helped the brothers cut down cedars while August

hauled them into line with his roan. What with this labor and the necessary camp duties nearly a week passed,

Twice the workers saw Silvermane standing on open high ridges, restive and suspicious, with his silver mane

"It'd be worth something to find out how long that stallion could go without water," commented Dave. "But

we'll make his tongue hang out tomorrow. It'd serve him right to break him with Black Bolly."

Daylight came warm and misty; veils unrolled from the desert; a purple curtain lifted from the eastern crags;

Dave and Billy Naab mounted their mustangs, and each led another mount by 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

Hare, in his eagerness, found the time very tedious while August delayed about camp, punching new holes in

his saddlegirth, shortening his stirrups, and smoothing kinks out of his lasso. At last he saddled the roan, and

also Black Bolly. Mescal came out of her tent ready for the chase; she wore a short skirt of buckskin, and

leggings of the same material. Her hair, braided, and fastened at the back, was bound by a double band

closely fitting her black head. Hare walked, leading two mustangs by the halters, and Naab and Mescal rode,

each of them followed by two other spare mounts. August tied three mustangs at one point along the level

stretch, and three at another. Then he led Mescal and Jack to the top of the stone wall above the corral, where

The eastern rise of ground, a sage and juniper slope, was in plain sight. Hare saw a white flash; then

Silvermane broke out of the cedars into the sage. One of the brothers raced him half the length of the slope,

and then the other coming out headed him off down toward the forest. Soon the pounding of hoofs sounded

through the trees nearer and nearer. Silvermane came out straight ahead on the open level. He was running

Hare watched the stallion with sheer fascination; He ran seemingly without effort. What a stride he had. how

beautifully his silver mane waved 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 the first three mustangs. Here they dismounted,

The chase now was close and all downhill for the watchers. Silvermane twinkled in and out among the

cedars, and suddenly stopped short on the rim. He wheeled and coursed away toward the crags, and vanished.

But soon he reappeared, for Billy had cut across and faced him about. Again he struck the level stretch. Dave

was there in front of him. He shot away to the left, and flashed through the glades beyond. The brothers saved

their steeds, content to keep him cornered in that end of the 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 roan crashed through the thickets into his sight he leaped as if

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 up and down, along the rim, across to the long line of cedars, always in

the end heading him for the open stretch. Down this he fled with flying mane, only to be checked by the

relentless brothers. To cover this broad end of the open required riding the like of which Hare had never

dreamed of. The brothers, taking advantage of the brief periods when the stallion was going toward August,

"Ho! Mescal!" rolled out August's voice. That was the call for Mescal to put Black Bolly after Silvermane.

Her fleetness made the other mustangs seem slow. All in a flash she was round the corral, with Silvermane

between her and the long fence of cedars. Uttering a piercing snort of terror the gray stallion lunged out, for

the first time panicstricken, and lengthened his stride in a wonderful way. He raced down the stretch with

his head over his shoulder watching the little black. Seeing her gaining, he burst into desperate headlong

flight. He saved nothing; he had found his match; he won that first race down the level but it had cost him his

best. If he had been fresh he might have left Black Bolly far behind, but now he could not elude her.

August Naab let him run this time, and Silvermane, keeping close to the fence, passed the gate, ran down to

the rim, and wheeled. The black mustang was on him again, holding him in close to the fence, driving him

The brothers remorselessly turned him, and now Mescal, forcing the running, caught him, lashed his

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 and round till he's done, then, when I yell, you

Silvermane ran round the corral, tore at the steep scaly walls, fell back and began his weary round again and

yet again. Then as sense and courage yielded gradually to unreasoning terror, he ran blindly; every time he

Mescal drew out of the opening, and Dave and Billy pulled away, one on each side, their lassoes swinging

Silvermane sprang for the opening with something of his old speed. As he went through, yellow loops flashed

in the sun, circling, narrowing, and he seemed to run straight into them. One loop whipped close round his

glossy neck; the other caught his head. Dave's mustang staggered under the 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, darting through the gate in a cloud of dust,

shot his lasso, catching the right foreleg. Silvermane landed hard, his hoofs striking fire from the stones; and

for an instant strained in convulsive struggle; then fell heaving and groaning. In a twinkling Billy loosened

his lasso over a knot, making of it a halter, and tied the end to a cedar stump.

Silvermane was badly spent; he was wet with foam, but no fleck of blood marred his mane; his superb coat

showed scratches, but none cut into the flesh. After a while he rose, panting heavily, and trembling in every

muscle. He was a beaten horse; the noble head was bowed; yet he showed no viciousness, only the fear of a

trapped animal. He eyed Black Bolly and then the halter, as though he had divined the fatal connection

FOR a few days after the capture of Silvermane, a time full to the brim of excitement for Hare, he had no

word with Mescal, save for morning and evening greetings. When he did come to seek her, with a purpose

which had grown more impelling since August Naab's arrival, he learned to his bewilderment that she

avoided him. She gave him no chance to speak with her alone; her accustomed restingplace on the rim at

Hare nursed a grievance for fortyeight hours, and then, taking advantage of Piute's absence on an errand

down to the farm, and of the Naabs' strenuous day with four vicious wild horses in the corral at one time, he

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

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

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

"Whynot?" he asked presently, with an odd sense of trouble. There was more here than Mescal's habitual

The girl did not answer, and looked so forlorn that Hare attempted to take her in his arms. She resisted and

"Butbut MescalI love you. You let me kiss you," said Hare stupidly, as if he did not grasp her meaning.

"Oh, Jack, I forgot," she wailed. "It was so new, so strange, to have you up here. It was like a kind of dream.

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

"Impossible!" Hare's anger flared up. "You let me believe I had won you. What kind of a girl are you? You

With no gentle hand he grasped her arm and forced her to look at him. But the misery in her eyes overcame

"It can't be a lie. You do care for melove me. Look at me." He drew her head back from his breast. Her

face was pale and drawn; her eyes closed tight, with tears forcing a way out under the long lashes; her lips

were parted. He bowed to their sweet nearness; he kissed them again and again, while the shade of the cedars

seemed to whirl about him. "I love you, Mescal. You are mineI will have youI will keep youI will

She vibrated to that like a keen strung wire under a strong touch. All in a flash the trembling, shamestricken

girl was transformed. She leaned back in his arms, supple, pliant with quivering life, and for the first time

gave him wideopen level eyes, in which there were now no tears, no shyness, no fear, but a dark

"I gave him my promise because there was nothing else to do. I was pledged toto him in the church at

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

"You hate him and you're pledged to marry him! . . . God! Mescal, I'd utterly forgotten Snap Naab already

"That's not an answer. Are you one? Do you believe any man under God's sky ought to have more than one

"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 doubted before I ever saw you. And afterwardI knew."

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

"Love me? No. Not in the way you meanperhaps as a daughter. But Mormons teach duty to church first,

and say such love comesto the wivesafterward. But it doesn'tnot in the women I've seen. There's

"I don't know. Father Naab promised me to his son when he came home from the Navajo range. It would be

"I mightn't be so easy to kill," said Hare, darkly. The words came unbidden, his first answer to the wild

"No. No. To be with you has been like sitting there on the rim watching the desert, the greatest happiness I

have ever known. I used to love to be with the children, but Mother Mary forbade. When I am down there,

"Don't speak to Father Naab. Don't let him guess. Don't leave me here alone," she answered low. It was not

the Navajo speaking in her now. Love had sounded depths hitherto unplumbed; a quick, soft impulsiveness

"I don't know. You must think. He has been so pleased with what you've done. He's had Mormons up here,

and two men not of his Church, and they did nothing. You've been ill, besides you're different. He will keep

me with the sheep as long as he can, for two reasonsbecause I drive them best, he says, and because Snap

"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, there's one question I wish you'd answer. Does August Naab think he'll make a Mormon of me? Is

"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. But he'd be the same to them without his hopes. I don't know the secret of

his 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 take me; he raised me, kept me, taught me. I can't break my promise to him.

With an effort he left her at last and mounted the grassy slope and climbed high up among the tottering

yellow crags; and there he battled with himself. Whatever the charm of Mescal's surrender, and the insistence

of his love, stern hammerstrokes of fairness, duty, honor, beat into his brain his debt to the man who had

saved him. It was a longdrawnout battle not to be won merely by saying right was right. He loved Mescal,

she loved him; and something born in him with his new health, with the breath of this sage and juniper forest,

with the sight of purple canyons and silent beckoning desert, made him fiercely tena cious of all that life had

Twilight forced Hare from his lofty retreat, and he trod his way campward, weary and jaded, but victorious

over himself. He thought he had renounced his hope of Mescal; he returned with a resolve to be true to

August, and to himself; bitterness he would not allow himself to feel. And yet he feared the rising in him of a

"Well, Jack, we rode down the last of Silvermane's band," said August, at supper. "The Navajos came up and

helped us out. Tomorrow you'll see some fun, when we start to break Silvermane. As soon as that's done I'll

"Surely. Why, in three days, if I don't lose my guess, he'll be like a lamb. Those desert stallions can be made

into the finest kind of saddlehorses. I've seen one or two. I want you to stay up here with the sheep. 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 the cattle ranges, driving wild steers. There's where you'll grow lean and hard, like an iron bar.

"Whybecause he's fast?" queried Jack, quickly answering to the implied suggestion.

August nodded gloomily. "I haven't the gift of revelation, but I've come to believe Martin Cole. Holderness is

building an outpost for his riders close to Seeping Springs. He has no water. If he tries to pipe my water"

The pause was not a threat; it implied the Mormon's doubt of himself. "Then Dene is on the march this way.

He's driven some of Marshall's cattle from the range next to mine. Dene got away with about a hundred head.

"Everybody knows it, and he's finding White Sage and vicinity warmer than it was. Every time he comes in

he and his band shoot up things pretty lively. Now the Mormons are slow to wrath. But they are awakening.

All the way from Salt Lake to the border outlaws have come in. They'll never get the power on this desert that

they had in the places from which they've been driven. Men of the Holderness type are more to be dreaded.

He's a rancher, greedy, unscrupulous, but hard to corner in dishonesty. Dene is only a bad man, a gunfighter.

He and all his ilk will get run out of Utah. Did you ever hear of Plummer, John Slade, Boone Helm, any of

"Well, they were men to fear. Plummer was a sheriff in Idaho, a man high in the estimation of his

townspeople, but he was the leader of the most desperate band of criminals ever known in the West; and he

instigated the murder of, or killed outright, more than one hundred men. Slade was a bad man, fatal on the

draw. Helm was a killing machine. These men all tried Utah, and had to get out. So will Dene have to get out.

But I'm afraid there'll be warm times before that happens. When you get in the thick of it you'll appreciate

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

"Well, he'll come to your whistle, presently, if I'm not greatly mistaken. You must make him love you, Jack.

It can be done with any wild creature. Be gentle, but firm. Teach him to obey the slightest touch of rein, to

stand when you throw your bridle on the ground, to come at your whistle. Always remember this. He's a

desertbred horse; he can live on scant browse and little water. Never break him of those best virtues in a

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 onetenth as often as a tame horse. Some day you'll be caught in the desert, and with these qualities of

Silvermane snorted defiance from the cedar corral next morning when the Naabs, and Indians, and Hare

appeared. A halfnaked sinewy Navajo with a face as changeless as a bronze mask sat astride August's

blindfolded roan, Charger. He rode bareback except for a blanket strapped upon the horse; he carried only a

long, thick halter, with a loop and a knot. When August opened the improvised gate, with its sharp

bayonetlike branches of cedar, the Indian rode into the corral. The watchers climbed to the knoll.

Silvermane snorted a blast of fear and anger. August's huge roan showed uneasiness; he stamped, and shook

Into the farthest corner of densely packed cedar boughs Silvermane pressed himself and watched. The Indian

rode around the corral, circling closer and closer, yet appearing not to see the stallion. Many rounds he made;

closer he got, and always with the same steady gait. Silvermane left his corner and tried another. The old

unwearying round brought Charger and the Navajo close by him. Silvermane pranced out of his thicket of

boughs; he whistled; he wheeled with his shiny hoofs lifting. In an hour the Indian was edging the outer circle

of the corral, with the stallion pivoting in the centre, ears laid back, eyes shooting sparks, fight in every line

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 the stallion, slipped to the knot and held fast, while the rope tightened. Silvermane

leaped up, forehoofs pawing the air, and his long shrill cry was 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, closehauled on the rope, making half hitches round his bony wrist.

In a whirl of dust the roan drew closer to the gray, and Silvermane began 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, rolled

back his lip in an ugly snarl, his white teeth glistening, and tried to bite. But the Indian's moccasined foot shot

up under the stallion's ear and pressed him back. Then the roan hugged Silvermane so close that half the time

the Navajo virtually rode two horses. But for the rigidity of his arms, and the play and sudden tension of his

legmuscles, the Indian's work would have appeared commonplace, so dexterous was he, so perfectly at

home in his dangerous seat. Suddenly he whooped and August Naab hauled back the gate, and the two

"Good!" cried August. "Let him rip now, Navvy. All over but the work, Jack. I feared Silvermane would

Jack watched the horses plunge at breakneck speed down the stretch, circle at the forest edge, and come

tearing back. Silvermane was pulling the roan faster than he had ever gone in his life, but the dark Indian kept

his graceful seat. The speed slackened on the second turn, and de creased as, mile after mile, the

The time passed, but Hare's interest in the breaking of the stallion never flagged. He began to understand the

Indian, and to feel what the restraint and drag must be to the horse. Never for a moment could Silvermane

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 drove the wild stallion. If

there were cruelty it was in his implacable slow patience, his farsighted purpose. Silvermane would have

killed himself in 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 that afternoon the Navajo led a dripping, drooping, foamlashed

Later Silvermane drank of the water poured into the corral trough, and had not the strength or spirit to resent

Next morning the Indian rode again into the corral on blindfolded Charger. Again he dragged Silvermane out

on the level and drove him up and down with remorseless, machinelike persistence. At noon he took him

back, tied him up, and roped him fast. Silvermane tried to rear and kick, but the saddle went on, strapped with

a flash of the darkskinned hands. Then again Silvermane ran the level stretch beside the giant roan, only he

carried a saddle now. At the first, he broke out with free wild stride as if to run forever from under the hateful

On the morning of the third day the Navajo went into the corral without Charger, and roped the gray, tied him

fast, and saddled him. Then he loosed the lassoes except the one around Silvermane's neck, which he

whipped under his foreleg to draw him down. Silvermane heaved a groan which plainly said he never wanted

to rise again. Swiftly the Indian knelt on the stallion's head; his hands flashed; there was a scream, a click of

steel on bone; and proud Silvermane jumped to his feet with a bit between his teeth.

The Navajo, firmly in the saddle, rose with him, and Silvermane leaped through the corral gate, and out upon

the stretch, lengthening out with every stride, and settling into a wild, despairing burst of speed. The white

mane waved in the wind; the halfnaked Navajo swayed to the motion. Horse and rider disappeared in the

They were gone all day. Toward night they appeared on the stretch. The Indian rode into camp and,

dismounting, handed the bridlerein to Naab. He spoke no word; his dark impassiveness invited no comment.

Silvermane was dustcovered and sweatstained. His silver crest had the same proud beauty, his neck still

"Here, my lad," said August Naab, throwing the bridlerein over Hare's arm. "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 desert

SOON the shepherds were left to a quiet unbroken by the whistle of wild mustangs, the whoop of hunters, the

ring of ironshod hoofs on the stones. The scream of an eagle, the bleating of sheep, the bark of a coyote

were once more the only familiar sounds accentuating the silence of the plateau. For Hare, time seemed to

stand still. He thought but little; his whole life was a matter of feeling from without. He rose at dawn, never

failing to see the red sun tip the eastern crags; he glowed with the touch of cold springwater and the

morning air; he trailed Silvermane under the cedars and thrilled when the stallion, answering his 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 with Mescal behind the flock; he hunted hour by hour, crawling over the fragrant brown mats

of cedar, through the sage and juniper, up the grassy slopes. He rode back to camp beside Mescal, drove the

sheep, and put Silvermane to his fleetest to beat Black Bolly down the level stretch where once the gray, even

with freedom at stake, had lost to the black. Then back to camp and fire and curling blue smoke, a supper that

testified to busy Piute's farmward trips, sunset on the rim, endless changing desert, the wind in the cedars,

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, from campwork and care of horses to the many problems of the flock, so that

they earned the rest on the rimwall at sundown. Only a touch of hands bridged the chasm between them.

They never spoke of their love, of Mescal'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 seldom spoke at all. From watching Mescal he had learned that to see was enough. But

there were moments when some association recalled the past and the strangeness of the present faced him.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked, curiously, interrupting their silence. She leaned against the rocks and

kept a changeless, tranquil, unseeing gaze on the desert. The level eyes were full of thought, of sadness, of

Then she turned to him with puzzled questioning look and enigmatical reply. "Thinking?" asked her eyes. "I

"I fanciedI don't know exactly what," he went on. "You looked so earnest. Do you ever think of going to

"I don't know why, but, Mescal, sometimes I have the queerest ideas when I 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, the clouds coloring, the twilight

shadows changing; and then back of that the secret of it allof youOh! I can't explain, but it seems so."

"I never had a secret, except the one you know," she answered. "You ask me 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's

beautiful out there. But that's not what it is to me. I can't tell you. When I sit down here all within me isis

somehow stilled. I watchand it's different from what it is now, since you've made me think. Then I watch,

It came to Hare afterward with a little start of surprise that Mescal's purposeless, yet allsatisfying, watchful

gaze had come to be part of his own experience. It was inscrutable to him, but he got from it a fancy, which

he tried in vain to dispel, that something would happen to them out there on the desert.

And then he realized that when they returned to the campfire they seemed freed from this spell of the desert.

The blazelit circle was shut 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 a vivacity, an ambition which contrasted strongly with her silent moods; she became alive and

curious, human like the girls he had known in the East, and she fascinated him the more for this complexity.

The July rains did not come; the mists failed; the dews no longer freshened the grass, and the hot sun began

to tell on shepherds and sheep. Both sought the shade. The flowers withered firstall the bluebells and

lavender patches of primrose, and paleyellow lilies, and white thistleblossoms. Only the deep magenta of

cactus and vermilion of Indian paintbrush, flowers of the sun, survived the heat. Day by day the shepherds

scanned the sky for stormclouds that did not appear. The spring ran lower and lower. At last the ditch that

carried water to the corral went dry, and the margin of the pool began to retreat. Then Mescal sent Piute down

He arrived at the plateau the next day with Dave and at once ordered the breaking 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

"We've got to chance it. There's no water here, and no springs on the upper range where we can drive sheep;

"That's so," replied August. His fears needed confirmation, because his hopes always influenced his judgment

till no hope was left. "I wish I had brought Zeke and George. It'll be a hard drive, though we've got Jack and

Hot as it was August Naab lost no time in the start. Piute led the train on 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 packburros bringing up the rear. Wolf circled them all, keeping the flanks close in, heading

The trail to the upper range was wide and easy of ascent, the first of it winding under crags, the latter part

climbing long slopes. It forked before the summit, where dark pine trees showed against the sky, one fork

ascending, the other, which Piute took, beginning to go down. It admitted of no extended view, being shut in

for the most part on the left, but there were times when Hare could see a curving stream of sheep on half a

mile of descending trail. Once started down the flock could not be stopped, that was as plain as Piute's hard

task. There were times when Hare could have tossed a pebble on the Indian just below him, yet there were

more than three thousand sheep, strung out in line between them. Clouds of dust rolled up, sheets of gravel

and shale rattled down the inclines, the clatter, clatter, clatter of little hoofs, the steady baabaabaa filled the

air. Save for the crowding of lambs off the trail, and a jamming of sheep in the corners, the drive went on

without mishap. Hare was glad to see the lambs scramble back bleating for their mothers, and to note that,

though peril threatened at every steep turn, the steady downflow always made space for the sheep behind.

He was glad, too, when through a wide break ahead his eye followed the face of a vast cliff down to the red

A blast as from a furnace smote Hare from this open break in the wall. The air was dustladen, and carried

besides the smell of dust and the warm breath of desert growths, a dank odor that was unpleasant.

The sheep massed in a flock on the level, and the drivers spread to their places. The route lay under

projecting red cliffs, between the base and enormous sections of wall that had broken off and fallen far out.

There was no weathering slope; the wind had carried away the smaller stones and particles, and had cut the

huge pieces of pinnacle and tower into hollowed forms. This zone of rim merged into another of strange

contrast, the sloping red stream of sand which flowed from the wall of the canyon.

Piute swung the flock up to the left into an amphitheatre, and there halted. The sheep formed a densely

packed mass in the curve of the wall. Dave Naab galloped back toward August and Hare, and before he

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 was a red and yellow heap of shale, fragments of stones, gravel, and sand.

There was no water, and the sheep were bleating. August dismounted and climbed high above the hole to

examine the slope; soon he strode down with giant steps, his huge fists clinched, shaking his gray mane like a

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

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

"Some of Holderness's men are Mormons, and others are square fellows. They wouldn't stand for such work

"And get shot up by the men paid to do the dirty work. No. I won't hear of it. This amounts to nothing; we

seldom use this hole, only twice a year when driving the flock. But it makes me fear for Silver Cup and

"Ah! I had forgotten the river scent. It's not strong tonight. We might venture if it wasn't for the strip of

The sun went down under a crimson veil; a dull glow spread, fanshaped, 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 this waterhole."

"Holderness wants to cut us off from Silver Cup Spring, and this was a halfway 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 and

he'll stop at nothing. Prospects look black for us. Father never gives up. He doesn't believe yet that we can

lose our water. He prays and hopes, and sees good and mercy in his worst enemies."

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

"Not openly. They'll pretend to welcome us, and drive our cattle away in our absence. You see there are only

five of us to ride the ranges, and we'd need five times five to watch all the stock."

"There's only one way," said Dave, significantly tapping the black handle of his Colt. "Holderness thinks he

pulls the wool over our eyes by talking of the cattle company that employs him. He's the company himself,

"And I suppose, if your father and you boys were to ride over to Holderness's newest stand, and tell him to

"We'd never reach him now, that is, if we went together. One of us alone might get to see him, especially in

White Sage. If we all rode over to his ranch we'd have to fight his men before we reached the corrals. You

yourself 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's spy' there, and the rustlers are still looking for you. I wouldn't worry about it,

"Well, if you're like the other Gentiles who have come into Utah you won't have scruples about drawing on a

man. Father says the draw comes natural to you, and you're as quick as he is. Then he says you can beat any

rifle shot he ever saw, and that longbarrelled gun you've got will shoot a mile. So if it comes to

shootingwhy, you can shoot. If you want to runwho's going to catch you on that whitemaned stallion?

We talked about you, George and I; we're mighty glad you're well and can ride with us."

Long into the night Jack Hare thought over this talk. It opened up a vista of the rangelife into which he was

soon to enter. He tried to silence the voice within that cried out, eager and reckless, for the long rides on the

windy open. The years of his illness returned in fancy, the narrow room with the lamp and the book, and the

tears over stories and dreams of adventure never to be for such as he. And now how wonderful was life! It

was, after all, to be full for him. It was already full. Already he slept on the ground, open to the sky. He

looked up at a wild black cliff, mountainhigh, with its windworn star of blue; he felt himself on the

threshold of the desert, with that subtle mystery waiting; he knew himself to be close to strenuous action on

the ranges, companion of these sombre Mormons, exposed to their peril, making their cause his cause, their

life his life. What of their friendship, their confidence? Was he worthy? Would he fail at the pinch? What a

man he must become to approach their simple estimate of him! Because he had found health and strength,

because he could shoot, because he had the fleetest 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

The bleating of the sheep heralded another day. With the brightening light began the drive over the sand.

Under the cliff the shade was cool and fresh; there was no wind; the sheep made good progress. But the

broken line of shade crept inward toward the flock, and passed it. The sun beat down, and the wind arose. A

red haze of fine sand eddied about the toiling sheep and shepherds. Piute trudged ahead leading the

kingram, old Socker, the leader of the flock; Mescal and Hare rode at the right, turning their faces from the

sandfilled puffs of wind; August and Dave drove behind; Wolf, as always, took care of the stragglers. An

hour went by without signs of distress; and with half the fivemile trip at his back August Naab's voice

gathered cheer. The sun beat hotter. Another hour told a different storythe sheep labored; they had to be

forced by urge of whip, by knees of horses, by Wolf's threatening bark. They stopped altogether during the

frequent hot sandblasts, and could not be driven. So time dragged. The flock straggled out to a long

irregular line; rams refused to budge till they were ready; sheep lay down to rest; lambs fell. But there was an

end to the belt of sand, and August Naab at last drove the lagging trailers out upon the stony bench.

The sun was about two hours past the meridian; the red walls of the desert were closing in; the Vshaped

split where the Colorado cut through was in sight. The trail now was wide and unobstructed and the distance

short, yet August Naab ever and anon turned to face the canyon and shook his head in anxious foreboding.

It quickly dawned upon Hare that the sheep were behaving in a way new and singular to him. They packed

densely now, crowding forward, many raising their heads over the haunches of others and bleating. They

were not in their usual calm pattering hurry, but nervous, excited, and continually facing west toward the

On the top of the next little ridge Hare heard Silvermane snort as he did when led to drink. There was a scent

of water on the wind. Hare caught it, a damp, muggy smell. The sheep had noticed it long before, and now

under its nearer, stronger influence began to bleat wildly, to run 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 the sheep headed straight up the trail. Piute

had to go to the right to avoid being run down. Mescal rode up to fill his place. Hare took his cue from Dave,

and rode along the flank, crowding the sheep inward. August cracked his whip behind. For half a mile the

flock kept to the trail, then, as if by common consent, they sheered off to the right. With this move August

and Dave were transformed from quiet almost to frenzy. They galloped to the fore, and into the very faces of

the turning sheep, and drove them back. Then the rearguard of the flock curved outward.

Wolf no longer had power to chase the stragglers; they had to be turned by a horse. All along the flank noses

pointed outward; here and there sheep wilder than the others leaped forward to lead a widening wave of

bobbing woolly backs. Mescal engaged one point, Hare another, Dave another, and August Naab's roan

thundered up and down the constantly broken line. All this while as the shepherds fought back the sheep, the

flight continued faster eastward, farther canyonward. Each side gained, but the flock gained more toward the

By August's hoarse yells, by Dave's stern face and ceaseless swift action, by the increasing din, Hare knew

terrible danger hung over the flock; what it was he could not tell. He heard the roar of the river rapids, and it

seemed that the sheep heard it with him. They plunged madly; they had gone wild from the scent and sound

of water. Their eyes gleamed red; their tongues flew out. There was no aim to the rush of the great body of

sheep, but they followed the leaders and the leaders followed the scent. And the drivers headed them off, rode

them down, ceaselessly, riding forward to check one outbreak, wheeling backward to check another.

The flight became a rout. Hare was in the thick of dust and din, of the terrorstricken jumping mob, of the

everstarting, everwidening streams of 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 a glimpse of Black Bolly in a melee of dust

and sheep; Dave's mustang blurred in his sight; August's roan seemed to be double. Then Silvermane, of his

The sheep had almost gained the victory; their keen noses were pointed toward the water; nothing could stop

their flight; but still the drivers dashed at them, ever fighting, never wearying, never ceasing.

At the last incline, where a gentle slope led down to a dark break in the desert, the rout became a stampede.

Left and right flanks swung round, the line lengthened, and round the struggling horses, kneedeep in woolly

backs, split the streams to flow together beyond in one resistless river of sheep. Mescal forced Bolly out of

danger; Dave escaped the right flank, August and Hare swept on with the flood, till the horses, sighting the

"Will they run over the rim ?" yelled Hare, horrified. His voice came to him as a whisper. August Naab,

sweatstained in red dust, haggard, gray locks streaming in the wind, raised his arms above his head,

The long nodding line of woolly forms, lifting like the crest of a yellow wave, plunged out and down in

rounded billow over the canyon rim. With din of hoofs and bleats the sheep spilled themselves over the

precipice, and an awful deafening roar boomed up from the river, like the spreading thunderous crash of an

How endless seemed that fatal plunge! The last line of sheep, pressing close to those gone before, and yet

impelled by the strange instinct of life, turned their eyes too late on the brink, carried over by their own

The sliding roar ceased; its echo, muffled and hollow, pealed from the cliffs, then rumbled down the canyon

Hare turned at last from that narrow ironwalled cleft, the depth of which he had not seen, and now had no

wish to see; and his eyes fell upon a little Navajo lamb limping in the trail of the flock, headed for the

canyon, as sure as its mother in purpose. He dismounted and seized it to find, to his infinite wonder and

THE shepherds were home in the oasis that evening, and next day the tragedy of the sheep was a thing of the

past. No other circumstance of Hare's four months with the Naabs had so affected him as this swift inevitable

sweeping away of the flock; nothing else had so vividly told him the nature of this country of abrupt heights

and depths. He remembered August Naab's magnificent gesture of despair; and now the man was cheerful

again; he showed no sign of his great loss. His tasks were many, and when one was done, he went on to the

next. If Hare had not had many 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 do with all his force, and accepted fate. The

tragedy of the sheep had been only an incident in a tragical lifethat Hare divined with awe.

Mescal sorrowed, and Wolf mourned in sympathy with her, for their occupation was gone, but both

brightened when August made known his intention to cross the river to the Navajo range, to trade with the

Indians for another flock. He began his preparations immediately. The snowfreshets had long run out of the

river, the water was low, and he wanted to fetch the sheep down before the summer rains. He also wanted to

"I'll take Billy and go at once. Dave, you join George and Zeke out on the Silver Cup range. Take Jack with

you. Brand all the cattle you can before the snow flies. Get out of Dene's way if he rides over, and avoid

Holderness's men. I'll have no fights. But keep your eyes sharp for their 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 the

vineyard. The fruit season was at its height. Grapes, plums, pears, melons were ripe and luscious.

Midsummer was vacationtime for the children, and they flocked into the trees like birds. The girls were

picking grapes; Mother Ruth enlisted Jack in her service at the peartrees; Mescal came, too, and caught the

golden pears he threw down, and smiled up at him; Wolf was there, and Noddle; Black Bolly pushed her

black nose over the fence, and whinnied for apples; the turkeys strutted, the peafowls preened their beautiful

plumage, the guineahens ran like quail. Save for those frowning red cliffs Hare would have forgotten where

he was; the warm sun, the yellow fruit, the merry screams of children, the joyous laughter of girls, were

pleasant reminders of autumn picnic days long gone. But, in the face of those dominating windscarred

That night Hare endeavored to see Mescal alone for a few moments, to see her once more with unguarded

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 children and women who bade them goodbye he had caught the wave of

Mescal's hand and a look of her eyes that would be with him always. What might 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 under

the white glare of desert, the white gleam of the slopes of Coconina, was wild life awaiting him. And he shut

his teeth, and narrowed his eyes, and faced it with an eager joy that was in strange contrast to the pang in his

That morning the wind dipped down off the Vermillion Cliffs and whipped west; there was no scent of

riverwater, and Hare thought of the fatality of the sheepdrive, when, for one day out of the year, a

moistened dank breeze had met the flock on the narrow bench. Soon the bench lay far behind them, and the

strip of treacherous sand, and the maze of sculptured cliff under the Blue Star, and the hummocky low ridges

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

Indianbred horse, half mustang, which had to be held in with a firm rein. 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. It was an ascent of miles, so long that it did not

appear steep. Here the packtrain caught up, and thereafter hung at the heels of the riders.

From the broad bare summit Jack saw the Silver Cup valley range with eyes which seemed to magnify the

winding trail, the long red wall, the green slopes, the dots of sage and cattle. Then he made allowance for

months of unobstructed vision; he had learned to see; his eyes had adjusted themselves to distance and

Silver Cup Spring lay in a bright green spot close under a break in the rocky slope that soon lost its gray cliff

The camp of the brothers was situated upon this cliff in a split between two sections of wall. Well sheltered

from the north and west winds was a grassy plot which afforded a good survey of the valley and the trails.

Dave and Jack received glad greetings from Zeke and George, and Silvermane was an object of wonder and

admiration. Zeke, who had often seen the gray and chased him too, walked round and round him, stroking the

"Well, well, Silvermane, to think I'd live to see you wearing a saddle and 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 that horse he'll

chase him to the Great Salt Basin. Dene's crazy about fast horses. He's from Kentucky, somebody said, and

"We can't complain much," replied Zeke, "though we've wasted some time on old Whitefoot. He's been

chasing our horses. It's been pretty hot and dry. Most of the cattle are on the slopes; fair browse yet. There's a

bunch of steers gone up on the mountain, and some more round toward the Saddle or the canyon."

"Yes. No change since your trip. Holderness's cattle are ranging in the upper valley. George found tracks near

the spring. We believe somebody was 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

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

"Well, Chance and Culver had been out our way," declared Dave. "I saw their tracks, and they filled up the

Then he related the story of the drive of the sheep, the finding of the plugged waterhole, the scent of the

Neither Zeke nor George had a word in reply. Hare thought their silence unnatural. Neither did the masklike

stillness of their faces change. But Hare saw in their eyes a pointed clear flame, vibrating like a

"I'd like to know," continued Dave, calmly poking the fire, "who hired Dene's men to plug the waterhole.

Dene couldn't do that. He loves a horse, and any man who loves a horse couldn't fill a waterhole in this

Hare entered upon his new duties as a rangerider with a zeal that almost made up for his lack of experience;

he bade fair to develop into a righthand man for Dave, under whose watchful eye he worked. His natural

qualifications were soon shown; he could ride, though his seat was awk ward and clumsy compared to that

of the desert rangers, a fault that Dave said would correct itself as time fitted him close to the saddle and to

the swing of his horse. His sight had become extraordinarily keen for a newcomer on the ranges, and when

experience had taught him the land marks, the trails, the distances, the difference between smoke and dust

and haze, when he could distinguish a band of mustangs from cattle, and rangeriders from outlaws or

Indians; in a word, when he had learned to know what it was that he saw, to trust his judgment, he would

have acquired the basic feature of a rider's training. But he showed no gift for the lasso, that other essential

"It's funny," said Dave, patiently, "you can't get the hang of it. Maybe it's born in a fellow. Now handling a

gun seems to come natural for some fellows, and you're one of them. If only you could get the rope away as

Jack kept faithfully at it, unmindful of defeats, often chagrined when he missed some easy opportunity. Not

improbably he might have failed altogether if he had been riding an ordinary horse, or if he had to try roping

from a fiery mustang. But Silvermane was as intelligent as he was beautiful and fleet. The horse learned

rapidly the agile turns and sudden stops necessary, and as for free running he never got enough. Out on the

range Silvermane always had his head up and watched; his life had been spent in watching; he saw cattle,

riders, mustangs, deer, coyotes, every moving thing. So that Hare, in the chasing of a cow, had but to start

Silvermane, and then he could devote himself to the handling of his rope. It took him ten times longer to lasso

the cow than it took Silvermane to head the animal. Dave laughed at some of Jack's exploits, encouraged him

often, praised his intent if not his deed; and always after a run nodded at Silvermane in mute admiration.

Branding the cows and yearlings and tame steers which watered at Silver Cup, 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 the

canyons," he would say when Jack dropped like a log at supper. Work it certainly was for him. At night he

was so tired that he could scarcely crawl 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 the campfire to warm his sore and bruised muscles. Then when Zeke and George rode in

with the horses the day's work began. During these weeks of his "hardening up," as Dave called it, Hare bore

much pain, but he continued well and never missed a day. At the most trying time when for a few days he had

to be helped on and off Silvermanefor he insisted that he would not stay in campthe brothers made his

work as light as possible. They gave him the branding outfit to carry, a runningiron and a little pot with

charcoal and bellows; and with these he followed the riders at a convenient distance and leisurely pace.

Some days they branded one hundred cattle. By October they had August Naab's crudely fashioned cross on

thousands of cows and steers. Still the stock kept coming down from the mountain, driven to the valley by

cold weather and snowcovered grass. It was well into November before the riders finished at Silver Cup,

and then arose a question as to whether it would be advisable to go to Seeping Springs or to the canyons

farther west along the slope of Coconina. George favored the former, but Dave overruled him.

"Father's orders," he said. "He wants us to ride Seeping Springs last because he'll be with us then, and Snap

"How's this branding stock going to help the matter any, I'd like to know?" inquired George. "We Mormons

"Father says we'll all have to come to it. Holderness's stock is branded. 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 our stock

"No, only it makes this difference: both things will then be barefaced robbery. 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 for your gun. So does mine. But

Many gullies and canyons headed up on the slope of Coconina west of Silver Cup, and ran down to open

wide on the flat desert. They contained plots of white sage and bunches of rich grass and cold springs. The

steers that ranged these ravines were wild as wolves, and in the tangled thickets of juniper and manzanita and

Well it was that Hare had received his initiation and had become inured to rough, incessant work, for now he

came to know the real stuff of which these Mormons were made. No obstacle barred them. They penetrated

the gullies to the last step; they rode weathered slopes that were difficult for deer to stick upon; they thrashed

the bayonetguarded manzanita copses; they climbed into labyrinthine fastnesses, penetrating to every nook

where a steer could hide. Miles of sliding slope and marblebottomed streambeds were ascended on foot, for

cattle could climb where a horse could not. Climbing was arduous enough, yet the hardest and most perilous

toil began when a wild steer was cornered. They roped the animals on moving slopes of weathered stone, and

The days and weeks passed, how many no one counted or cared. The circle of the sun daily lowered over the

south end of Coconina; and the black snowclouds 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 the long autumn.

As for Hare, true to August Naab's assertion, he had lost flesh and suffered, and though the process was

heartbreaking in its severity, he hung on till he hardened into a leather lunged, wiremuscled man, capable of

He began his day with the dawn when he threw off the frostcoated tarpaulin; the icy water brought him a

glow of exhilaration; he drank in the spiced cold air, and there was the spring of the deerhunter in his step as

he went down the slope for his horse. He no longer feared that Silvermane would run away. The gray's bell

could always be heard near camp in the mornings, and when Hare whistled there came always the answering

thump of hobbled feet. When Silvermane saw him striding through the cedars or across the grassy belt of the

valley he would neigh his gladness. Hare had come to love Silvermane and talked to him and treated him as if

When the mustangs were brought into camp the day's work began, the same work as that of yesterday, and

yet with endless variety, with everchanging situations that called for quick wits, steel arms, stout hearts, and

unflagging energies. The darkening blue sky and the suntipped crags of Vermillion Cliffs were signals to

start for camp. They ate like wolves, sat for a while around the campfire, a ragged, weary, silent group; and

In the beginning of this toilfilled time Hare had resolutely set himself to forget Mescal, and he had

succeeded at least for a time, when he was so sore and weary that he scarcely thought at all. But she came

back to him, and then there was seldom an hour that was not hers. The long months which seemed years since

he had seen her, the change in him wrought by labor and peril, the deepening friendship between him and

Dave, even the love he bore Silvermanethese, instead of making dim the memory of the darkeyed girl,

Snow drove the riders from the canyoncamp down to Silver Cup, where they found August Naab and Snap,

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

"Yes. You know we haven't been back in there for years. The stock has multiplied rapidly in spite of the lions

and wolves. Not only that, but they're safe from the winter, and are not likely to be found by Dene or anybody

"The first cattle we drove in used to come back here to Silver Cup to 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 winter in the

canyon. In summer they head up those rocky gullies, but they can't get up on the mountain. So it isn't likely

any one will ever discover them. They are wild as deer and fatter than any stock on the ranges."

"Good! That's the best news I've had in many a day. Now, boys, we'll ride the mountain slope toward Seeping

Springs, drive the cattle down, and finish up this branding. Somebody ought to go to White Sage. I'd like to

know what's going on, what Holderness is up to, what Dene is doing, if there's any stock being driven to

"I don't want you to," replied his father. "I guess it can wait till spring, then we'll all go in. I might have

thought to bring you boys out some clothes and boots. You're pretty ragged. Jack there, especially, looks like

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

August Naab looked at Hare and laughed. "It'd be funny, wouldn't it, if Holderness tried to slap you now? I

always knew you'd do, Jack, and now you'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 the presence of Snap Naab. With the first

sight of Snap's sharp face and strange eyes Hare became conscious of an inward heat, which he had felt

before, but never as now, when there seemed to be an actual flame within his breast. Yet Snap seemed greatly

changed; the red flush, the swollen lines no longer showed in his face; evidently in his absence on the Navajo

desert he had had no liquor; he was goodnatured, lively, much inclined 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 evil nature was in

the ascendancy only when he was under the dominance of drink. 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 bring himself to ask August if the marriage had taken place. For a day he fought to resign

himself to the inevitability of the Mormon custom, to forget Mescal, and then he gave up trying. This

surrender he felt to be something 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 desert regeneration had not stopped at turning weak lungs, vitiated blood, and flaccid 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

Thenceforth he no longer vexed himself by trying to forget Mescal; if she came to mind he told himself the

truth, that the weeks and months had only added to his love. And though it was bittersweet there was relief

in speaking the truth to himself. He no longer blinded himself by hoping, striving to have generous feelings

toward Snap Naab; he called the inward fire by its real namejealousyand knew that in the end it would

On the third morning after leaving Silver Cup the riders were working slowly along the slope of Coconina;

and Hare having driven down a bunch of cattle, found himself on an open ridge near the temporary camp.

Happening to glance up the valley he saw what appeared to be smoke hanging over Seeping Springs.

He studied the hazy bluish cloud for some time, but it was so many miles away that he could not be certain

whether it was smoke or not, so he decided to ride over and make sure. None of the Naabs was in camp, and

there was no telling when they would return, so he set off alone. He expected to get back before dark, but it

was of little consequence whether he did or not, for he had his blanket under the saddle, and grain for

Long before Silvermane's easy trot had covered half the distance Hare recognized the cloud that had made

him curious. It was smoke. He thought that rangeriders were camping at the springs, and he meant to see

what they were about. After three hours of brisk travel he reached the top of a low rolling knoll that hid

Seeping Springs. He remembered the springs were up under the red wall, and that the pool where the cattle

drank was lower down in a clump of cedars. He saw smoke rising in a column from the cedars, and he heard

"Something wrong here," he muttered. Following the trail, he rode through the cedars to come upon the dry

hole where the pool had once been. There was no water in the flume. The bellowing cattle came from beyond

the cedars, down the other side of the ridge. He was not long in reaching the open, and then one glance made

A new pool, large as a little lake, shone in the sunlight, and round it a 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 the springs.

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

When he got to the fire he saw that it was not many hours old and was surrounded by fresh boot and horse

tracks in the dust. Piles of slender pine logs, trimmed flat on one side, were proof of somebody's intention to

erect a cabin. In a rage he flung himself from the saddle. It was not many moments' work for him to push part

of the fire under the fence, and part of it against the pile of logs. The pitchpines went off like rockets,

He tore down a portion of the fence enclosing the flume, and gave Silvermane a drink, then put him to a fast

trot on the white trail. The tracks he had resolved to follow were cleancut. A few inches of snow had 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 the stallion. All the afternoon

Hare watched the trail speed toward him and the end of Coconina rise above him. Long before sunset he had

reached the slope of the mountain and had begun the ascent. Half way up he came to the snow and counted

the tracks of three horses. At twilight he rode into 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 of Coconina just as the shadowy

valley awakened from its misty sleep into daylight. Soon the Pink Cliffs leaned out, glimmering and vast, to

change from gloomy gray to rosy glow, and then to brighten and to redden in the morning sun.

The snow thinned and failed, but the ironcut horsetracks showed plainly in the trail. At the foot of the

mountain the tracks left the White Sage trail and led off to the north toward the cliffs. Hare searched the red

sagespotted waste for Holderness's ranch. He located it, a black patch on the rising edge of the valley under

the wall, and turned Silvermane into the tracks that pointed straight toward it.

The sun cleared Coconina and shone warm on his back; the Pink Cliffs lifted higher and higher before him.

From the ridgetops he saw the black patch grow into cabins and corrals. As he neared the ranch he came

into rolling pastureland where the bleached grass shone white and the cattle were ranging in the thousands.

This range had once belonged to Martin Cole, and Hare thought of the bitter Mormon as he noted the snug

cabins for the riders, the rambling, picturesque ranchhouse, the large corrals, and the long flume that ran

down from the cliff. There was a corral full of shaggy horses, and another full of steers, and two lines of

cattle, one going into a pondcorral, and one coming out. The air was gray with dust. A bunch of yearlings

were licking at huge lumps of brown rocksalt. A wagonful of cowhides stood before the ranchhouse.

"No. He's been to Lund with a bunch of steers. I reckon he'll be in White Sage by now. I'm Snood, the

"Say! thet hoss" he exclaimed. His gaze of friendly curiosity had moved from Hare to Silvermane. "You

Snood's whoop brought three riders to the door, and when he pointed to the horse, they stepped out with

"Lordy, what a hoss!" Snood walked round Silvermane. "If I owned this ranch I'd trade it for that stallion. I

know Silvermane. He an' I hed some chases over in Nevada. An', stranger, who might you be?"

"Dene's spy!" Snood looked Hare over carefully, with much interest, and without any show of illwill. "I've

"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 were a lot of trimmed logs. Somebody was going to build a cabin. I burned

the corrals and logsand I trailed fresh tracks from Seeping Springs to this ranch."

"The hl you did!" shouted Snood, and his face flamed. "See here, stranger, you're the second man to

accuse some of my riders of such dirty tricks. That's enough for me. I was foreman of this ranch till this

minute. I was foreman, but there were things gain' on thet I didn't know of. I kicked on thet deal with Martin

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

"Your word goes. Dave Naab said you might be Holderness's foreman, but you weren't a liar or a thief. I'd

"Them fellers you tracked rode in here yesterday. They're gone now. I've no more to say, except I never hired

With that Hare faced about in the direction of White Sage. Once clear of the 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 that he

reached the village in the twilight. Memory served him well. He rode in as August Naab had ridden out, and

arrived at the Bishop's barnyard, where he put up his horse. Then he went to the house. It was necessary to

introduce himself for none of the Bishop's family recognized in him the young man they had once befriended.

The old Bishop prayed and reminded 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 that had been worn to tatters. Then they

plied him with questions about the Naabs, whom they had not seen for nearly a year. They rejoiced at his

Later Hare sought an interview alone with the Bishop's sons, and he told them of the loss of the sheep, of the

burning of the new corrals, of the tracks leading to Holderness's ranch. In turn they warned him of his danger,

and gave him information desired by August Naab. Holderness's grasp on the outlying ranges and

waterrights had slowly and surely tightened; every month he acquired new territory; he drove cattle

regularly to Lund, and it was no secret that much of the stock came from the eastern slope of Coconina. He

could not hire enough riders to do his work. A suspicion that he was not a cattleman but a rustler had slowly

gained ground; it was scarcely hinted, but it was believed. His friendship with Dene had become offensive to

the Mormons, who had formerly been on good footing with him. Dene's killing of Martin Cole was believed

to have been at Holderness's instigation. Cole had threatened Holderness. Then Dene and Cole had met in the

main street of White Sage. Cole's death ushered in the bloody time that he had prophesied. Dene's band had

grown; no man could say how many men he had or who they were. Chance and Culver were openly his

lieutenants, and whenever they came into the village there was shooting. There were ugly rumors afloat in

regard to their treatment of Mormon women. The wives and daughters of once peaceful White Sage dared no

longer venture outofdoors after nightfall. There was more money in coin and more whiskey than ever

before in the village. Lund and the few villages northward were terrorized as well as White Sage. It was a

The Bishop and his sons tried to persuade Hare next morning to leave the village without seeing Holderness,

"I will see him," said Hare. He spent the morning at the cottage, and when 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 have said

Had Hare asked himself what he intended to do when he faced Holderness he could not have told. His

feelings were pentin, bound, but at the bottom something rankled. His mind seemed steeped in still

How well he remembered the quaint wide street, the gray church! As he rode many persons stopped to gaze

at Silvermane. He turned the corner into the main thoroughfare A new building had been added to the several

stores. Mustangs stood, bridles down, before the doors; men lounged along the railings.

As he dismounted he heard the loungers speak of his horse, and he saw their leisurely manner quicken. He

stepped into the store to meet more men, among them August Naab's friend Abe. Hare might never have been

in White Sage for all the recognition he found, but he excited something keener than curiosity. He asked for

spurs, a claspknife and some other necessaries, and he contrived, when momentarily out of sight behind a

pile of boxes, to whisper his identity to Abe. The Mormon was dumbfounded. When he came out of his

trance he showed his gladness, and at 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 a level with the store floor, and was

blue with smoke, foul with the fumes of rum, and noisy with the voices of dark, rugged men.

It might have been the stopping of the dance or the quick spark in Hare's eyes that suddenly quieted the room.

Hare had once vowed to himself that he would never forget the scarred face; it belonged to the outlaw

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

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

The outlaw stood irresolute. Was this an old friend or an enemy? His beady 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 be read.

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

Chance heard these whispers, for his eye shifted downward the merest fraction of a second. The brick color

Chance's answer was a spasmodic jerking of his hand toward his hip. Hare's arm moved quicker, and

"Too slow," said Hare. Then he flung Chance backward and struck him blows that sent his head with sodden

Hare kicked the outlaw's gun out of the way, and wheeled to the crowd. Holderness stood foremost, his tall

"You slapped my face once." Hare leaned close to the rancher. "Slap it nowyou rustler!"

In the slow, guarded instant when Hare's gaze held Holderness and the other men, a low murmuring ran

Hare slapped his face. Then he backed a few paces with his right arm held before him almost as high as his

"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. "I burned 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 no

honest man will work for a waterthief, a cattlerustler, a sheepkiller. You're shown up, Holderness. Leave

Holderness stood motionless against the bar, his eyes fierce with passionate 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 slipped out, scattered the group round Silvermane, and struck hard with the spurs.

Men were crossing from the corner of the green square. One, a compact little fellow, swarthy, his dark hair

long and flowing, with jaunty and alert air, was Dene, the outlaw leader. He stopped, with his companions, to

Hare guided the thundering stallion slightly to the left. Silvermane swerved and in two mighty leaps bore

down on the outlaw. Dene saved himself by quickly leaping aside, but even as he moved Silvermane struck

At the street corner Hare glanced back. Yelling men were rushing from the saloon and some of them fired

after him. The bullets whistled harmlessly behind Hare. Then the corner house shut off his view.

Silvermane lengthened out and stretched lower with his white mane flying and his nose pointed level for the

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 many

hoofs. Even the board flume had been burned to a level with the glancing sheet of water. Hare was slipping

Silvermane's bit to let him drink when he heard a halloo. Dave Naab galloped out of the cedars, and presently

"Now you've played bob!" exclaimed Dave. He swung out of his saddle and gripped Hare with both hands. "I

know what you've done; I know where you've been. Father will be furious, but don't you care."

The other Naabs trotted down the slope and lined their horses before the pool. The sons stared in blank

astonishment; the father surveyed the scene slowly, and then fixed wrathful eyes on Hare.

August Naab's gloomy face worked, and his eaglegaze had in it a strange farseeing light; his mind was

"Kiyiii!" yelled Dave Naab with all the power of his lungs. His head was back, his mouth wide open,

"Be stillboy!" ordered his father. "Hare, this was madnessbut tell me what you learned."

Briefly Hare repeated all that he had been told at the Bishop's, and concluded with the killing of Martin Cole

August Naab bowed his head and his giant frame shook under the force of his emotion. Martin Cole was the

"Thisthis outlawyou say you ran him down?" asked Naab, rising haggard and shaken out of his grief.

"Yes. He didn't recognize me or know what was coming till Silvermane was on him. But he was quick, and

"What will it all lead to?" asked August Naab, and in his extremity he appealed to his eldest son.

"Father," began Dave Naab earnestly, "Jack has done a splendid thing. The news will fly over Utah like

wildfire. Mormons are slow. They need a leader. But they can follow and they will. We can't cure these evils

"You've been wrong, father, in holding back," said Zeke Naab, his lean jaw bulging. "This Holderness will

"Let's ride to White Sage," put in Snap Naab, and the little flecks in 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 kill him."

He laughed as he raised his right hand and swept it down to his left side; the blue Colt lay on his outstretched

palm. Dene's life and Holderness's, too, hung in the balance between two deadly snaps of this desertwolf's

teeth. He was one of the Naabs, and yet apart from them, for neither religion, nor friendship, nor life itself

August Naab's huge bulk shook again, not this time with grief, but in wrestling effort to withstand the fiery

His answer was gentle, but its very gentleness breathed of his battle over himself, of allegiance to something

beyond earthly duty. "We'll drive the cattle to Silver Cup," he decided, "and then go home. I give up Seeping

When they reached the oasis Hare was surprised to find that it was the day before Christmas. The welcome

given the longabsent riders was like a celebration. Much to Hare's disappointment Mescal did not appear;

Christmas Day ushered in the short desert winter; ice formed in the ditches and snow fell, but neither long

resisted the reflection of the sun from the walls. The early morning hours were devoted to religious services.

At midday dinner was served in the big room of August Naab's cabin. At one end was a stone fireplace where

In all his days Hare had never seen such a bountiful board. Yet he was unable to appreciate it, to share in the

general thanksgiving. Dominating all other feeling was the fear that Mescal would come in and take a seat by

Snap Naab's side. When Snap seated himself opposite with his pale little wife Hare found himself waiting for

Mescal with an intensity that made him dead to all else. The girls, Judith, Esther, Rebecca, came running

gayly in, clad in their best dresses, with bright ribbons to honor the occasion. Rebecca took the seat beside

Snap, and Hare gulped with a hard contraction of his throat. Mescal was not yet a Mormon's wife! He seemed

to be lifted upward, to grow lightheaded with the blessed assurance. Then Mescal entered and took the seat

That moment was happy, but it was as nothing to its successor. Under the tablecover Mescal's hand found

his, and pressed it daringly and gladly. Her hand lingered in his all the time August Naab spent in carving the

turkeylingered there even though Snap Naab's hawk eyes were never far away. In the warm touch of her

hand, in some subtle thing that radiated from her Hare felt a change in the girl he loved. A few months had

wrought in her some indefinable difference, even as they had increased his love to its full volume and depth.

In the afternoon Hare left the house and spent a little while with Silvermane; 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 a situation that

would be difficult to endure. He would be near Mescal, but only to have the truth forced cruelly home to him

every sane moment that she was not for him. Out on the ranges he had abandoned himself to dreams of

her; they had been beautiful; they had made the long hours seem like minutes; but they had forged chains that

The clatter of hoofs roused him from a reverie which was half sad, half sweet. Mescal came tearing down the

level on Black Bolly. She pulled in the mustang and halted beside Hare to hold out shyly a red scarf

"I've wanted a chance to give you this," she said, "a little Christmas present."

"Did you make it for me, Mescal?" he finally asked. "How good of you! I'll keep it always."

She met him with clear, level eyes. Her curt, crisp speech was full of meaning. 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 and color,

but different in soul and spirit. The old sombre shadow lay deep in the eyes, but to it had been added gleam of

will and reflection of thought. The whole face had been refined and transformed.

"Mescal! What's happened? You're not the same. You seem almost happy. Have youhas hegiven you

"Don't you know Mormons better than that? The thing is the sameso far as they're concerned."

"Never." It was a woman's word, instant, inflexible, desperate. With a deep breath Hare realized where the

"I don't know how. But I'll cut out my tongue, and be dumb as my poor peon before I'll speak the word that'll

There was a long silence. Mescal smoothed out Bolly's mane, and Hare gazed up at the walls with eyes that

"He'llMescal, I may yet come to this." Hare's laugh echoed Mescal's as he pointed to the enclosure under

Her warm color fled, but it flooded back, rich, mantling brow and cheek and neck.

The trembling of her fingers and the heaving of her bosom lent his hope conviction. "Mescal," he went on,

"these past months have been years, years of toiling, thinking, changing, but always loving. I'm not the man

you 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 held her a moment, clasped tight, and

"I'm quite mad!" he exclaimed, in a passion of selfreproach. "What a risk I'm putting on you! But I couldn't

The drama of the succeeding days was of absorbing interest. Hare had liberty; there was little work for him to

do save to care for Silvermane. He tried to hunt foxes in the caves and clefts; he rode up and down the broad

space under the walls; he sought the open desert only to be driven in by the bitter, biting winds. Then he

would return to the big livingroom of the Naabs and sit before the burning logs. This spacious room was

warm, light, pleasant, and was used by every one in leisure hours. Mescal spent most of her time there. She

was engaged upon a new frock of buckskin, and over this she bent with her needle and beads. When there

was a chance Hare talked with her, speaking one language with his tongue, a far different one with his eyes.

When she was 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 into a corner, Hare watched with covert

glance and smouldering jealousy. Somehow he had come to see all things and all people in the desert glass,

and his symbol for Snap Garb was the deserthawk. Snap's eyes were as wild and piercing as those of a

hawk; his nose and mouth were as the beak of a hawk; his hands resembled the claws of a hawk; and the

spurs he wore, always bloody, were still more significant of his ruthless nature. Then Snap's courting of the

girl, the cool assurance, the unhastening ease, were like the slow rise, the sail, and the poise of a deserthawk

It was intolerable for Hare to sit there in the evenings, to try to play with the children who loved him, to talk

to August Naab when his eye seemed ever drawn to the quiet couple in the corner, and his ear was

unconsciously strained to catch a passing word. That hour was a miserable 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 believed that she

spoke very little. When the hour was over and Mescal rose to pass to her room, then his doubt, his fear, his

misery, were as though they had never been, for as Mescal said goodnight she would give him one look,

swift as a flash, and in it were womanliness and purity, and some thing beyond his comprehension. Her

Indian serenity and mysticism veiled yet suggested some secret, some power by which she might yet escape

the iron band of this Mormon rule. Hare could not fathom it. In that goodnight glance was a meaning for

him alone, if meaning ever shone in woman's eyes, and it said: "I will be true to you and to myself!"

Once the idea struck him that as soon as spring returned it would be an easy matter, and probably wise, for

him to leave the oasis and go up into Utah, far from the desertcanyon country. But the thought refused to

stay before his consciousness a moment. New life had flushed his veins here. He loved the dreamy, sleepy

oasis with its mellow sunshine always at rest on the glistening walls; he loved the cedarscented plateau

where hope had dawned, and the windswept sandstrips, where hard outofdoor life and work had

renewed his wasting youth; he loved the canyon winding away toward Coconina, opening into wide abyss;

and always, more than all, he loved the Painted Desert, with its everchanging pictures, printed in sweeping

dust and bare peaks and purple haze. He loved the beauty of these places, and the wildness in them had an

affinity with something strange and untamed in him. He would never leave them. When his blood had cooled,

when this tumultuous thrill and swell had worn themselves out, happiness would come again.

Early in the winter Snap Naab had forced his wife to visit his father's house with him; and she had remained

in the room, whitefaced, passionately jealous, while he wooed Mescal. Then had come a scene. Hare had

not been present, but he knew its results. Snap had been furious, his father grave, Mescal tearful and

ashamed. The wife found many ways to interrupt her husband's lovemaking. She sent the children for him;

she was taken suddenly ill; she discovered that the corral gate was open and his creamcolored pinto, dearest

One Sunday evening just before twilight Hare was sitting on the porch with August Naab and Dave, when

their talk was interrupted by Snap's loud calling for his wife. At first the sounds came from inside his cabin.

Then he put his head out of a window and yelled. Plainly he was both impatient and angry. It was nearly time

"Where is she?" Snap banged on the windowsill with his fists. "Find her, somebodyHester!"

"Son, this is the Sabbath," called Father Naab, gravely. "Lower your voice. Now what's the matter?"

"Matter!" bawled Snap, giving way to rage. "When I was asleep Hester stole all my clothes. She's hid

The roar of laughter from August and Dave drowned the rest of the speech. Hare managed to stifle his own

"Jack," said August, "even among Mormons the course of true love never runs smooth."

Hare finally forgot his bitter humor in pity for the wife. Snap came to care not at all for her messages and

tricks, and he let nothing interfere with his evening beside Mescal. It was plain that he had gone far on the

road of love. Whatever he had been in the beginning of the betrothal, he was now a lover, eager, importunate.

His hawk's eyes were softer than Hare had ever seen them; he was obliging, kind, gay, an altogether different

Snap Naab. He groomed himself often, and wore clean scarfs, and left off his bloody spurs. For eight months

he had not touched the bottle. When spring approached he was madly in love with Mescal. And the marriage

"If she don't come to time soon I'll keep the kids and send her back to her father."

"Don't be hasty, son. Let her have time," replied August. "Women must be humored. I'll wager she'll give in

It was Hare's habit, as the days grew warmer, to walk a good deal, and one evening, as twilight shadowed the

oasis and grew black under the towering walls, he strolled out toward the fields. While passing Snap's cottage

Hare heard a woman's voice in passionate protest and a man's in strident anger. Later as he stood with his arm

on Silvermane, a woman's scream, at first highpitched, then suddenly faint and smothered, caused him to

grow rigid, and his hand clinched tight. When he went back by the cottage a low moaning confirmed his

That evening Snap appeared unusually bright and happy; and he asked his father to name the day for the

wedding. August did so in a loud voice and with evident relief. Then the quaint Mormon congratulations

were offered to Mescal. To Hare, watching the strange girl with the distressingly keen intuition of an

unfortunate lover, she appeared as pleased as any of them that the marriage was settled. But there was no

shyness, no blushing confusion. When Snap bent to kiss herhis first kissshe slightly turned her face, so

that his lips brushed her cheek, yet even then her selfcommand did not break for an instant. It was a task for

Hare to pretend to congratulate her; nevertheless he mumbled something. She lifted her long lashes, and

there, deep beneath the shadows, was unutterable anguish. It gave him a shock. He went to his room,

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 bed and

thought; he lay quiet, wideopen eyes staring into the darkness, and his mind burned and seethed. Through

With the morning light came some degree of resignation. Several days went slowly by, bringing the first of

April, which was to be the weddingday. August Naab had said it would come before the cottonwoods shed

their white floss; and their buds had just commenced to open. The day was not a holiday, and George and

Zeke and Dave began to pack for the ranges, yet there was an air of jollity and festivity. Snap Naab had a

Piute prepared to drive his new flock up on the plateau. The women of the household were busy and excited;

The afternoon waned into twilight, and Hare sought the quiet shadows under the wall near the river trail. He

meant to stay there until August Naab had pronounced his son and Mescal man and wife. The dull roar of the

rapids borne on a faint puff of westerly breeze was lulled into a soothing murmur. A radiant white star peeped

over the black rim of the wall. The solitude and silence were speaking to Hare's heart, easing his pain, when a

A slender form rounded the corner wall. It was Mescal. The white dog Wolf hung close by her side. Swiftly

More than woman's sweetness was in the whisper; the portent of indefinable motive made Hare tremble like a

"Good heavens! You are to be married in a few minutesWhat do you mean? Where are you going? this

"There's no timeonly a wordhurrydo you love me still?" she panted, with great shining eyes close to

"Listen," she whispered, and leaned against him. A fresh breeze bore the boom of the river. She caught her

She kissed him and broke from his clasp. Then silently, like a shadow, with the white dog close beside her,

She was gone before he came out of his bewilderment. He rushed down the trail; he called her name. The

WHEN thought came clearly to him he halted irresolute. For Mescal's sake he must not appear to have had

With stealthy footsteps he reached the cottonwoods, stole under the gloomy shade, and felt his way to a point

beyond the twinkling lights. Then, peering through the gloom until assured he was safe from observation, and

taking the dark side of the house, he gained the hall, and his room. He threw himself on his bed, and

endeavored to compose himself, to quiet his vibrating nerves, to still the triumphant bellbeat of his heart.

For a while all his being swung to the palpitating consciousness of joyMescal had taken her freedom. She

While Hare lay there, trying to gather his shattered senses, the merry sound of voices and the music of an

accordion hummed from the big livingroom next to his. Presently heavy boots thumped on the floor of the

Hare rose, opened the door and followed August. The room was bright with lights; the table was set, and the

Naabs, large and small, were standing expectantly. As Hare found a place behind them Snap Naab entered

with his wife. She was as pale as if she were in her shroud. Hare caught Mother Ruth's pitying subdued

glance as she drew the frail little woman to her side. When August Naab began fingering his Bible the

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 the woodfire broke the silence.

"She's gone!" cried Snap Naab. He ran into the hall, into Mescal's room, and returned trailing the white

He choked over the words, and sank into a chair, face convulsed, hands shaking, 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 in a dead

faint. Then the deserthawk showed his claws. His hands tore at the close scarf round his throat as if to

liberate a fury that was stifling him; his face lost all semblance to anything human. He began to howl, to rave,

to curse; and his father circled him with iron arm and dragged him from the room.

The children were whimpering, the wives lamenting. The quiet men searched the house and yard and corrals

and fields. But they found no sign of Mescal. After long hours the excitement subsided and all sought their

Morning disclosed the facts of Mescal's flight. She had dressed for the trail; 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 moccasintracks and burrotracks and dogtracks in the sand at the river crossing, and one of the boats

was gone. This boat was not moored to the opposite shore. Questions arose. Had the boat sunk? Had the

fugitives crossed safely or had they drifted into the canyon? Dave Naab rode out along the river and saw the

"She got across, and then set the boat loose," said August. "That's the Indian of her. If she went up on the

cliffs to the Navajos maybe we'll find her. If she went into the Painted Desert" a grave shake of his shaggy

Morning also disclosed Snap Naab once more in the clutch of his demon, drunk and unconscious, lying like a

"This means ruin to him," said his father. "He had one chance; he was mad over Mescal, and if he had got

He gave orders for the sheep to be driven up on the plateau, and for his sons to ride out to the cattle ranges.

He bade Hare pack and get in readiness to accompany him to the Navajo cliffs, there to search for Mescal.

The river was low, as the spring thaws had not yet set in, and the crossing promised none of the hazard so

menacing at a later period. Billy Naab rowed across with the saddle and packs. Then August had to crowd 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 sat in the stern of the boat, while Billy handled the oars. They crossed swiftly and safely.

The three burros were then loaded, two with packs, the other with a heavy waterbag.

"See there," said August, pointing to tracks in the sand. The imprints of little moccasins reassured Hare, for

he had feared the possibility suggested by the upturned boat. "Perhaps it'll be better if I never find her,"

continued Naab. "If I bring her back Snap's as likely to kill her as to marry her. But I must try to find her.

Naab's stern face relaxed. "Well, I'm beat! Though I don't see why you should be different from all the others.

It was that time you spent with her on the plateau. I thought you too sick to think of a woman!"

"Yes. But I couldn't help that. You brought me out here, and saved my life. I know what I owe you. Mescal

meant to marry your son when I left for the range last fall. But she's a true woman and couldn't. August Naab,

"I never dreamed of it. I learned it only at the last moment. I met her on the river trail."

"Well, well, I'm not blaming you, Hare. I had hot blood once. But I'm afraid the desert will not be large

enough for you and Snap. She's pledged to him. You can't change the Mormon Church. For the sake of peace

I'd give you Mescal, if I could. Snap will either have her or kill her. I'm going to hunt this desert in advance

of him, because he'll trail her like a hound. It would be better to marry her to him than to see her dead."

"Hare, your nose is on a blood scent, like a wolf's. I can seeI've always seenwell, remember, it's man to

During this talk they were winding under Echo Cliffs, gradually climbing, and working up to a level with the

desert, which they presently attained at a point near the head of the canyon. The trail swerved to the left

following the base of the cliffs. The tracks of Noddle and Wolf were plainly visible in the dust. Hare felt that

if they ever led out into the immense airy space of the desert all hope of finding Mescal must be abandoned.

They trailed the tracks of the dog and burro to Bitter Seeps, a shallow spring of alkali, and there lost all track

of them. The path up the cliffs to the Navajo ranges was bare, timeworn in solid rock, and showed only the

imprint of age. Desertward the ridges of shale, the washes of copper earth, baked in the sun, gave no sign of

the fugitives' course. August Naab shrugged his broad shoulders and pointed his horse to the cliff. It was dusk

They camped in the lee of an uplifting crag. When the wind died down the night was no longer unpleasantly

cool; and Hare, finding August Naab uncommunicative and sleepy, strolled along the rim of the cliff, as he

had been wont to do in the sheepherding days. He could scarcely dissociate them from the present, for the

bittersweet smell of tree and bush, the almost inaudible sigh of breeze, the opening and shutting of the great

white stars in the blue dome, the silence, the sense of the invisible void beneath himall were

thoughtprovoking parts of that past of which nothing could ever be forgotten. And it was a silence which

brought much to the ear that could hear. It was a silence penetrated by faint and distant sounds, by mourning

wolf, or moan of wind in a splintered crag. Weird and low, an inarticulate voice, it wailed up from the desert,

winding along the hollow trail, freeing itself in the wide air, and dying away. He had often heard the scream

of lion and cry of wildcat, but this was the strange sound of which August Naab had told him, the mysterious

Daylight showed Echo Cliffs to be of vastly greater range than the sister plateau across the river. The roll of

cedar level, the heave of craggy ridge, the dip of whitesage valley gave this side a diversity widely differing

from the two steps of the Vermillion tableland. August Naab followed a trail leading back toward the river.

For the most part thick cedars hid the surroundings from Hare's view; occasionally, however, he had a

backward glimpse from a high point, or a wide prospect below, where the trail overlooked an oval

About midday August Naab brushed through a thicket, and came abruptly on a declivity. He turned to his

"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 for a

hundred miles, farther than any white man knows, and everywhere, in the valleys and green nooks, will be

Hare's gaze travelled down over the tips of cedar and crag to a pleasant vale, dotted with round moundlike

whitestreaked hogans, from which lazy floating columns of blue smoke curled upward. Mustangs and

burros and sheep browsed on the white patches of grass. Brightred blankets blazed on the cedar branches.

There was slow colorful movement of Indians, passing in and out of their homes. The scene brought

irresistibly to Hare the thought of summer, of long warm afternoons, of leisure that took no stock of time.

On the way down the trail they encountered a flock of sheep driven by a little Navajo boy on a brown burro.

It was difficult to tell which was the more surprised, the longeared burro, which stood stockstill, or the

boy, who first kicked and pounded his shaggy steed, and then jumped off and ran with black locks flying.

Farther down Indian girls started up from their tasks, and darted silently into the shade of the cedars. August

Naab whooped when he reached the valley, and Indian braves appeared, to cluster round him, shake his hand

The hogans where these desert savages dwelt were all alike; only the chief's was larger. From without it

resembled a mound of clay with a few white logs, half imbedded, shining against the brick red. August Naab

drew aside a blanket hanging over a door, and entered, beckoning his companion to follow. Inured as Hare

had become to the smell and smart of woodsmoke, for a moment he could not see, or scarcely breathe, so

thick was the atmosphere. A fire, the size of which attested the desert Indian's love of warmth, blazed in the

middle of the hogan, and sent part of its smoke upward through a round hole in the roof. Eschtah, with

blanket over his shoulders, his lean black head bent, sat near the fire. He noted the entrance of his visitors, but

immediately resumed his meditative 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 wives presented great differences in age and appearance. The eldest was a wrinkled,

parchmentskinned old hag who sat sightless before the fire; the next was a solid square squaw, employed in

the task of combing a naked boy's hair with a comb made of stiff thin roots tied tightly in a round bunch.

Judging from the youngster's actions and grimaces, this combing 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, and holding in her hands a long oval stone, she rolled and

mashed corn into meal. There were young braves, handsome in their bronzeskinned way, with bands

binding their straight thick hair, silver rings in their ears, silver bracelets on their wrists, silver buttons on

their moccasins. There were girls who looked up from their blanketweaving with shy curiosity, and then

turned to their frames strung with long threads. Under their nimble fingers the woolcarrying needles slipped

in and out, and the colored stripes grew apace. Then there were younger boys and girls, all brighteyed and

curious; and babies sleeping on blankets. Where the walls and ceiling were not covered with buckskin

garments, weapons and blankets, Hare saw the white woodribs of the hogan structure. It was a work of art,

this circular house of forked logs and branches, interwoven into a dome, arched and strong, and all covered

At a touch of August's hand Hare turned to the old chief; and awaited his speech. It came with the uplifting of

Eschtah's head, and the offering of his hand in the white man's salute. August's replies were slow and labored;

"The White Prophet is welcome," was the chief's greeting. "Does he come for sheep or braves or to honor the

"Eschtah, he seeks the Flower of the Desert," replied August Naab. "Mescal has left him. Her trail leads to the

"She has climbed the crags or wandered into the canyons. The white father loves her; he must find her."

"Eschtah's braves and mustangs are for his friend's use. The Navajo will find her if she is not as the grain of

drifting sand. But is the White Prophet wise in his years? Let the Flower of the Desert take root in the soil of

"Eschtah's wisdom is great, but he thinks only of Indian blood. Mescal is half white, and her ways have been

"The desert has called. Where is the White Prophet's vision? White blood and red blood will not mix. The

Indian's blood pales in the white man'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 the Desert 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 for change; he believes in the progress of his race on earth. Therefore Eschtah'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

"The white man's ways are white man's ways. Eschtah understands. He remembers his daughter lying here.

He closed her dead eyes and sent word to his white friend. He named this child for the flower that blows in

the wind of silent places. Eschtah gave his granddaughter to his friend. She has been the bond between them.

Now she is flown and the White Father seeks the Navajo. Let him command. Eschtah has spoken."

Eschtah pressed into Naab's service a band of young braves, under the guidance of several warriors who

knew every trail of the range, every waterhole, every cranny where even a wolf might hide. They swept the

riverend of the plateau, and working westward, scoured the levels, ridges, valleys, climbed to the peaks, and

sent their Indian dogs into the thickets and caves. From Eschtah's encampment westward the hogans

diminished in number till only one here and there was discovered, hidden under a yellow wall, or amid a

clump of cedars. All the Indians met with were sternly questioned by the chiefs, their dwellings were

searched, and the ground about their waterholes was closely examined. Mile after mile the plateau was

covered by these Indians, who beat the brush and penetrated the fastnesses with a hunting instinct that left

scarcely a rabbitburrow unrevealed. The days sped by; the circle of the sun arched higher; the patches of

snow in high places disappeared; and the search proceeded westward. They camped where the night overtook

them, sometimes near water and grass, sometimes in bare dry places. To the westward the plateau widened.

Rugged ridges rose here and there, and seared crags split the sky like sharp sawteeth. And after many miles of

Naab's dogged persistence and the Navajos' faithfulness carried them into the country of the Moki Indians, a

tribe classed as slaves by the proud race of Eschtah. Here they searched the villages and ancient tombs and

Hare rode as diligently and searched as indefatigably as August, but he never had any real hope of finding the

girl. To hunt for her, however, despite its hopelessness, was a melancholy satisfaction, for never was she out

Nor was the month's hard riding with the Navajos without profit. He made friends with the Indians, and

learned to speak many of their words. Then a whole host of desert tricks became part of his accumulating

knowledge. In climbing the crags, in looking for water and grass, in loosing Silvermane at night and

searching for him at dawn, in marking tracks on hard ground, in all the sight and feeling and smell of desert

things he learned much from the Navajos. The whole outward life of the Indian was concerned with the

material aspect of Naturedust, rock, air, wind, smoke, the cedars, the beasts of the desert. These things

made up the Indians' day. The Navajos were worshippers of the physical; the sun was their supreme god. In

the mornings when the gray of dawn flushed to rosy red they began their chant to the sun. At sunset the

Navajos were watchful and silent with faces westward. The Moki Indians also, Hare observed, had their

morning service to the great giver of light. In the gloom of early dawn, before the pink appeared in the east,

and all was whitening gray, the Mokis emerged from their little mud and stone huts and sat upon the roofs

One day August Naab showed in few words how significant a factor the sun was in the lives of desert men.

"We've got to turn back," he said to Hare. "The sun's getting hot and the snow will melt in the mountains. If

They were two days in riding back to the encampment. Eschtah received them in dignified silence, expressive

of his regret. When their time of departure 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

"Mescal is there," said August Naab. "She's there with the slave Eschtah gave her. He leads Mescal. Who can

The old chieftain reined in his horse, beside the timehollowed trail, and the same hand that waved his white

friend downward swept up in slow stately gesture toward the illimitable expanse. It was a warrior's salute to

an unconquered world. Hare saw in his falcon eyes the still gleam, the brooding fire, the mystical passion that

"The slave without a tongue is a wolf. He scents the trails and the waters. Eschtah's eyes have grown old

watching here, but he has seen no Indian who could follow Mescal's slave. Eschtah will lie there, but no

Indian will know the path to the place of his sleep. Mescal's trail is lost in the sand. No man may find it.

To search for any living creatures in that borderless domain of colored dune, of shifting cloud of sand, of

purple curtain shrouding mesa and dome, appeared the vainest of all human endeavors. It seemed a veritable

rainbow realm of the sun. At first only the beauty stirred Harehe saw the copper belt close under the cliffs,

the white beds of alkali and washes of silt farther out, the windploughed canyons and dustencumbered

ridges ranging west and east, the scalloped slopes of the flat tableland rising low, the tips of volcanic peaks

leading the eye beyond to veils and vapors hovering over blue clefts and dim line of level lanes, and so on,

and on, out to the vast unknown. Then Hare grasped a little of its meaning. It was a sunpainted,

sungoverned world. Here was deep and majestic Nature eternal and unchangeable. But it was only through

Eschtah's eyes that he saw its parched slopes, its terrifying desolateness, its sleeping death.

When the old chieftain's lips opened Hare anticipated the austere speech, the import that meant only pain to

"The White Prophet's child of red blood is lost to him," said Eschtah. "The Flower of the Desert is as a grain

AUGUST NAAB hoped that Mescal might have returned in his absence; but to Hare such hope was vain. The

women of the oasis met them with gloomy faces presaging bad news, and they were reluctant to tell it.

Mescal's flight had been forgotten in the sterner and sadder misfortune that had followed.

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 himself in a stupor; then his store of drink failing, he had come out of his almost

senseless state into an insane frenzy. He had tried to kill his wife and wreck his cottage, being prevented in

the nick of time by Dave Naab, the only one of his brothers who dared approach him. Then he had ridden off

The Mormon put forth all his skill in surgery and medicine to save the life of his son's wife, but he admitted

that he had grave misgivings as to her recovery. But these in no manner affected his patience, gentleness, and

cheer. While there was life there was hope, said August Naab. He bade Hare, after he had rested awhile, to

It was a relief to leave the oasis, and Hare started the same day, and made Silver Cup that night. As he rode

under the lowbranching cedars toward the bright campfire he looked about him sharply. But not one of the

"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're you and dad? and did you find Mescal? I'll bet that desert child led you clear

"It's no more than we expected," said Dave. "The man doesn't live who can trail the peon. Mescal's like a

captured wild mustang that's slipped her halter and gone free. She'll die out there on the desert or turn into 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."

"Oh, nothing much," replied Dave, with a short laugh. "The cattle wintered well. We've had little to do but

hang round and watch. Zeke and I 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 with Holderness now, and he said that

Holderness had rebuilt the corrals at the spring; also he has put up a big cabin, and he has a dozen riders

there. Stube told us Snap had been shooting up White Sage. He finished up by killing Snood. They got into

"Yes, it seems that Snood took your part, and Snap wouldn't stand for it. Too bad! Snood was a good fellow.

There's no use talking, Snap's going too farhe is" Dave did not conclude his remark, and the silence was

"They've said a lot. This evenbreak business goes all right among gunfighters, but the Mormons call

"Jack, you can't be too careful. I've wanted to speak to you about it. Snap will ride in here some day and

And it was only on the third day after Dave's remark that Hare, riding down the mountain with a deer he had

shot, looked out from the trail and saw Snap's cream pinto trotting toward Silver Cup. Beside Snap rode a tall

man on a big bay. When Hare reached camp he reported to George and Zeke what he had seen, and learned in

reply that Dave had already caught sight of the horsemen, and had gone down to the edge of the cedars.

"It's Snap and Holderness," he called out, sharply "What's Snap doing with Holderness? What's he bringing

"Do? What can I do? I'm not going to run out of camp because of a visit from men who don't like me."

"Yes, and you're my friend, which Snap won't think of. Will you draw on Holderness, then?"

"For the life of me, Dave, I can't tell you," replied Hare, pacing the trail. "Something must break loose in me

before I can kill a man. I'd draw, I suppose, in selfdefence. But what good would it do me to pull too late?

Dave, this thing is what I've feared. I'm not afraid of Snap or Holderness, not that way. I mean I'm not ready.

Hare unbuckled his cartridgebelt, which held his Colt, and hung it over the pommel of his saddle; then he

Holderness and Snap appeared among the cedars, and trotting out into the glade reined in their mounts a few

paces from the fire. Dave Naab stood directly before Hare, and George and Zeke stepped aside.

"Howdy, boys?" called out Holderness, with a smile, which was like a gleam of light playing on a frozen

lake. His amber eyes were steady, their gaze contracted into piercing yellow points. Dave studied the

"I'm Holderness's new foreman. We're just looking round," replied Snap. The hard lines, the sullen shade the

hawkbeak cruelty had returned tenfold to his face and his glance was like a living, leaping flame.

"New foreman!" exclaimed Dave. His jaw dropped and he stared in amazement. "Noyou can't mean

"You're a liar!" shouted Dave, a crimson blot blurring with the brown on his cheeks. He jumped off the

"It's true, Naab; he's my new foreman," put in Holderness, suavely. "A hundred a monthin goldand I've

"Well, by Gd!" Dave's arms came down and his face blanched to his lips. "Holderness!"

"But stop it. I know you're game. And what's the use of fighting? I'm talking business. I'll"

"You can't talk business or anything else to me," said Dave Naab, and he veered sharply toward his brother.

"Then you're a drunken, easilyled fool. This man's no rancher. He's a rustler. He ruined Martin Cole, the

father of your first wife. He's stolen our cattle; he's jumped our waterrights. He's trying to break us. For

"Things have gone bad for me," replied Snap, sullenly, shifting in his saddle. "I reckon I'll do better to cut out

"You crooked cur! But you're only my halfbrother, after all. I always knew you'd come to something bad,

but I never thought you'd disgrace the Naabs and break your father's heart. Now then, what do you want here?

Be quick. This's our range and you and your boss can't ride here. You can't even water your horses. Out with

At this, Hare, who had been so absorbed as to forget himself, suddenly felt a cold tightening of the skin of his

face, and a hard swell of his breast. The dance of Snap's eyes, the downward flit of his hand seemed

instantaneous with a red flash and loud report. Instinctively Hare dodged, but the light impact of something

like a puff of air gave place to a tearing hot agony. Then he slipped down, back to the stone, with a bloody

Dave leaped with tigerish agility, and knocking up the levelled Colt, held Snap as in a vise. George Naab

gave Holderness's horse a sharp kick which made the mettlesome beast jump so suddenly that his rider was

Dave Naab flung Snap backward, almost off his horse. "Dn you! run, or I'll kill you. And you, Holderness!

Remember! If we ever meet againyou draw!" He tore a branch from a cedar and slashed both horses. They

plunged out of the glade, and clattering over the stones, brushing the cedars, disappeared. Dave groped

"Zeke, this's awful. Another murder by Snap! And my friend! . . . Who's to tell father?"

Then Hare sat up, leaning against the stone, his shirt open and his bare shoulder bloody; his face was pale, but

"Sure he's not," said Zeke. "He ducked none too soon, or too late, and caught the bullet high up in the

Dave sat down very quietly without a word, and the hand he laid on Hare's knee shook a little.

"When I saw George go for his gun," went on Zeke, "I knew there'd be a lively time in a minute if it wasn't

"No doubt," replied Dave, lifting his face and wiping the sweat from his brow. "I knew that from the first, but

I was so dazed by Snap's going over to Holderness that I couldn't keep my wits, and I didn't mark Snap

"It's Billy, up on the home trail," added George "Yes, and there's father with him. Good Lord, must we tell

August Naab galloped into the glade, and swung himself out of the saddle. "I heard a shot. What's this?

"Let me see," August thrust Zeke aside. "A bulletholejust missed the bonenot serious. Tie it up tight.

"Snap! Already? Yet I knew itI saw it. You had Providence with you, lad, for this wound is not bad. Snap

"Jack hung his belt and gun on Silvermane's saddle," said Dave. "He didn't feel as if he could draw on either

"Yes. Snap rode in with Holderness. Hare thought if he was unarmed they wouldn't draw. But Snap did."

"No. They came over to kill Hare." Dave went on to recount the incident in full. "Andand see here,

Dave Naab hid his face while he told of his brother's treachery; the others turned away, and Hare closes his

For long moments there was silence broken only by the tramp of the old man as he strode heavily to and fro.

At last the footsteps ceased, and Hare opened his eyes to see Naab's tall form erect, his arms uplifted, his

"Hare," began August, presently. "I'm responsible for this cowardly attack on you. I brought you out here.

This is the second one. Beware of the third! I seebut tell me, do you remember that I said you must meet

"Then why do you let yourself be shot down in cold blood? Why did you hang up your gun? Why didn't you

"Partly, but not altogether," replied Hare, slowly. "I didn't know before what I know now. My flesh sickened

"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 a sheep! If you have felt duty to me, I release you."

Zeke finished bandaging the wound. Making a bed of blankets he lifted Hare into it, and covered him,

cautioning him to lie still. Hare had a sensation of extreme lassitude, a deep drowsiness which permeated

even to his bones. There were intervals of oblivion, then a time when the stars blinked in his eyes; he heard

the wind, Silvermane's bell, the murmur of voices, yet all seemed remote from him, intangible as things in a

He rode home next day, drooping in the saddle and fainting at the end of the trail, with the strong arm of

August Naab upholding him. His wound was dressed and he was put to bed, where he lay sleeping most of

In three weeks he was in the saddle again, riding out over the red strip of desert toward the range. During his

convalescence he had learned that he had come to the sombre line of choice. Either he must deliberately back

away, and show his unfitness to survive in the desert, or he must step across into its dark wilds. The stern

question haunted him. Yet he knew a swift decision waited on the crucial moment.

He sought lonely rides more than ever, and, like Silvermane, he was always watching and listening. His

duties carried him half way to Seeping Springs, across the valley to the red wall, up the slope of Coconina far

into the forest of stately pines. What with Silvermane's wonderful scent and sight, and his own constant

watchfulness, there were never rangeriders or wild horses nor even deer near him without his knowledge.

The days flew by; spring had long since given place to summer; the blaze of sun and blast of flying sand were

succeeded by the cooling breezes from the mountain; October brought the flurries of snow and November the

Hare was the last of the riders to be driven off the mountain. The brothers were waiting for him at Silver Cup,

August Naab listened to the details of the rangeriding since his absence, with silent surprise. Holderness and

Snap had kept away from Silver Cup after the supposed killing of Hare. Occasionally a group of horsemen

rode across the valley or up a trail within sight of Dave and his followers, but there was never a meeting. Not

a steer had been driven off the range that summer and fall; and except for the menace always hanging in the

blue smoke over Seeping Springs the rangeriding had passed without unusual incident.

So for Hare the months had gone by swiftly; though when he looked back afterward they seemed years. The

winter at the oasis he filled as best he could, with the children playing in the yard, with Silvermane under the

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 time oppressed him, and the memories of the past hurt him. A glimpse of the red

sunset through the cliffgate toward the west would start the train of thought; he both loved and hated the

Painted Desert. Mescal was there in the purple shadows. He dreamed of her in the glowing embers of the

logfire. 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 of the room, silent, with bowed head, while the man to whom she was pledged hung

close over her. That memory had a sting. It was like a spark of fire dropped on the wound in his breast where

the deserthawk had struck him. It was like a light gleaming on the sombre line he was waiting to cross.

ON the anniversary of the night Mescal disappeared the mysterious voice which had called to Hare so often

and so strangely again pierced his slumber, and brought him bolt upright in his bed shuddering and listening.

The dark room was as quiet as a tomb. He fell back into his blankets trembling with emotion. Sleep did not

close his eyes again that night; he lay in a fever waiting for the dawn, and when the gray gloom lightened he

The old man looked up from his carpenter's task and fastened his glance on Hare. "Mescal?"

"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 back you'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 saddlebag with grain, another with meat, bread, and dried fruits,

strapped a fivegallon leather watersack back of Silvermane's saddle, and set out toward the river. At the

crossingbar he removed Silvermane's equipments and placed them in the boat. At that moment a long howl,

as of a dog baying the moon, startled him from his musings, and his eyes sought the riverbank, up and

down, and then the opposite side. An animal, which at first he took to be a gray timberwolf, was running

The beast sat down on his haunches and, lifting a lean head, sent up a doleful howl. Then he began trotting

along the bar, every few paces stepping to the edge of the water. Presently he spied Hare, and he began to

"It's a dog all right; wants to get across," said Hare. "Where have I seen him?"

Suddenly he sprang to his feet, almost upsetting the boat. "He's like Mescal's Wolf!" He looked closer, his

The dog leaped straight up in the air, and coming down, began to dash back and forth along the sand with

"It's Wolf! Mescal must be near," cried Hare. A veil obscured his sight, and every vein was like a hot cord.

With trembling hands he tied Silvermane's bridle to the stern seat of the boat and pushed off. In his eagerness

he rowed too hard, dragging Silvermane's nose under water, and he had to check himself. Time and again he

turned to call to the dog. At length the bow grated on the sand, and Silvermane emerged with a splash and a

"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, and breaking away, ran up the sandy trail, and back again. But he barked no

"All right, Wolfcoming." Never had Hare saddled so speedily, nor mounted so quickly. He sent

Silvermane into the willowskirted trail close behind the dog, up on the rocky bench, and then under the

bulging wall. Wolf reached the level between the canyon and Echo Cliffs, and then started straight west

toward the Painted Desert. He trotted a few rods and turned to see if the man was coming.

Doubt, fear, uncertainty ceased for Hare. With the first blast of dustscented 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 old mysterious

promise of the desert had at last begun its fulfilment. He gave one sharp exultant answer to that call. The

horizon, everwidening, lay before him, and the treeless plains, the sunscorched slopes, the sandy stretches,

the massed blocks of black mesas, all seemed to welcome him; his soul sang within him.

For Mescal was there. Far away she must be, a mere grain of sand in all that world of drifting sands, perhaps

ill, perhaps hurt, but alive, waiting for him, calling for him, crying out with a voice that no distance could

silence. He did not see the sharp peaks as pitiless barriers, nor the mesas and domes as blackfaced death, nor

the moisturedrinking sands as lifesucking foes to plant and beast and man. That painted wonderland had

sheltered Mescal for a year. He had loved it for its color, its change, its secrecy; he loved it now because it

had not been a grave for Mescal, but a home. Therefore he laughed at the deceiving yellow distances in the

foreground of glistening mesas, at the deceiving purple distances of the faroff horizon. The wind blew a

song in his ears; the dry desert odors were fragrance in his nostrils; the sand tasted sweet between his teeth,

and the quivering heatwaves, veiling the desert in transparent haze, framed beautiful pictures for his eyes.

Wolf kept to the fore for some thirty paces, and though he had ceased to stop, 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, but he had

given his eyes mostly to the broken line of sky and desert in the west, to the receding contour of Echo Cliffs,

to the spread and break of the desert near at hand. Here and there life showed itself in a gaunt coyote

sneaking into the cactus, or a horned toad huddling down in the dust, or a jeweleyed lizard sunning himself

upon a stone. It was only when his excited fancy had cooled that Hare came to look closely at Wolf. But for

the dog's color he could not have been distinguished from a real wolf. His head and ears and tail drooped, and

Hare halted in the shade of a stone, dismounted and called the dog to him. Wolf returned without quickness,

without eagerness, without any of the oldtime friendliness of shepherding days. His eyes were sad and

strange. Hare felt a sudden foreboding, but rejected it with passionate force. Yet a chill remained. Lifting

Wolf's paw he discovered that the ball of the foot was worn through; whereupon he called into service a piece

of buckskin, and fashioning a rude moccasin he tied it round the foot. Wolf licked his hand, but there was no

change in the sad light of his 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 that foot I think you've turned back on a

Again they faced the west, dog leading, man following, and addressed themselves to a gradual ascent. When

it had been surmounted Hare realized that his ride so far had brought him only through an anteroom; the real

portal now stood open to the Painted Desert. The immensity of 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 desert enveloped him, a

As he descended into the valley, keeping close to Wolf, he marked a straight course in line with a volcanic

spur. He was surprised when the dog, though continually threading jumbles of rock, heading canyons,

crossing deep washes, and going round obstructions, always veered back to this bearing as true as a

Hare felt the air growing warmer and closer as he continued the descent. By midafternoon, when he had

travelled perhaps thirty miles, he was moist from head to foot, and Silvermane's coat was wet. Looking

backward Hare had a blank feeling of loss; the sweeping line of Echo Cliffs had retreated behind the horizon.

Sunset brought him to a standstill, as much from its sudden glorious gathering of brilliant crimsons splashed

with gold, as from its warning that the day was done. Hare made his camp beside a stone which would serve

as a windbreak. He laid his saddle for a pillow and his blanket for a bed. He gave Silvermane a nosebag

full of water and then one of grain; he fed the dog, and afterward attended to his own needs. When his task

was done the desert brightness had faded to gray; the warm air had blown away on a cool breeze, and night

approached. He scooped out a little hollow in the sand for his hips, took a last look at Silvermane haltered to

the rock, and calling Wolf to his side stretched himself to rest. He was used to lying on the ground, under the

open sky, out where the wind blew and the sand seeped in, yet all these were different on this night. He was

in the Painted Desert; Wolf crept close to him; Mescal lay somewhere under the bluewhite stars.

He awakened and arose before any color of dawn hinted of the day. While he fed his fourfooted companions

the sky warmed and lightened. A tinge of rose gathered in the east. The air was cool and transparent. He tried

Hare vaulted into the saddle. The day had its possibilities, and while he had sobered down from his first

unthinking exuberance, there was still a ring in his voice as he called to the dog:

Out of the east burst the sun, and the gray curtain was lifted by shafts of pink and white and gold, flashing

When they started the actions of the dog showed Hare that Wolf was not tracking a backtrail, but travelling

by instinct. There were draws which necessitated a search for a crossing, and areas of broken rock which had

to be rounded, and steep flat mesas rising in the path, and strips of deep sand and canyons impassable for

long distances. But the dog always found a way and always came back to a line with the black spur that Hare

had marked. It still stood in sharp relief, no nearer than before, receding with every step, an illusive landmark,

Then quite suddenly it vanished in the ragged blue mass of the Ghost Mountains. Hare had seen them several

times, though never so distinctly. The purple tips, the bold rockribs, the shadowed canyons, so sharp and

clear in the morning lighthow impossible to believe that these were only the deceit of the desert mirage!

The splintered desertfloor merged into an area of sand. Wolf slowed his trot, and Silvermane's hoofs sunk

deep. Dismounting Hare labored beside him, and felt the heat steal through his boots and burn the soles of his

feet. Hare plodded onward, stopping once to tie another moccasin on Wolf's worn paw, this time the left one;

and often he pulled the stopper from the waterbag and cooled his parching lips and throat. The waves of the

sanddunes were as the waves of the ocean. He did not look backward, dreading to see what little progress he

had made. Ahead were miles on miles of graceful heaps, swelling mounds, crested ridges, all different, yet

regular and rhythmical, drift on drift, dune on dune, in endless waves. Wisps of sand were whipped from their

summits in white ribbons and wreaths, and pale clouds of sand shrouded little hollows. The morning breeze,

rising out of the west, approached in a rippling lines like the crest of an inflowing tide.

Silvermane snorted, lifted his ears and looked westward toward a yellow pall which swooped up from the

"Sandstorm," said Hare, and calling Wolf he made for the nearest rock that was large enough to shelter

them. The whirling sandcloud mushroomed into an enormous desert covering, engulfing the dunes,

obscuring the light. The sunlight failed; the day turned to gloom. Then an eddying fog of sand and dust

enveloped Hare. His last glimpse be fore he covered his face with a silk handkerchief was of sheets of sand

streaming past his shelter. The storm came with a low, soft, hissing roar, like the sound in a seashell

magnified. Breathing through the handkerchief Hare avoided inhaling the sand which beat against his face,

but the finer dust particles filtered through and stifled him. At first he felt that he would suffocate, and he

coughed and gasped; but presently, when the thicker sandclouds had passed, he managed to get air enough

to breathe. Then he waited patiently while the steady seeping rustle swept by, and the band of his hat sagged

heavier, and the load on his shoulders had to be continually shaken off, and the weighty trap round his feet

crept upward. When the light, fine touch ceased he removed the covering from his face to see himself

standing nearly to his knees in sand, and Silvermane's back and the saddle burdened with it. The storm was

moving eastward, a dull red now with the sun faintly showing through it like a ball of fire.

"Well, Wolf, old boy, how many storms like that will we have to weather?" asked Hare, in a cheery tone

which he had to force. He knew these sandstorms were but vagaries of the desertwind. Before the hour

closed 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 was compelled to turn his back to a third storm, the worst of all, and to bear as best

he could the heavy impact of the first blow, and the succeeding rush and flow of sand. After that his head

drooped and he wearily trudged beside Silvermane, dreading the interminable distance he must cover before

once more gaining hard ground. But he discovered that it was useless to try to judge distance on the desert.

It was good to get into the saddle again and face clear air. Far away the black spur again loomed up, now

surrounded by groups of mesas with sageslopes tinged with green. That surely meant the end of this long

trail; the faint spots of green lent suggestion of a desert waterhole; there Mescal must be, hidden in some

So he pressed on down a plain of bare rock dotted by huge bowlders; and out upon a level floor of scant sage

and greasewood where a few living creatures, a deserthawk sailing low, lizards darting into holes, and a

swiftly running groundbird, emphasized the lack of life in the waste. He entered a zone of claydunes of

violet and heliotrope hues; and then a belt of lava and cactus. Reddish points studded the desert, and here and

there were meagre patches of white grass. Far away myriads of cactus plants showed like a troop of distorted

horsemen. As he went on the grass failed, and streams of jagged lava flowed downward. Beds of cinders told

of the fury of a volcanic fire. Soon Hare had to dismount to make moccasins for Wolf's hind feet; and to lead

Silvermane carefully over the cracked lava. For a while there were strips of ground bare of lava and harboring

only an occasional bunch of cactus, but soon every foot free of the reddish iron bore a projecting mass of

fierce spikes and thorns. The huge barrelshaped cacti, and thickets of slender darkgreen rods with bayonet

points, and broad leaves with yellow spines, drove Hare and his sorefooted fellowtravellers to the lava.

Hare thought there must be an end to it some time, yet it seemed as though he were never to cross that black

forbidding inferno. Blistered by the heat, pierced by the thorns, lame from long toil on the lava, he was sorely

spent when once more he stepped out upon the bare desert. On pitching camp he made the grievous discovery

that the waterbag had leaked or the water had evaporated, for there was only enough left for one more day.

He ministered to thirsty dog and horse in silence, his mind revolving the grim fact of his situation.

His little fire of greasewood threw a wan circle into the surrounding blackness. Not a sound hinted of life. He

longed for even the bark of a coyote. Silvermane stooped motionless with tired head. Wolf stretched limply

on the sand. Hare rolled into his blanket and stretched out with slow aching relief.

He dreamed he was a boy roaming over the green hills of the old farm, wading through dewy cloverfields,

and fishing in the Connecticut River. It was the long vacationtime, an endless freedom. Then he was at the

swimminghole, and playmates tied his clothes in knots, and with shouts of glee ran up the bank leaving him

When he awakened the blazing globe of the sun had arisen over the eastern horizon, and the red of the desert

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 as

leakage did not claim, and so he shared alike with Wolf, and gave the rest to Silvermane.

For an hour the mocking lilac mountains hung in the air and then paled in the intense light. The day was

soundless and windless, and the heatwaves rose from the desert like smoke. For Hare the realities were the

baked clay flats, where Silvermane broke through at every step; the beds of alkali, which sent aloft clouds of

powdered dust; the deep gullies full of round bowlders; thickets of mesquite and prickly thorn which tore at

his legs; the weary detour to head the canyons; the climb to get between two bridging mesas; and always the

haunting presence of the sadeyed dog. His unrealities were the shimmering sheets of water in every low

place; the baseless mountains floating in the air; the green slopes rising close at hand; beautiful buttes of dark

blue riding the open sand, like monstrous barks at sea; the changing outlines of desert shapes in pink haze and

veils of purple and white lustreall illusions, all mysterious tricks of the mirage.

In the heat of midday Hare yielded to its influence and reined in his horse under a slatebank where there was

shade. His face was swollen and peeling, 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 the saddle. His eyes burned in their sockets

from the glare, and it was a relief to shut out the barren reaches. So the afternoon waned.

Silvermane stumbled, jolting Hare out of his stupid lethargy. Before him spread a great field of bowlders with

not a slope or a ridge or a mesa or an escarpment. Not even a tip of a spur rose in the background. He rubbed

When Silvermane started onward Hare thought of the Navajos' custom to trust horse and dog in such an

emergency. They were desertbred; beyond human understanding were their sight and scent. He was at the

mercy now of Wolf's instinct and Silvermane's endurance. Resignation brought him a certain calmness of

soul, cold as the touch of an icy hand on fevered cheek. He remembered the desert secret in Mescal's eyes; he

was about to solve it. He remembered August Naab's words: "It's a man's deed!" If so, he had achieved the

spirit of it, if not the letter. He remembered Eschtah's tribute to the wilderness of painted wastes: "There is the

grave of the Navajo, and no one knows the trail to the place of his sleep!" He remembered the something

evermore about to be, the unknown always subtly calling; now it was revealed in the stonefettering grip of

the desert. It had opened wide to him, bright with its face of danger, beautiful with its painted windows,

inscrutable with its alluring call. Bidding him enter, it had closed behind him; now he looked upon it in its

THE gray stallion, finding the rein loose on his neck, trotted forward and overtook the dog, and thereafter

followed at his heels. With the setting of the sun a slight breeze stirred, and freshened as twilight fell, rolling

For a while this blackness soothed the pain of Hare's sunblinded eyes. It was a relief to have the unattainable

horizon line blotted out. But byandby the opaque gloom brought home to him, as the day had never done,

the reality of his solitude. He was alone in this immense place of barrenness, and his dumb companions were

the world to him. Wolf pattered onward, a silent guide; and Silvermane followed, never lagging, surefooted

in the dark, faithful to his master. All the love Hare had borne the horse was as nothing to that which came to

him on this desert night. In and out, round and round, ever winding, ever zigzagging, Silvermane hung close

to Wolf, and the sandy lanes between the bowlders gave forth no sound. Dog and horse, free to choose their

A pale light in the east turned to a glow, then to gold, and the round disc of the moon silhouetted the black

bowlders on the horizon. It cleared the dotted line and rose, an oval orangehued strange moon, not mellow

nor silvery nor gloriously brilliant as Hare had known it in the past, but a vast deadgold melancholy orb,

rising sadly over the desert. To Hare it was the crowning reminder of lifelessness; it fitted this world of dull

Silvermane went lame and slackened his trot, causing Hare to rein in and dismount. He lifted the right

forefoot, the one the horse had favored, and found a stone imbedded tightly in the cloven hoof. He pried it out

with his knife and mounted again. Wolf shone faintly far ahead, and presently he uttered a mournful cry

which sent a chill to the rider's heart. The silence had been oppressive before; now it was terrible. It was not a

silence of life. It had been broken suddenly by Wolf's howl, and had closed sharply after it, without echo; it

Hare took care not to fall behind Wolf again, he had no wish to hear that cry repeated. The dog moved

onward with silent feet; the horse wound after him with hoofs padded in the sand; the moon lifted and the

desert gleamed; the bowlders grew larger and the lanes wider. So the night wore on, and Hare's eyelids grew

heavy, and his whole weary body cried out for rest and forgetfulness. He nodded until he swayed in the

saddle; then righted himself, only to doze again. The east gave birth to the morning star. The whitening sky

was the harbinger of day. Hare could not bring himself to face the light and heat, and he stopped at a

windworn cave under a shelving rock. He was asleep when he rolled out on the sandstrewn floor. Once he

awoke and it was still day, for his eyes quickly shut upon the glare. He lay sweltering till once more slumber

claimed him. The dog awakened him, with cold nose and low whine. Another twilight had fallen. Hare

crawled out, stiff and sore, hungry and parching with thirst. He made an attempt to eat, but it was a failure.

There was a dry burning in his throat, a dizzy feeling in his brain, and there were red flashes before his eyes.

Wolf refused meat, and Silvermane turned from the grain, and lowered his head to munch a few blades of

Then the journey began, and the night fell black. A cool wind blew from the west, the white stars blinked, the

weird moon rose with its ghastly glow. Huge bowlders rose before him in grotesque shapes, tombs and pillars

and statues of Nature's dead, carved by wind and sand. But some had life in Hare's disordered fancy. They

loomed and towered over him, and stalked abroad and peered at him with deepset eyes.

Hare fought with all his force against this mood of gloom. Wolf was not a phantom; he trotted forward with

unerring instinct; and he would find water, and that meant life. Silvermane, desertsteeled, would travel to

the furthermost corner of this hell of sandswept stone. Hare tried to collect all his spirit, all his energies, but

the battle seemed to be going against him. All about him was silence, breathless silence, insupportable silence

of ages. Desert spectres danced in the darkness. The wornout moon gleamed golden over the wornout

Hare rode on into the night, tumbled from his saddle in the gray of dawn to sleep, and stumbled in the

twilight to his drooping horse. His eyes were blind now to the desert shapes, his brain burned and his tongue

filled his mouth. Silvermane trod ever upon Wolf's heels; he had come into the kingdom of his

desertstrength; he lifted his drooping head and lengthened his stride; weariness had gone and he snorted his

welcome to something 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 upon flinty rock. Whether he went down or up was all the same to Hare; he held on with

closed eyes and whispered to himself. Down and down, step by step, cracking the stones with ironshod

hoofs, the gray stallion worked his perilous way, surefooted as a mountainsheep. Then he stopped with a

The black bulge of a canyon rim blurred in Hare's hot eyes. A trickling sound penetrated his tired brain. His

ears had grown like his eyes false. Only another delusion! As he had been tortured with the sight of lake

and stream now he was to be tortured with the sound of running water. Yet he listened, for it was sweet even

in its mockery. What a clear musical tinkle, like silver bells tossing on the wind! He listened. Soft murmuring

Suddenly Silvermane, lifting his head, broke the silence of the canyon with a great sigh of content. It pierced

the dull fantasy of Hare's mind; it burst the gloomy spell. The sigh and the snort which followed were

Hare fell from the saddle. The gray dog lay stretched low in the darkness. Hare crawled beside him and

reached out with his hot hands. Smooth cool marble rock, growing slippery, then wet, led into running water.

He slid forward on his face and wonderful cold thrills quivered over 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 with the

When he awoke red canyon walls leaned far above him to a gap spanned by blue sky. A song of rushing

water murmured near his ears. He looked down; a spring gushed from a crack in the wall; Silvermane

cropped green bushes, and Wolf sat on his haunches waiting, but no longer with sad eyes and strange mien.

Hare raised himself, looking again and again, and slowly gathered his wits. The crimson blur had gone from

his eyes and the burning from his skin, and the painful swelling from his tongue.

He drank long and deeply, and rising with clearing thoughts and thankful heart, he kissed Wolf's white head,

and laid his arms round Silvermane's neck. He fed them, and ate himself, not without difficulty, for his lips

were 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 gravelly stream bed. Hare followed on foot, leading

Silvermane. There were little beds of pebbles and beaches of sand and short steps down which the water

babbled. The canyon was narrow and tortuous; Hare could not see ahead or below, for the projecting red

cliffs, growing higher as he descended, walled out the view. The blue stream of sky above grew bluer and the

light and shade less bright. For an hour he went down steadily without a check, and the farther down the

rougher grew the way. Bowlders wedged in narrow places made foaming waterfalls. Silvermane clicked

The slender stream of water, swelled by seeping springs and little rills, gained the dignity of a brook; it began

to dash merrily and hurriedly downward. The depth of the falls, the height of cliffs, and the size of the

bowlders increased in the descent. Wolf splashed on unmindful; there was a new spirit in his movements; and

when he looked back for his laboring companions there was friendly protest in his eyes. Silvermane's mien

plainly showed that where a dog could go he could follow. Silvermane's blood was heated; the desert was an

old story to him; it had only tired him and parched his throat; this canyon of downward steps and falls, with

everdeepening drops, was new to him, and roused his mettle; and from his long training in the wilds he had

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 to be seen when Hare threw back his head and stared straight up.

"It'll be easier climbing up, Silvermane," he panted"if we ever get the chance."

The sand and gravel and shale had disappeared; all was bare cleanwashed rock. In many places the brook

failed as a trail, for it leaped down in white sheets over mossy cliffs. Hare faced these walls in despair. But

Wolf led on over the ledges and Silvermane followed, nothing daunted. At last Hare shrank back from a hole

which defied him utterly. Even Wolf hesitated. The canyon was barely twenty feet wide; the floor ended in a

precipice; the stream leaped out and fell into a dark cleft from which no sound arose. On the right there was a

shelf of rock; it was scarce half a foot broad at the narrowest and then apparently vanished altogether. Hare

While he hesitated Wolf pattered out upon the ledge and Silvermane stamped restlessly. With a desperate fear

of losing his beloved horse Hare let go the bridle and stepped upon the ledge. He walked rapidly, for a slow

step meant uncertainty and a false one meant death. He heard the sharp ring of Silvermane's shoes, and he

listened in agonized suspense for the slip, the snort, the crash that he feared must come. But it did not come.

Seeing nothing except the narrow ledge, yet feeling the blue abyss beneath him, he bent all his mind to his

task, and finally walked out into lighter space upon level rock. To his infinite relief Silvermane appeared

The canyon widened; there was a clear demarcation where the red walls gave place to yellow; the brook

showed no outlet from its subterranean channel. Sheer exhaustion made Hare almost forget his mission; the

strength of his resolve had gone into mechanical toil; he kept on, conscious only of the smart of bruised hands

Time went on and the sun hung in the midst of the broadening belt of blue sky. A long slant of yellow slope

led down to a sagecovered level, which Hare crossed, pleased to see blooming cacti and wondering at their

slender lofty green stems shining with gold flowers. He descended into a ravine which became precipitous.

Here he made only slow advance. At the bottom he found himself in a wonderful lane with an almost level

floor; here flowed a shallow stream bordered by green willows. Wolf took the direction of the flowing water.

Hare's thoughts were all of Mescal, and his hopes began to mount, his heart to beat high.

He gazed ahead with straining eyes. Presently there was not a break in the walls. A drowsy hum of falling

water came to Hare, strange reminder of the oasis, the dull roar of the Colorado, and of Mescal.

His flagging energies leaped into life with the canyon suddenly opening to bright light and blue sky and

beautiful valley, white and gold in blossom, green with grass and cottonwood. On a flowerscented wind

Wolf dashed into the cottonwoods. Silvermane whistled with satisfaction and reached for the long grass.

For Hare the light held something more than beauty, the breeze something more than sweet scent of water

With a cry she ran to him, her arms outstretched, her hair flying in the wind, her dark eyes wild with joy.

FOR an instant Hare's brain reeled, and Mescal's broken murmurings were meaningless Then his faculties

grew steady and acute; he held the girl as if he intended never to let her go. Mescal clung to him with a

wildness that gave him anxiety for her reason; there was something almost fierce in the tension of her arms,

At the sound of his voice all her rigid strength changed to a yielding weakness; she leaned back supported by

his arms and looked at him. Hare trembled before the dusky level glance he remembered so well, and as tears

began to flow he drew her head to his shoulder. He had forgotten to prepare himself for a different Mescal.

Despite the quivering smile of happiness, her eyes were strained with pain. The oval contour, the rich bloom

of her face had gone; beauty was there still, but it was the ghost of the old beauty.

"There's much to tell, but not before you kiss me. It has been more than a year."

"Yes, a year. But it's past now. Kiss me, Mescal. One kiss will pay for that long year, though it broke my

Shyly she raised her hands to his shoulders and put her lips to his. "Yes, you've found me, Jack, thank God!

"Wait. I'm not so hungry now. I mean very soon I should not have had any food at all."

"But your peonthe dumb Indian? Surely he could find something to eat. What of him? Where is he?"

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 little hogan skilfully constructed out of brush; the edge of a red blanket peeped from

the door; a burntout fire smoked on a stone fireplace, and blackened earthen vessels lay near. The white

seeds of the cottonwoods were flying light as feathers; plumtrees were pink in blossom; there were vines

twining all about; through the openings in the foliage shone the blue of sky and red of cliff. Patches of

blossoming Bowers were here and there lit to brilliance by golden shafts of sunlight. The twitter of birds and

"We are almost at the Colorado, and directly under the head of Coconina. We can see the mountain from the

Then Mescal told him how the peon had led her on a long trail from Bitter Seeps, how they had camped at

"I was quite happy at first. It's always summer down here. There were rabbits, birds, beaver, and fruitwe

had enough to eat I explored the valley with Wolf or rode Noddle up and down the canyon. Then my peon

died, and I had to shift for myself. There came a time when the beaver left the valley, and Wolf and I had to

make a rabbit serve for days. I knew then I'd have to get across the desert to the Navajos or starve in the

canyon. I hesitated about climbing out into the desert, for I wasn't sure of the trail to the waterholes. Noddle

wandered off up the canyon and never came back. After he was gone and I knew I couldn't get out I grew

homesick. The days weren't so bad because I was always hunting for something to eat, but the nights were

lonely. I couldn't sleep. I lay awake listening to the river, and at last I could hear whispering and singing and

music, and strange sounds, and low thunder, always low thunder. I wasn't really frightened, only lonely, and

the canyon was so black and full of mutterings. Sometimes I'd dream I was back on the plateau with you,

Jack, and Bolly and the sheep, and when I'd awake in the loneliness I'd cry right out"

"It was strangethe way I felt. I believe if I'd never known andand loved you, Jack, I'd have forgotten

home. After I'd been here a while, I seemed to be drifting, drifting. It was as if I had lived in the canyon long

before, and was remembering. The feeling was strong, but always thoughts of you, and of the big world,

brought me back to the present with its loneliness and fear of starvation. Then I wanted you, and I'd cry out. I

knew I must send Wolf home. How hard it was to make him go! But at last he trotted off, looking backward,

She leaned against him. The hand which had plucked at his sleeve dropped to his fingers and clung there.

Hare knew how her story had slighted the perils and privations of that long year. She had grown lonely in the

canyon darkness; she had sent Wolf away and had waitedall was said in that. But more than any speech,

the look of her, and the story told in the thin brown hands touched his heart. Not for an instant since his

arrival 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 moving shadows and murmuring water, that she needed to feel the substance of her

"Bolly's fine. Sleek and fat and lazy! She's been in the fields ever since you left. Not a bridle on her. Many

times have I seen her poke her black muzzle over the fence and look down the lane. She'd never forget you,

"Well, Mescal, it's soon told." Then came the story of events growing out of her flight. When he told of the

"It was nothingI wasn't hurt much. Only the intention was bad. We saw no more of Snap or Holderness.

"Oh, I am sorrysorry. Poor Father Naab! How he must hate me, the cause of it all! But I couldn't stayI

"Don't blame yourself, Mescal. What Snap might have done if you had married 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. Snap

would have gone over to Holderness sooner or later. And now he's a rustler, if not worse."

"Jack, it's no laughing matter." She fastened her hands in the lapels of his coat and her eyes grew sad. "You

"No. But perhaps I can keep out of their way, especially Snap's. Mescal, you've forgotten Silvermane, and

"I haven't forgotten. He can run, but he can't beat Bolly." She said this with a hint of her old spirit.

"I didn't expect. I just wanted to see you, or somebody, and I thought of the Navajos. Couldn't I live with

them? Why can't we stay here or in a canyon across the Colorado where there's plenty of game?"

Startled, Mescal fell back upon his shoulder and did not stir nor speak for a long time. "Diddid you tell

"He was kind and good as he always is. He said if I found you, then the issue would be between Snap and me,

as man to man. You are still pledged to Snap in the Mormon Church and that can't be changed. I don't

"Snap will not let any grass grow in the trails to the oasis," said Mescal. "Once he finds I've come back to life

"My dear, there's no other place for us to go. We can't live the life of Indians."

"But Jack, think of me watching you ride out from home! Think of me always looking for Snap! I couldn't

"Mescal, look at me." His voice rang as he held her face to face. "We must decide everything. Nowsay you

"Then listen. I'll get you out of this canyon and take you home. You are mine and I'll keep you." He held her

tightly with strong arms; his face paled, his eyes darkened. "I don't want to meet Snap Naab. I shall try to

keep out of his way. I hope I can. But Mescal, I'm yours now. Your happinessperhaps your lifedepends

Silvermane walked into the glade with a saddlegirth so tight that his master unbuckled it only by dint of

repeated effort. Evidently the rich grass of Thunder River Canyon appealed strongly to the desert stallion.

"Here, Silver, how do you expect to carry us out if you eat and drink like that?" Hare removed the saddle and

tethered the gray to one of the cottonwoods. Wolf came trotting into camp proudly carrying a rabbit.

"Mescal, can we get across the Colorado and find a way up over Coconina?" asked Hare.

"Yes, I'm sure we can. My peon never made a mistake about directions. There's no trail, but Navajos have

The shadows had gathered under the cliffs, and the rosy light high up on the ramparts had chilled and waned

when Hare and Mescal sat down to their meal. Wolf lay close to the girl and begged for morsels. Then in the

twilight they sat together content to be silent, listening to the low thunder of the river. Long after Mescal had

retired into her hogan Hare lay awake before her door with his head in his saddle and listened to the low roll,

the dull burr, the dreamy hum of the tumbling waters. The place was like the oasis, only infinitely more

hidden under the cliffs. A few stars twinkled out of the dark blue, and one hung, beaconlike, on the crest of a

noble crag. There were times when he imagined the valley was as silent as the desert night, and other times

when he imagined he heard the thundering roll of avalanches and the tramp of armies. Then the voices of

Mescal's solitude spoke to himglorious laughter and low sad wails of woe, sweet songs and whispers and

murmurs. His last waking thoughts were of the haunting sound of Thunder River, and that he had come to

He bestirred himself at the first glimpse of day, and when the gray mists had lifted to wreathe the crags it was

light enough to begin the journey. Mescal shed tears at the grave of the faithful peon. "He loved this canyon,"

she said, softly. Hare lifted her upon Silvermane. He walked beside the horse and Wolf trotted on before.

They travelled awhile under the flowering cottonwoods on a trail bordered with green tufts of grass and great

starshaped lilies. The river was still hidden, but it filled the grove with its soft thunder. Gradually the trees

thinned out, hard stony ground encroached upon the sand, bowlders appeared in the way; and presently, when

Silvermane stepped out of the shade of the cottonwoods, Hare saw the lower end of the valley with its ragged

Hare saw the river bursting from the base of the wall in two white streams which soon united below, and

leaped down in a continuous cascade. Step by step the stream plunged through the deep gorge, a broken,

foaming raceway, and at the lower end of the valley it took its final leap into a blue abyss, and then found its

The flowerscented breeze and the rumbling of the river persisted long after the valley lay behind and above,

but these failed at length in the close air of the huge abutting walls. The light grew thick, the stones cracked

like deep bellstrokes; the voices of man and girl had a hollow sound and echo. Silvermane clattered down

the easy trail at a gait which urged Hare now and then from walk to run. Soon the gully opened out upon a

plateau through the centre of which, in a black gulf, wound the red Colorado, sullenvoiced, booming, never

silent nor restful. Here were distances by which Hare could begin to comprehend the immensity of the

canyon, and he felt lost among the great terraces leading up to mesas that dwarfed the Echo Cliffs. All was

All over the sunny slopes cacti lifted slender shafts, unfolding in spiral leaves as they shot upward and

bursting at the top into plumes of yellow flowers. The blossoming stalks waved in the wind, and black bees

"Mescal, I've always wanted to see the Flower of the Desert from which you're named. It's beautiful."

Hare broke a dead stalk of the cactus and was put to instant flight by a stream of bees pouring with angry

buzz from the hollow centre. Two big fellows were so persistent that he had to beat them off with his hat.

They traversed the remaining slope of the plateau, and entering the head of a ravine, descended a steep cleft

of flinty rock, rock so hard that Silvermane's iron hoofs not so much as scratched it. Then reaching a level,

"It's a little high," said Hare dubiously. "Mescal, I don't like the looks of those rapids."

Only a few hundred rods of the river could be seen. In front of Hare the current was swift but not broken.

Above, where the canyon turned, the river sheered out with a majestic roll and falling in a wide smooth curve

suddenly narrowed into a leaping crest of reddish waves. Below Hare was a smaller rapid where the broken

water turned toward the nearer side of the river, but with an accompaniment of twisting swirls and vicious

"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 can take the river above and cut across so

"Silvermane loves the water. He'll make this crossing easily. But he can't carry us both, and it's impossible to

Without wasting more words and time over a task which would only grow more formidable with every look

and thought, Hare led Silvermane up the sandbar to its limit. He removed his coat and strapped it behind the

"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

In two steps Silvermane went in to his saddle, and he rolled with a splash and a snort, sinking Mescal to her

hips. His nose level with the water, mane and tail floating, he swam powerfully with the current.

For Hare the water was just cold enough to be delightful after the long hot descent, but its quality was

strange. Keeping upstream of the horse and even with Mescal, he swam with long regular strokes for

perhaps onequarter of the distance. But when they reached the swirling eddies he found that he was tiring.

The water was thick and heavy; it compressed his lungs and dragged at his feet. He whirled round and round

in the eddies and saw Silvermane doing the same. Only by main force could he breast his way out of these

whirlpools. When a wave slapped his face 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 canyon he could not escape it. As the current

grew rougher he began to feel that he could scarcely spread his arms in the wide stroke. Changing the stroke

he discovered that he could not keep up with Silvermane, and he changed back again. Gradually his feet sank

lower and lower, the water pressed tighter round him, his arms seemed to grow useless. Then he remembered

a saying of August Naab that the Navajos did not attempt to swim the river when it was in flood and full of

sand. He ceased to struggle, and drifting with the current, soon was close to Silvermane, and grasped a saddle

Hare dropped behind, and catching Silvermane's tail held on firmly. The stallion towed him easily. The

waves dashed over him and lapped at Mescal's waist. The current grew stronger, sweeping Silvermane down

out of line with the black wall which had frowned closer and closer. Mescal lifted 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 died in

the splashing and slapping of broken water closer at hand. Mescal turned to him with bright eyes; curving her

In the swelling did Hare felt the resistless pull of the current. As he held on with both hands, hard pressed to

keep his grasp, Silvermane dipped over a low fall in the river. Then Hare was riding the rushing water of an

incline. It ended below in a redcrested wave, and beyond was a chaos of curling breakers. Hare had one

glimpse of Mescal crouching low, shoulders narrowed and head bent; then, with one white flash of the

stallion's mane against her flying black hair, she went out of sight in leaping waves and spray. Hare was

thrown forward into the backlash of the wave. The shock blinded him, stunned him, almost tore his arms

from his body, but his hands were so twisted in Silvermane's tail that even this could not loosen them. The

current threw him from wave to wave. He was dragged through a caldron, blind from stinging blows, deaf

from the tremendous roar. Then the fierce contention of waves lessened, the threshing of crosscurrents

straightened, and he could breathe once more. Silvermane dragged him steadily; and, finally, his feet touched

the ground. He could scarcely see, so full were his eyes of the sandy water, but he made out Mescal rising

from the river on Silvermane, as with loud snorts he climbed to a bar. Hare staggered up and fell on the sand.

"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 was hard to stick on holding the rifle. That

first wave almost unseated me. I was afraid we might strike the rocks, but the water was deep. Silvermane is

grand, Jack. Wolf swam out above the rapids and was waiting for us when we landed."

Hare wiped the sand out of his eyes and rose to his feet, finding himself little the worse for the adventure.

Mescal was wringing the water from the long straight braids of her hair. She was smiling, and a tint of color

showed in her cheeks. The wet buckskin blouse and short skirt clung tightly to her slender form. She made so

pretty a picture and appeared so little affected by the peril they had just passed through that Hare, yielding to

"It's hot and we'll soon dry," returned Mescal. "Here's the canyon and creek we must follow up to Coconina.

My peon mapped them in the sand for me one day. It'll probably be a long climb."

Hare poured the water out of his boots, pulled them on, and helping Mescal to mount Silvermane, he took the

bridle over his arm and led the way into a blackmouthed canyon, through which flowed a stream of clear

water. Wolf splashed and pattered along beside him. Beyond the marble rock this canyon opened out to great

breadth and wonderful walls. Hare had 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 on thoughtless 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 little ridges, making short cuts from point to point, they threaded

miles of narrow winding creek floor, and passed under ferny cliffs and over grassy banks and through

thickets of yellow willow. As they wound along the course of the creek, always up and up, the great walls

imperceptibly lowered their rims. The warm sun soared to the zenith. Jumble of bowlders, stretches of white

gravel ridges of sage, blocks of granite, thickets of manzanita long yellow slopes, crumbling crags, clumps of

cedar and lines of pinonall were passed in the persistent plodding climb. The canon grew narrower toward

its source; the creek lost its volume; patches of snow gleamed in sheltered places. At last the yellowstreaked

walls edged out upon a grassy hollow and the great dark pines of Coconina shadowed the snow.

Silvermane's ears shot up and Wolf barked. Two gray deer loped out of a thicket and turned inquisitively.

Reaching for his rifle Hare threw back the lever, but the action clogged, it rasped with the sound of crunching

sand, and the cartridge could not be pressed into the chamber or ejected. He fumbled about the breach of the

The distance was too great. Hare missed, and the deer bounded away into the forest.

Hare built a fire under a sheltering pine where no snow covered the soft mat of needles, and while Mescal

dried the blankets and roasted the last portion of meat he made a windbreak of spruce boughs. When they

had eaten, not forgetting to give Wolf a portion, Hare fed Silvermane the last few handfuls of grain, and tied

him with a long halter on the grassy bank. The daylight failed and darkness came on apace. The old familiar

roar of the wind in the pines was disturbing; it might mean only the lull and crash of the breaking

nightgusts, and it might mean the north wind, storm, and snow. It whooped down the hollow, scattering the

few scruboak leaves; it whirled the red embers of the fire away into the dark to sputter in the snow, and

blew the burning logs into a white glow. Mescal slept in the shelter of the spruce boughs with Wolf snug and

When he awakened the fire was low and he was numb with cold. He took care to put on logs enough to last

until morning; then he lay down once more, 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 to Silver

Cup," said Hare, as he saddled Silvermane. "Mount now and we'll go up out of the hollow and get our

While ascending the last step to the rim Hare revolved in his mind the probabilities of marking a straight

Mescal was enraptured at the scene. Vermillion Cliffs shone red as a rose. The split in the wall marking the

oasis defined its outlines sharply against the sky. Miles of the Colorado River lay in sight. Hare knew he

stood on the highest point of Coconina overhanging the Grand Canyon and the Painted Desert, thousands of

feet below. He noted the wondrous abyss sleeping in blue mist at his feet, while he gazed across to the desert

"Mescal, your Thunder River Canyon is only one little crack in the rocks. It is lost in this chasm," said Hare.

"It's lost, surely. I can t even see the tip of the peak that stood so high over the valley."

Once more turning to the left Hare ran his eye over the Vermillion Cliffs, and the strip of red sand shining

under them, and so calculating his bearings he headed due north for Silver Cup. What with the snow and the

soggy ground the first mile was hard going for Hare, and Silvermane often sank deep. Once off the level spur

of the mountain they made better time, for the snow thinned out on the slope and gradually gave way to the

brown dry aisles of the forest. Hare mounted in front of Mescal, and put the stallion to an easy trot; after two

hours of riding they struck a bridletrail which Hare recognized as one leading down to the spring. In another

hour they reached the steep slope of Coconina, and saw the familiar red wall across the valley, and caught

"Maybe. I want to be sure who's there. We'll leave the trail and slip down through the woods to the left. I

wish we could get down on the home side 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 a diagonal course down the slope,

crossed the line of cedars, and reached the edge of the valley a mile or more above Silver Cup. Then he

turned toward it, still cautiously leading Silvermane under cover of the fringe of cedars.

"Mescal, there are too many cattle in the valley," he said, looking at her significantly.

"Holderness!" With the word Hare's face grew set and stern. He kept on, cautiously leading the horse under

the cedars, careful to avoid breaking brush or rattling stones, occasionally whispering to Wolf; and so worked

his way along the curve of the woody slope till further progress was checked by the bulging wall of rock.

"Only cattle in the valley, no horses," he said. "I've a good chance to cut across this cube and reach the trail.

If I take time to climb up and see who's at the spring maybe the chance will be gone. I don't believe Dave and

He pondered a moment, then climbed up in front of Mescal, and directed the gray out upon the valley. Soon

he was among the grazing cattle. He felt no surprise to see the H brand on their flanks.

"Jack, look at that brand," said Mescal, pointing to a whiteflanked steer. "There's an old brand like a cross,

"Mescal! You've hit it. I remember that steer. He was a very devil to brand. He's the property of August

Naab, and Holderness has added the bar, making a clumsy H. What a rustler's trick! It wouldn't deceive a

They had reached the cedars and the trail when Wolf began to sniff suspiciously 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 through a network of cedar boughs to see a

fence of stripped pines. Farther up were piles of unstripped logs, and close by the spring there was a new

cabin with smoke curling from a stone chimney. Hare guided Silvermane off the trail to softer ground and

went on. He climbed the slope, passed the old pool, now a mudpuddle, and crossed the dry wash to be

brought suddenly to a halt. Wolf had made an uneasy stand with his nose pointing to the left, and Silvermane

pricked up his ears. Presently Hare heard the stamping of hoofs off in the cedars, and before he had fully

determined the direction from which the sound came three horses and a man stepped from the shade into a

As luck would have it Hare happened to be well screened by a thick cedar; and since there was a possibility

that he might remain unseen he chose to take it. Silvermane and Wolf stood still in their tracks. Hare felt

Mescal's hands tighten on his coat and he pressed them to reassure her. Peeping out from his covert he saw a

man in his shirtsleeves leading the horsesa slender, cleanfaced, darkhaired manDene! The blood

beat hotly in Hare's temples and he gripped the handle of his Colt. It seemed a fatal chance that sent the

outlaw to that trail. He was whistling; he had two halters in one hand and with the other he led his bay horse

by the mane. Then Hare saw that he wore no belt; he was unarmed; on the horses were only the halters and

Dene sauntered on, whistling "Dixie." When he reached the trail, instead of crossing it, as Hare had hoped, he

Hare swung the switch he had broken from an aspen and struck Silvermane a stinging blow on the flanks.

The gray leaped forward. The crash of brush and rattle of hoofs stampeded Dene's horses in a twinkling. But

the outlaw paled to a ghastly white and seemed rooted to the trail. It was not fear of a man or a horse that held

The shoulder of the charging stallion struck Dene and sent him spinning out of the trail. In a backward glance

Hare saw the outlaw fall, then rise unhurt to shake his fists wildly and to run yelling toward the cabin.

"JACK! the saddle's slipping!" cried Mescal, clinging closer to him. "What luck!" Hare muttered through

clinched teeth, and pulled hard on the bridle. But the mouth of the stallion was iron; regardless of the sawing

bit, he galloped on. Hare called steadily: "Whoa there, Silver! Whoa slow nowwhoaeasy!" 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 dried out." Hare hurriedly began to repair the

"I've never ridden bareback. Suppose you go ahead with Silver, and I'll hide in the cedars till dark, then walk

"It's got to be strong," muttered Hare, holding the strap over his knee and pulling the laced knot with all his

Silvermane's broad chest muscles rippled and he stamped restlessly. The dog whined and looked back.

Mescal had the blanket smooth on the gray when Hare threw the saddle over him. The yells had ceased, but

clattering hoofs on the stony trail were a greater menace. While Hare's brown hands worked swiftly over

"Get into the saddle," said Hare, leaping astride and pressing forward over the pommel. "Slip downthere!

The rapid pounding of the stallion's hoofs drowned the clatter coming up the trail. A backward glance

relieved Hare, for dustclouds some few hundred yards in the rear showed the position of the pursuing

horsemen. He held in Silvermane to a steady gallop. The trail was uphill, and steep enough to wind even a

"I can't see for trees," replied Hare, over his shoulder. "There's dust we're far in the leadnever fear,

Cedars grew thickly all the way up the steeper part of the divide, and ended abruptly at a pathway of stone,

where the ascent became gradual. When Silvermane struck out of the grove upon this slope Hare kept turning

keen glances rearward. The dust cloud rolled to the edge of the cedars, and out of it trooped halfadozen

horsemen who began to shoot as soon as they had reached the open. Bullets zipped along the red stone,

Hare slashed his steed with the switch. But Silvermane needed no goad or spur; he had been shot at before,

and the whistle of one bullet was sufficient to stretch his gallop into a run. Then distance between him and his

pursuers grew wider and wider and soon he was out of range. The yells of the rustlers seemed at first to come

from baffled rage, but Mescal's startled cry shoveled their meaning. Other horsemen appeared ahead and to

the right of him, tearing down the ridge to the divide. Evidently they had been returning from the western

The direction in which Silvermane was stretching was the only possible one for Hare. If he swerved off the

trail to the left it would be upon rough rising ground. Not only must he outride this second band to the point

where the trail went down on the other side of the divide, but also he must get beyond it before they came

"Now! Silver! Go! Go!" Fast as the noble stallion was speeding he answered 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 reddish sheets. The horsemen cut down the half mile to a

quarter, lessened that, swept closer and closer, till Hare recognized Chance and Culver, and Snap Naab on his

creamcolored pinto. Seeing that they could not head the invincible stallion they sheered more to the right.

But Silvermane thundered on, crossing the line ahead of them at full three hundred yards, and went over the

Then, at the sharp crack of the rifles, leaden messengers whizzed high in the air over horse and riders, and

"OhSilvermane!" cried Hare. It was just a call, as if the horse were human, and knew what that pace meant

to his master. The stern business of the race had ceased to rest on Hare. Silvermane was out to the front! He

was like a levelrushing thunderbolt. Hare felt the instantaneous pause between his long low leaps, the gather

of mighty muscles, the strain, the tension, then the quivering expulsion of force. It was a perilous ride down

that red slope, not so much from the hissing bullets as from the washes and gullies which Silvermane sailed

over in magnificent leaps. Hare thrilled with savage delight in the wonderful prowess of his desert king, in

"Outrun!" he cried, with blazing eyes. Mescal's white face was pressed close to his shoulder. "Silver has

beaten them. They'll hang on till we reach the sandstrip, hoping the slowdown will let them come up in

The rustlers continued on the trail, firing desultorily, till Silvermane so far distanced them that even the

necessary lapse into a walk in the red 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 the day the bear ran for you."

"See him? Rather! I'll bet he nearly killed his pinto. Mescal, what do you think of Silvermane now? Can he

"Yesyes. 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 oasis and entered the lane with the familiar wall on

one side, the peeled fencepickets on the other. Wolf dashed on ahead, and presently a chorus of barks

announced that he had been met by the other dogs. Silvermane neighed shrilly, and the horses and mustangs

in the corrals trooped noisily to the lower sides and hung inquisitive heads over the top bars.

A Navajo whom Hare remembered stared with axe idle by the woodpile, then Judith Naab dropped a bundle

of sticks and with a cry of gladness ran from the house. Before Silvermane had come to a full stop Mescal

was off. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, then she left Judith to dart to the corral where a

little black mustang had begun to whistle and stamp and try to climb over the bars.

August Naab, bareheaded, with shaggy locks shaking at every step, strode off the porch and his great hands

"Every day I've watched the river for you," he said. His eyes were warm and his grasp like a vise.

"Mescalchild!" he continued, as she came running to him. "Safe and well. He's brought you back. Thank

Then the crowd of big and little Naabs burst from the house and came under the cottonwoods to offer noisy

"Jack, you look done up," said Dave Naab solicitously, when the first greetings had been spoken, and Mother

Ruth had led Mescal indoors. "Silvermane, toohe's wet and winded. He's been running?"

"Ah! What's this?" questioned August Naab, with his hand on Silvermane's flank. He touched a raw groove,

Naab whistled in surprise and he flashed another keen glance over Hare and his horse. "Your story can wait. I

know about what it isafter 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 suppertable to eat like one

famished. Mescal and he ate alone, as they had been too late for the regular hour. The womenfolk 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

"What don't you owe to that whirlwind of a horse!" exclaimed Dave Naab. No other comment on Hare or

"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.

"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

"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

"Such a trick we never heard of," replied August Naab. "If we had we might have spared ourselves the labor

"It's not now a question of proof. It's one of possession. Holderness has stolen my water and my stock."

"I got it full of water and sand. That reminds me I must see about cleaning it. I never thought of shooting

"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

"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 allfired bloody fight. Of course we'd wipe out the rustlers, but some of

The force of August Naab's argument for peace, entirely aside from his Christian repugnance to the shedding

"Remember what Snap said?" asked Hare, suddenly. "One man to kill Dene! Therefore one man to kill

"Ah! you've said it," replied Dave, raising a tense arm. "It's a oneman job. Dn 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

August Naab cast at the speaker one of his farseeing 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

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

"Here, Jack," said August Naab, one morning, "get a spade and come with me. There's a break somewhere in

Hare went with him out along the fence by the alfalfa fields, and round the corner of red wall toward the

"Well, Jack, I suppose you'll be asking me for Mescal one of these days," said Naab.

"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 fearI seem to seeHare, I'm a poor

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 in the oasis been so fair. The green fields, the

red walls, the blue sky, all seemed drenched in deeper, richer hues. The windsong in the crags, the

rivermurmur from the canyon, filled Hare's ears with music. To be alive, to feel the sun, to see the colors, to

hear the sounds, was beautiful; and to know that Mescal awaited him, was enough.

Work on the washedout bank of the ditch had not gone far when Naab raised his head as if listening.

"The roar of the river is heavy here. Maybe I was mistaken. I thought I heard shots." Then he went on

spading clay into the break, but he stopped every moment or so, uneasily, as if he could not get rid of some

"Judith! Judith! Here!" he called. Wheeling with a sudden premonition of evil Hare saw the girl running

along the wall toward them. Her face was white as death; she wrung her hands and her cries rose above the

"Father! Father!" she panted. "Comequickthe rustlers!the rustlers! Snap!DeneOhhurry!

Death itself shuddered through Hare's veins and then a raging flood of fire. He bounded forward to be flung

"Fool! Would you throw away your life? Go slowly. We'll slip through the fields, under the trees."

Sick and cold Hare hurried by Naab's side round the wall and into the alfalfa. There were moments when he

was weak and trembling; others when he could have leaped like a tiger to rend and kill.

They left the fields and went on more cautiously into the grove. The screaming and wailing of women added

"I see only the womenthe childrennothere's a manZeke," said Hare, bending low to gaze under the

Hare, spurred by the possibilities in the halfcrazed girl's speech, cast caution to the winds and dashed

In the corner of the porch scared and stupefied children huddled in a heap. George and Billy bent over Dave,

who sat whitefaced against the steps. Blood oozed through the fingers pressed to his breast. Zeke was trying

"Hard hitJackold fellow," replied Dave, with a pale smile. His face was white and clammy.

Hare saw the inert forms of two men lying near the gate; one rested on his face, arm outstretched with a Colt

gripped in the stiff hand; the other lay on his back, his spurs deep in the ground, as if driven there in his last

August Naab and Zeke carried the injured man into the house. The women and children followed, and Hare,

"DadI'm shot clean throughlow down," said Dave, as they laid him on a couch. "It's just as well Ias

Naab got the children and the girls out of the room. The women were silent now, except Dave's wife, who

clung to him with low moans. He smiled upon all with a quick intent smile, then he held out a hand to Hare.

"Jack, we gotto begood friends. Don't forgetthatwhen you meet Holderness. He shot mefrom

behind Chance and Culverand after I fell I killed them bothtrying to get him. Youwon't hang

Hare wrung the cold hand clasping his so feebly. "No! Dave, no!" Then he fled from the room. For an hour

he stood on the porch waiting in dumb misery. George and Zeke came noiselessly out, followed by their

"It's all over, Hare." Another tragedy had passed by this man of the desert, and left his strength unshaken, but

his deadly quiet and the gloom of his iron face were more terrible to see than any grief.

Another motionless form lay beyond Chance and Culver. It was that of a slight man, flat on his back, his

arms wide, his long black hair in the dust. Under the white level brow the face had been crushed into a bloody

"It was Mescal. Listen. Let me tell you how it all happened. I was out at the forge when I heard a bunch of

horses coming up the lane. I wasn't packing my gun, but I ran anyway. When I got to the house there was

Dave facing Snap, Dene, and a bunch of rustlers. I saw Chance at first, but not Holderness. There must have

"'Naab, I ain't in any mind to fool. Snap wants the girl, an' I want Silvermane, an' that damned spy that come

"Then Holderness spoke from the back of the crowd: 'Naab, you'd better hurry, if you don't want the house

"Dave drew and Holderness fired from behind the men. Dave fell, raised up and shot Chance and Culver,

"With that the women in the house began to scream, and Mescal ran out saying she'd go with Snap if they'd

"Then Dene dismounted and went toward the corral saying, 'I shore want Silvermane.'

"Mescal reached the gate ahead of Dene. 'Let me get Silvermane. He's wild; he doesn't know you; he'll kick

you if you go near him.' She dropped 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. When she had him loose she leaped off the

fence to his back, screaming as she hit him with the halter. Silvermane snorted and jumped, and in three

jumps he was going like a bullet. Dene tried to stop him, and was knocked twenty feet. He was raising up

when the stallion ran over him. He never moved again. Once in the lane Silvermane got goingLord! how

he did run! Mescal hung low over his neck like an Indian. He was gone in 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 the lane.

"You see, lad, things are never so bad as they seem at first. Snap might as well try to catch a bird as

"MESCAL'S far out in front by this time. Depend on it, Hare," went on Naab. "That trick was the cunning

Indian of her. She'll ride Silvermane into White Sage tomorrow night. Then she'll hide from Snap. The

Bishop will take care of her. She'll be safe for the present in White Sage. Now we must bury these men.

Unutterable pain darkened the flame in the Mormon's gaze. For an instant his face worked spasmodically,

only to stiffen into a stony mask. It was the old conflict once more, the neverending war between flesh and

A great calm settled over Hare; his blood ceased to race, his mind to riot; in August Naab's momentous word

he knew the old man had found himself. At last he had learned the lesson of the desertto strike first and

"Zeke, hitch up a team," said August Naab. "Nowait a moment. Here comes Piute. Let's hear what he has

"He's sighted Silvermane and the rustlers," suggested George, as the shepherd approached.

Naab translated the excited Indian's mingling of Navajo and Piute languages to mean just what George had

"Piutethree fires tonightLookout Point!" This order meant the execution of August Naab's

hurrysignal for the Navajos, and after he had given it, he waved the Indian toward the cliff, and lapsed into a

Naab consigned the bodies of the rustlers to the famous cemetery under the red wall. He laid Dene in grave

thirtyone. It was the grave that the outlaw had promised as the last restingplace of Dene's spy. Chance and

Culver he buried together. It was noteworthy that no Mormon rites were conferred on Culver, once a Mormon

What did August Naab intend to do? That was the question in Hare's mind as he left the house. It was a silent

day, warm as summer, though the sun was overcast with gray clouds; the birds were quiet in the trees; there

was no bray of burro or clarioncall of peacock, even the hum of the river had fallen into silence. Hare

wandered over the farm and down the red lane, brooding over the issue. Naab's few words had been full of

meaning; the cold gloom so foreign to his nature, had been even more impressive. 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 had bred in him its impulse to fight, to resist,

to survive. If he, a stranger of a few years, could be moulded in the flaming furnace of its fiery life, what then

must be the cast of August Naab, born on the desert, and sleeping five nights out of seven on the sands for

The desert! Hare trembled as he grasped all its meaning. Then he slowly resolved that meaning. There were

the measureless distances to narrow the eye and teach restraint; the untrodden trails, the shifting sands, the

thorny brakes, the broken lava to pierce the flesh; the heights and depths, unscalable and unplumbed. And

The parched plants of the desert fought for life, growing far apart, sending enormous roots deep to pierce the

sand and split the rock for moisture, arming every leaf with a barbed thorn or poisoned sap, never thriving

The creatures of the desert endured the sun and lived without water, and were at endless war. The hawk had a

keener eye than his fellow of more fruitful lands, sharper beak, greater spread of wings, and claws of deeper

curve. For him there was little to eat, a rabbit now, a rockrat then; 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. The lizard flicked an

invisible tongue into the heart of a flower; and the bee he caught stung with a poisoned sting. The battle of

So the desert trained each of its wild things to survive. No eye of the desert but burned with the flame of the

sun. To kill or to escape death that was the dominant motive. To fight barrenness and heatthat was stern

What then of the men who drifted into the desert and survived? They must of necessity endure the wind and

heat, the drouth and famine; they must grow lean and hard, keeneyed and silent. The weak, the humble, the

sacrificing must be winnowed from among them. As each man developed he took on some aspect of the

desertHolderness had the amber clearness of its distances in his eyes, its deceit in his soul; August Naab,

the magnificence of the desertpine in his giant form, its strength in his heart; Snap Naab, the cast of the

hawkbeak in his face, its cruelty in his nature. But all shared alike in the common element of survival

ferocity. August Naab had subdued his to the promptings of a Christlike spirit; yet did not his very energy,

his wonderful tirelessness, his will to achieve, his power to resist, partake of that fierceness? Moreover, after

many struggles, he too had been overcome by the desert's call for blood. His mystery was no longer a

mystery. Always in those moments of revelation which he disclaimed, he had seen himself as faithful to the

Hare's slumbers that night were broken. He dreamed of a great gray horse leaping in the sky from cloud to

cloud with the lightning and the thunder under his hoofs, the stormwinds sweeping from his silver mane. He

dreamed of Mescal's brooding eyes. They were dark gateways of the desert open only to him, and he entered

to chase the alluring stars deep into the purple distance. He dreamed of himself waiting in serene confidence

for some unknown thing to pass. He awakened late in the morning and found the house hushed. The day wore

on in a repose unstirred by breeze and sound, in accord with the mourning of August Naab. At noon a solemn

procession wended its slow course to the shadow of the red cliff, and as solemnly returned.

Then a longdrawn piercing Indian whoop broke the midday hush. It heralded the approach of the Navajos.

In singlefile they rode up the lane, and when the falconeyed Eschtah dismounted before his white friend,

the line of his warriors still turned the corner of the red wall. Next to the chieftain rode Scarbreast, the grim

warlord of the Navajos. His followers trailed into the grove. Their sinewy bronze bodies, almost naked,

glistened wet from the river. Full a hundred strong were they, a silent, leanlimbed desert troop.

"The White Prophet's fires burned bright," said the chieftain. "Eschtah is here."

"The Navajo is a friend," replied Naab. "The white man needs counsel and help. He has fallen upon evil

"War, chief, war! Let the Navajo and his warriors rest and eat. Then we shall speak."

A single command from the Navajo broke the waiting files of warriors. Mustangs were turned into the fields,

packs were unstrapped from the burros, blankets spread under the cottonwoods. When the afternoon waned

and the shade from the western wall crept into the oasis, August Naab came from his cabin clad in buckskins,

with a large blue Colt swinging handle outward from his left hip. He ordered his sons to replenish the fire

which had been built in the circle, and when the fierceeyed Indians gathered round the blaze he called to his

Hare's unnatural calmness had prevailed until he saw Naab stride out to front the waiting Indians. Then a

ripple of cold passed over him. He leaned against a tree in the shadow and watched the grayfaced giant

stalking to and fro before his Indian friends. A long while he strode in the circle of light to pause at length

"Eschtah sees before him a friend stung to his heart. Men of his own color have long injured him, yet have

lived. The Mormon loved his fellows and forgave. Five sons he laid in their graves, yet his heart was not

hardened. His firstborn went the trail of the firewater and is an outcast from his people. Many enemies has

he and one is a chief. He has killed the white man's friends, stolen his cattle, and his water. Today the white

man laid another son in his grave. What thinks the chief? Would he not crush the scorpion that stung him?"

The old Navajo answered in speech which, when translated, was as stately as the Mormon's.

"Eschtah respects his friend, but he has not thought him wise. The White Prophet sees visions of things to

come, but his blood is cold. He asks too much of the white man's God. He is a chief; he has an eye like the

lightning, an arm strong as the pine, yet he has not struck. Eschtah grieves. He does not wish to shed blood

for pleasure. But Eschtah's friend has let too many selfish men cross his range and drink at his springs. Only a

few can live on the desert. Let him who has found the springs and the trails keep them for his own. Let him

who came too late go away to find for himself, to prove himself a warrior, or let his bones whiten in the sand.

"The great Eschtah speaks wise words," said Naab. "The White Prophet is richer for them. He will lay aside

"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 will be war. Many braves will fall. The White Prophet wishes to save them if

he can. He will go forth alone to kill his foe. If the sun sets four times and the white man is not here, then

Eschtah will send his great warchief and his warriors. They will kill whom they find at the white man's

springs. And thereafter half of all the white man's cattle that were stolen shall be Eschtah's, so that he watch

"Eschtah greets a chief," answered the Indian. "The White Prophet knows he will kill his enemy, but he is not

sure he will return. He is not sure that the little braves of his foe will fly like the winds, yet he hopes. So he

holds the Navajo back to the last. Eschtah will watch the sun set four times. If his white friend returns he will

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 sons went toward their cabins with bowed heads and silent tongues. Eschtah

folded his blanket about him and stalked off into the gloom of the grove, followed by his warriors.

Hare remained in the shadow of the cottonwood where he had stood unnoticed. He had not moved a muscle

since he had heard August Naab's declaration. That one word of Naab's intention, "Alone!" had arrested him.

For it had struck into his heart and mind. It had paralyzed him with the revelation it brought; for Hare now

knew as he had never known anything before, that he would forestall August Naab, avenge the death of Dave,

and kill the rustler Holderness. Through blinding shock he passed slowly into cold acceptance of his heritage

The two long years of his desert training were as an open page to Hare's unveiled eyes. The life he owed to

August Naab, the strength built up by the old man's knowledge of the healing power of plateau and

rangethese lay in a long curve between the day Naab had lifted him out of the White Sage trail and this day

of the Mormon's extremity. A long curve with Holderness's insulting blow at the beginning, his murder of a

beloved friend at the end! For Hare remembered the blow, and never would he forget Dave's last words. Yet

unforgetable as these were, it was duty rather than revenge that called him. This was August Naab's hour of

need. Hare knew himself to be the tool of inscrutable fate; he was the one to fight the old desertscarred

Mormon's battle. Hare recalled how humbly he had expressed his gratitude to Naab, and the apparent

impossibility of ever repaying him, and then Naab's reply: "Lad, you can never tell how one man may repay

another." Hare could pay his own debt and that of the many wanderers who had drifted across the sands to

find a home with the Mormon. These men stirred in their graves, and from out the 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 catching up his rifle he stole out again

stealthily, like an Indian. In the darkness of the wagonshed he felt for his saddle, and finding it, he groped

with eager hands for the grainbox; raising the lid he filled a measure with grain, and emptied it into his

saddlebag. Then lifting the saddle he carried it out of the yard, through the gate and across the lane to the

corrals. The wilder mustangs in the far corral began to kick and snort, and those in the corral where Black

Bolly was kept trooped noisily to the bars. Bolly whinnied and thrust her black muzzle over the fence. Hare

placed a caressing hand on her while he waited listening and watching. It was not unusual for the mustangs to

get restless at any time, and Hare was confident that this would pass without investigation.

Gradually the restless stampings and suspicious snortings ceased, and Hare, letting down the bars, led Bolly

out into the lane. It was the work 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 straps to fit Bolly's head, and slipped the bit

Before mounting he stood a moment thinking coolly, deliberately numbering the several necessities he must

not forgetgrain for Bolly, food for himself, his Colt and Winchester, cartridges, canteen, matches, knife.

He inserted a hand into one of his saddlebags expecting to find some strips of meat. The bag was empty. He

felt in the other one, and under the grain he found what he sought. The canteen lay in the coil of his lasso tied

to the saddle, and its heavy canvas covering was damp to his touch. With that he thrust the long Winchester

The house of the Naabs was dark and still. The dying councilfire cast flickering shadows under the black

cottonwoods where the Navajos slept. The faint breeze that rustled the leaves brought the low sullen roar of

Hare guided Bolly into the thick dust of the lane, laid the bridle loosely on her neck for her to choose the trail,

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. He had slipped

out of the oasis unheard, and it would be morning before August Naab discovered his absence, perhaps longer

before he divined his purpose. Then Hare would have a long start. He thrilled with something akin to fear

when he pictured the old man's rage, and wondered what change 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 the faculties at his command to cool consideration

of the present. The strip of sand under the Blue Star had to be crossed at nighta feat which even the

Navajos did not have to their credit. Yet Hare had no shrinking; he had no doubt; he must go on. As he had

been drawn to the Painted Desert by 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 a vaulted hall swept by a current of air.

The night had turned cold, the stars had brightened icily, the rumble of the river had died away when Bolly's

ringing trot suddenly changed to a noiseless floundering walk. She had come upon the sand. Hare saw the

Blue Star in the cliff, and once more loosed the rein on Bolly's neck. She stopped and champed her bit, and

turned her black head to him as if to intimate that she wanted the guidance of a sure arm. But as it was not

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 to darken in obscurity. So long as the Blue Star remained in sight he kept his

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 windwashed gullies, made winding detours, zigzagged levels that shone like a polished floor; and at last

(so it seemed to Hare) she doubled back on her trail. The black cliff receded over the waves of sand; the stars

changed positions, travelled round in the blue dome, and the few that he knew finally sank below the horizon.

Bolly never lagged; she was like the homeward bound horse, indifferent to direction because sure of it,

eager to finish the journey because now it was short. Hare was glad though not surprised when she snorted

and cracked her ironshod hoof on a stone at the edge of the sand. He smiled with tightening lips as he rode

into the shadow of a rock which he recognized. Bolly had crossed the treacherous belt of dunes and washes

The long level of windcarved rocks under the cliffs, the ridges of the desert, the miles of slow ascent up to

the rough divide, the gradual descent to the cedarsthese stretches of his journey took the night hours and

ended with the brightening gray in the east. Within a mile of Silver Cup Spring Hare dismounted, to tie

folded pads of buckskin on Bolly's hoofs. When her feet were muffled, he cautiously advanced on the trail for

the matter of a hundred rods or more; then sheered off to the right into the cedars. He led Bolly slowly,

without rattling a stone or snapping a twig, and stopped every few paces to listen. There was no sound other

than the wind in the cedars. Presently, with a gasp, he caught the dull gleam of a burnedout campfire. Then

his movements became as guarded, as noiseless as those of a scouting Indian. The dawn broke over the red

He skirted the curve of the valley and led Bolly a little way up the wooded slope to a dense thicket of aspens

in a hollow. This thicket encircled a patch of grass. Hare pressed the lithe aspens aside to admit Bolly and left

her there free. He drew his rifle from its sheath and, after assuring himself that the mustang could not be seen

Every foot of this ground he knew, and he climbed swiftly until he struck the mountain trail. Then,

descending, he entered the cedars. At last he reached a point directly above the cliffcamp where he had

spent so 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. The sun, red as blood, raised a bright crescent over the red wall; the

soft mists of the valley began to glow and move; cattle were working in toward the spring. Never brushing a

branch, never dislodging a stone, Hare descended 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 of cedars. While resting he listened. Then

he marked his course down the last bit of slanting ground to the cliff bench which faced the valley. This space

was open, rough with crumbling rock and dead cedar brusha difficult place to cross without sound.

Deliberate in his choice of steps, very slow in moving, Hare went on with a stealth which satisfied even his

intent ear. When the wide gray strip of stone drew slowly into the circle of his downcast gaze he sank to the

ground with a slight trembling in all his limbs. There was a thick bush on the edge of the cliff; in three steps

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

dry and his temples throbbed as he asked himself what it was best to do. The answer came instantaneously as

though it had lain just below the level of his 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 his gunthen kill him!"

Hare slipped to the bush, drew in a deep long breath that stilled his agitation, and peered over the cliff. The

crude shingles of the cabin first rose into sight; then beyond he saw the corral with a number of shaggy

mustangs and a great gray horse. Hare stared blankly. As in a dream he saw the proud arch of a splendid

He fell backward upon the cliff and lay there with hands clinching his rifle, shudderingly conscious of a

"Silvermane! . . . they caught himafter all!" he kept repeating; then in a flash of agonized understanding he

He rolled upon his face, shutting our the blue sky; his body stretched stiff as a bent spring released from its

compress, and his nails dented the stock of his rifle. Then this rigidity softened to sobs that shook him from

Silvermane had been captured, probably by rustlers waiting at the western edge of the sandstrip. Mescal had

fallen into the hands of Snap Naab. But Mescal was surely alive and Snap was there to be killed; his long

career of unrestrained cruelty was in its last daysomething told Hare that this thing must and should be.

The stern deliberation of his intent to kill Holderness, the passion of his purpose to pay his debt to August

Naab, were as nothing compared to the gathering might of this new resolve; suddenly he felt free and strong

From the cover of the bush he peered again over the cliff. The cabin with its closed door facing him was

scarcely two hundred feet down from his hidingplace. One of the rustlers sang as he bent over the campfire

and raked the coals around the pots; others lounged on a bench waiting for breakfast; some rolled out of their

blankets; they stretched and yawned, and pulling on their boots made for the spring. The last man to rise was

Snap Naab, and he had slept with his head on the threshold of the door. Evidently Snap had made Mescal a

prisoner in the cabin, and no one could go in or out without stepping upon him. The rustlerforeman of

Holderness's company had slept with his belt containing two Colts, nor had he removed his boots. Hare noted

these details with grim humor. Now the tall Holderness, face shining, goldred beard agleam, rounded the

cabin whistling. Hare watched the rustlers sit down to breakfast, and here and there caught a loudspoken

word, and marked their leisurely carefree manner. Snap Naab took up a pan of food and a cup of coffee,

After breakfast most of the rustlers set themselves to their various tasks. Hare watched them with the eyes of

a lynx watching deer. Several men were arranging articles for packing, and their actions were slow to the

point of laziness; others trooped down toward the corral. Holderness rolled a cigarette and stooped over the

campfire to reach a burning stick. Snap Naab stalked to and fro before the door of the cabin. He alone of the

rustler's band showed restlessness, and more than once he glanced up the trail that led over the divide toward

his father's oasis. Holderness sent expectant glances in the other direction toward Seeping Springs. Once his

A thousand thoughts flitted through Hare's minda steady stream of questions and answers. Why did Snap

look anxiously along the oasis trail? It was not that he feared his father or his brothers alone, but there was

always the menace of the Navajos. Why was Holderness in no hurry to leave Silver Cup? Why did he lag at

the spring when, if he expected riders from his ranch, he could have gone on to meet them, obviously saving

time and putting greater distance between him and the men he had wronged? Was it utter fearlessness or only

a deepplayed game? Holderness and his rustlers, all except the gloomy Naab, were blind to the peril that lay

beyond the divide. How soon would August Naab strike out on the White Sage trail? Would he come alone?

Whether he came alone or at the head of his hardriding Navajos he would arrive too late. Holderness's life

was not worth a pinch of the ashes he flecked so carelessly from his cigarette. Snap Naab's gloom, his long

stride, his nervous hand always on or near the butt of his Colt, spoke the keenness of his desert instinct. For

him the sun had arisen red over the red wall. Had he harmed Mescal? Why did he keep the cabin door shut

While Hare watched and thought the hours sped by. Holderness lounged about and Snap kept silent guard.

The rustlers smoked, slept, and moved about; 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 had gone down behind Coconina. If

August Naab had left the oasis at dawn he must now be near the divide, unless he had been delayed by a

windstorm at the strip of sand. Hare longed to see the roan charger come up over the crest; he longed to see

a file of Navajos, plumes waving, dark mustangs gleaming in the red light, sweep down the stony ridge

toward the cedars. "If they come," he whispered, "I'll kill Holderness and Snap and any man who tries to open

So he waited in tense watchfulness, his gaze alternating between the wavy line of the divide and the camp

glade. Out in the valley it was still daylight, but under the cliff twilight had fallen. All day Hare had strained

his ears to hear the talk of the rustlers, and it now occurred to him that if he climbed down through the split in

the cliff to the bench where Dave and George had always hidden to watch the spring he would be just above

the camp. This descent involved risk, but since it would enable him to see the cabin door when darkness set

in, he decided to venture. The moment was propitious, for the rustlers were bustling around, cooking dinner,

unrolling blankets, and moving to and fro from spring and corral. Hare crawled back a few yards and along

the cliff until he reached the split. It was a narrow steep crack which he well remembered. Going down was

attended with two dangerslosing his hold, and the possible rattling of stones. Face foremost he slipped

downward with the gliding, sinuous movement of a snake, and reaching the grassy bench he lay quiet. Jesting

voices and loud laughter from below reassured him. He had not been heard. His new position afforded every

chance to see and hear, and also gave means of rapid, noiseless retreat along the bench to the cedars. Lying

A bright fire blazed under the cliff. Men were moving and laughing. The cabin door was open. Mescal stood

Mescal tore loose from him and stepped back. Her hands were bound before her, and twisting them outward,

she warded him off. Her dishevelled hair almost hid her dark eyes. They burned in a level glance of hate and

defiance. She was a little lioness, quivering with fiery life, fight in every line of her form.

The rustlers laughed. Holderness blew out a puff of smoke and smiled. Snap glowered upon Mescal and then

upon his amiable companions. One of them, a ruddyfaced fellow, walked toward Mescal.

"Cool down, Snap, cool down," he said. "We're not goin' to stand for a girl starvin'. She ain't eat a bite yet.

Here, Miss, let me untie your handsthere. . . . Say! Naab, dn you, her wrists are black an' blue!"

With a swift movement Mescal snatched the man's Colt from its holster and was raising it when he grasped

"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 kind to throw my own gun on me, jest after I'd played the gentleman, now, was

"Naab, if this's your Mormon kind of wifeexcuse me! Though I ain't denyin' she's the sassiest an' sweetest

"We Mormons don't talk about our women or hear any talk," returned Snap, a dancing fury in his pale eyes.

"Yep, jest a plain Nebraska rustler, cattlethief, an' all round nogood customer, though I ain't taken to

For answer Snap Naab's right hand slowly curved upward before him and stopped taut and inflexible, while

"See here, Naab, why do you want to throw a gun on me?" asked the rustler, coolly. "Haven't you shot

enough of your friends yet? I reckon I'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 your hand. An' it's not a straight hand. Thet's all, an' dn

if I care whether you are a Mormon or not. I'll bet a hoss Holderness will back me up."

"Snap, he's right," put in Holderness, smoothly. "You needn't be so touchy about Mescal. She's showed what

little use she's got for you. If you must rope her around like you do a mustang, be easy about it. Let's have

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 door and fetched her food and drink. The

rustlers squatted round the campfire, and conversation ceased in the business of the meal.

To Hare the scene had brought a storm of emotions. Joy at the sight of Mescal, blessed relief to see her

unscathed, pride in her fighting spiritthese came side by side with gratitude to the kind Nebraska rustler,

strange deepening insight into Holderness's game, unextinguishable whitehot hatred of Snap Naab. And

binding all was the evermounting will to rescue Mescal, which was held in check by an inexorable

judgment; he must continue to wait. And he did wait with blind faith in the something to be, keeping ever in

mind the last resort the rifle he clutched with eager hands. Meanwhile the darkness descended, the fire sent

forth a brighter blaze, and the rustlers finished their supper. Mescal arose and stepped across the threshold of

"Hold on!" ordered Snap, as he approached with swift strides. "Stick out your hands!"

Some of the rustlers grumbled; and one blurted out: "Aw no, Snap, don't tie her upno!"

"Who says no?" hissed the Mormon, with snapping teeth. As he wheeled upon them his Colt seemed to leap

Holderness laughed in the muzzle of the weapon. "Go ahead, Snap, tie up your lady love. What a tame little

The rustlers growled or laughed at their leader's order. Snap turned to his task. Mescal stood in the doorway

and shrinkingly extended her clasped hands. Holderness whirled to the fire with a look which betrayed his

game. Snap bound Mescal's hands securely, thrust her inside the cabin, and after hesitating for a long

"It's funny about a woman, now, ain't it?" said Nebraska, confidentially, to a companion. "One minnit she'll

snatch you baldheaded; the next, she'll melt in your mouth like sugar. An' I'll be darned if the changeablest

one ain't the kind to hold a feller longest. But it's h1. I was married onct. Not any more for mine! A pal I

had used to say thet whiskey riled him, thet rattlesnake pisen het up his blood some, but it took a woman to

make him plumb bad. D__n if it ain't so. When there's a woman around there's somethin' allus comin' off."

But the strain, instead of relaxing, became portentous. Holderness suddenly showed he was ill at ease; he

appeared to be expecting arrivals from the direction of Seeping Springs. Snap Naab leaned against the side of

the door, his narrow gaze cunningly studying the rustlers before him. More than any other he had caught a

foreshadowing. Like the deserthawk he could see afar. Suddenly he pressed back against the door, half

"Stop!" commanded Holderness. The change in his voice was as if it had come from another man. "You don't

"I'm going to take the girl and ride to White Sage," replied Naab, in slow deliberation.

"Bah! You say that only for the excuse to get into the cabin with her. You tried it last night and I blocked

"There's more going to happen than ever you think of, Holderness. Don't interfere now, I'm going."

"Soho!" he exclaimed, sneeringly. "That's why you've made me foreman, eh?" His clawlike hand moved

almost imperceptibly upward while his pale eyes strove to pierce the strength behind Holderness's effrontery.

The rustler chief had a trump card to play; one that showed in his sardonic smile.

Surely never before had passion driven Snap's hand to such speed. His Colt gleamed in the campfire light.

"That's where you're going!" he cried. "Here's to Naab's trick with a gun Bah!" And he shot his foreman

Snap plunged upon his face. His hands beat the ground like the shuffling wings of a wounded partridge. His

Holderness called through the door of the cabin. "Mescal, I've rid you of your wouldbe husband.

Cheerup!" Then, pointing to the fallen man, he said to the nearest bystanders: "Some of you drag that out for

The first fellow who bent over Snap happened to be the Nebraska rustler, and he curiously opened the breech

of the sixshooter he picked up. "No shells!" he said. He pulled Snap's second Colt from his belt, and

unbreeched that. "No shells! Well, dn me!" He surveyed the group of grim men, not one of whom had any

Holderness again laughed harshly, and turning to the cabin, he fastened the door with a lasso.

It was a long time before Hare recovered from the starting revelation of the plot which had put Mescal into

Holderness's power. Bad as Snap Naab had been he would have married her, and such a fate was infinitely

preferable to the one that now menaced her. Hare changed his position and settled himself to watch and wait

out the night. Every hour Holderness and his men tarried at Silver Cup hastened their approaching doom.

Hare's strange prescience of the fatality that overshadowed these men had received its first verification in the

sudden taking off of Snap Naab. The deepscheming Holderness, confident that his strong band meant sure

protection, sat and smoked and smiled beside the campfire. He had not caught even a hint of Snap Naab's

suggested warning. Yet somewhere out on the oasis trail rode a man who, once turned from the saving of life

to the lust to kill, would be as immutable as death itself. Behind him 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 almost feel pity for Holderness. His doom was

close. Twice, when the rustler chief had sauntered nearer to the cabin door, as if to enter, Hare had covered

him with the rifle, waiting, waiting for the step upon the threshold. But Holderness always checked himself in

The night closed in black; the clouded sky gave forth no starlight; the wind rose and moaned through the

cedars. One by one the rustlers rolled in their blankets and all dropped into slumber while the campfire

slowly burned down. The night hours wore on to the soft wail of the breeze and the wild notes of faroff

Hare, watching sleeplessly, saw one of the prone figures stir. The man raised himself very cautiously; he

glanced at his companions, and looked long at Holderness, who lay squarely in the dimming light. Then he

softly lowered himself. Hare wondered what the rustler meant to do. Presently he again lifted his head and

turned it as if listening intently. His companions were motionless in deepbreathing sleep. Gently he slipped

aside his blankets and began to rise. He was slow and guarded of movement; it took him long to stand erect.

He stepped between the rustlers with stockinged feet which were as noiseless as an Indian's, and he went

He softly edged round the sleeping Holderness, showing a glinting sixshooter in his hand. Hare's resolve to

kill him before he reached the door was checked. What did it mean, this rustler's stealthy movements, his

passing by Holderness with his drawn weapon! Again doom hovered over the rustler chief. If he

stirred!Hare knew instantly that this softly stepping man was a Mormon; he was true to Snap Naab, to the

If ever Hare breathed a prayer it was then. What if one of the band awakened! As the rustler turned at the

door his dark face gleamed in the flickering light. He unwound the lasso and opened the door without a

Hare whispered: "Heavens! if he goes in she'll scream! that will wake Holdernessthen I must shootI

Mescal must have been awake; she must have guessed instantly the meaning of that low whisper, for silently

she appeared in the doorway, silently she held forth her bound hands. The man untied the bonds and pointed

into the cedars toward the corral. Swift and soundless as a flitting shadow 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 to have but one issuethe killing of

Holderness. Mescal would soon be upon Silvermane, far out on the White Sage trail, and this time there

would be no sandstrip to trap her. But Hare could not kill the rustler while he was sleeping; and he could not

awaken him without revealing to his men the escape of the girl. Hare stood there on the bench, gazing down

on the blanketed Holderness. Why not kill him now, ending forever his power, and trust to chance for the

rest? No, no! Hare flung the temptation from him. To ward off pursuit as long as possible, to aid Mescal in

every way to some safe hidingplace, and then to seek Holdernessthat was the forethought of a man who

Under the dark projection of the upper cliff Hare felt his way to the cedar slope, and the trail, and then he

went swiftly down into the little hollow 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 and quieted her with a word. He rode down the hollow, out upon the level

The clouds had broken somewhat, letting pale light down through rifts. All about him cattle were lying in a

thick gloom. It was penetrable for 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 to peer into the nightfog. Rapid hoofbeats

broke the silence, a vague gray shadow moved into sight. He saw Silvermane and called as loudly as he

dared. The stallion melted into the misty curtain, the beating of hoofs softened and ceased. Hare spurred

Bolly to her fleetest. He had a long, silent chase, but it was futile, and unnecessarily hard on the mustang; so

Hare kept Bolly to this gait the remainder of the night, and when the eastern sky lightened he found the trail

and reached Seeping Springs at dawn. Silvermane's tracks were deep in the clay at the drinkingtrough. He

rested a few moments, gave Bolly sparingly of grain and water, and once 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 and

disappear on the looming slope of Coconina. Hare's fear that Mescal would run into the riders Holderness

expected from his ranch grew less and less after she had reached the cover of the cedars. That she would rest

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 to prove that she had halted there even to let Silvermane drink. So he tied the tired

He crossed the plateau and began the descent. Before he was halfway down the warm bright sun had cleared

the valley of vapor and shadow. Far along the winding white trail shone a speck. It was Silvermane almost

"Ten milesfifteen, more maybe," said Hare. "Mescal will soon be in the village."

Again hours of travel flew by like winged moments. Thoughts of time, distance, monotony, fatigue, purpose,

were shut out from his mind. A rushing kaleidoscopic dance of images filled his consciousness, but they were

It was near sundown when he rode Black Bolly into White Sage, and took the back road, and the pasture lane

to Bishop Caldwell's cottage. John, one of the Bishop's sons, was in the barnyard and ran to open the gate.

"She's in a secret cave, a Mormon hidingplace for women. Only a few men know of its existence. Rest easy,

"Mescal told us what happened, how she got caught at the sandstrip and escaped from Holderness at Silver

"Good God! How things come about! I saw you run Dene down that time here in White Sage. It must have

"What of old Naab? Won't he come down here now to lead us Mormons against the rustlers?"

"He called the Navajos across the river. He meant to take the trail alone and kill Holderness, keeping the

Indians back a few days. If he failed to return then they were to ride out on the rustlers. But his plan must be

"Tomorrow, possibly by daylight. He wants Mescal. There's a chance Naab may have reached Silver Cup

"May I know your plan?" The Mormon hesitated while his strong brown face flashed with daring inspiration.

"Plan? Yes. Hide Bolly and Silvermane in the little arbor down in the orchard. I'll stay outside tonight,

sleep a littlefor 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 use strategy. I'll meet him when he

"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

Hare met the Bishop and his family with composure, but his arrival following so closely upon Mescal's,

increased their alarm. They seemed repelled yet fascinated by his face. Hare ate in silence. John Caldwell did

not come in to supper; his brothers mysteriously left the table before finishing the meal. A subdued murmur

Darkness found Hare wrapped in a blanket under the trees. He needed sleep that would loose the strange

deadlock of his thoughts, clear the blur from his eyes, ease the pain in his head and weariness of limbsall

these weaknesses of which he had suddenly become conscious. Time and again he had almost wooed slumber

to him when soft footsteps on the gravel paths, low voices, the gentle closing of the gate, brought him back to

the unreal listening wakefulness. The sounds continued late into the night, and when he did fall asleep he

dreamed of them. He awoke to a dawn clearer than the light from the noonday sun. In his ears was the ringing

of a bell. He could not stand still, and his movements were subtle and swift. His hands took a peculiar,

tenacious, hold of everything he chanced to touch. He paced his hidden walk behind the arbor, at every turn

glancing sharply up and down the road. Thoughts came to him clearly, yet one was dominant. The morning

was curiously quiet, the sons of the Bishop had strangely disappeareda sense of imminent catastrophe was

A band of horsemen closely grouped turned into the road and trotted forward. Some of the men wore black

masks. Holderness rode at the front, his redgold beard shining in the sunlight. The steady clipcrop of hoofs

and clinking of iron stirrups broke the morning quiet. Holderness, with two of his men, dismounted before the

Bishop's gate; the others of the band trotted on down the road. The ring of Holderness's laugh preceded the

Hare stood calm and cold behind his green covert watching the three men stroll up the garden path.

Holderness took a cigarette from his lips as he neared the porch and blew out circles of white smoke. Bishop

"To you, sir," quavered the old man, with his wavering blue eyes fixed on the spurred and belted rustler.

Holderness stepped out in front of his companions, a superb man, courteous, smiling, entirely at his ease.

"Dene's spy!" he exclaimed, aghast. Swift changes swept his mobile features. Fear flickered in his eyes as he

faced his foe; then came wonder, a glint of amusement, dark anger, and the terrible instinct of death

"Naab's trick!" hissed Hare, with his hand held high. The suggestion in his words, the meaning in his look,

In Holderness's amber eyes shone his desperate calculation of chances. Hare's fateful glance, impossible to

elude, his strung form slightly crouched, his cold deliberate mention of Naab's trick, and more than all the

poise of that quivering hand, filled the rustler with a terror that he could not hide.

Holderness swayed with blond head swinging backward; the amber of his eyes suddenly darkened; the life in

"TAKE Holderness awayquick!" ordered Hare. A thin curl of blue smoke floated from the muzzle of his

The rustlers started out of their statuelike immobility, and lifting their dead leader dragged him down the

"Bishop, go in now. They may return," said Hare. He hurried up the steps to place his arm round the tottering

Hare led the Bishop indoors. The sittingroom was full Or wailing women and crying children. None of the

young men were present. Again Hare made note of their inexplicable absence. He spoke soothingly to the

frightened family. The little boys and girls yielded readily to his persuasion, but the women took no heed of

"I don't know," replied the Bishop. "They should be here to stand by you. It's strange. I don't understand. Last

night my sons were visited by many men, coming and going in twos and threes till late. They didn't sleep in

"Have the rustlers really come?" asked a young woman, whose eyes were red and cheeks tearstained

The young woman burst out weeping afresh, and the wailing of the others answered her. Hare left the cottage

He picked up his rifle and went down through the orchard to the hidingplace of the horses. Silvermane

pranced and snorted his gladness at sight of his master. The desert king was fit for a grueling race. Black

Bolly quietly cropped the long grass. Hare saddled the stallion to have him in instant readiness, and then

He heard the sound of a gun down the road, then another, and several shots following in quick succession. A

distant angry murmuring and trampling of many feet drew Hare to the gate. Riderless mustangs were

galloping down the road; several frightened boys were fleeing across the square; not a man was in sight.

Three more shots cracked, and the low murmur and trampling swelled into a hoarse uproar. Hare had heard

that sound before; it was the tumult of mobviolence. A black dense throng of men appeared crowding into

the main street, and crossing toward the square. The procession had some order; it was led and flanked by

mounted men. But the upflinging of many arms, the craning of necks, and the leaping of men on the outskirts

of the mass, the pressure inward and the hideous roar, proclaimed its real character.

"By Heaven!" exclaimed Hare. "The Mormons have risen against the rustlers. I understand now. John

Caldwell spent last night in secretly rousing 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 widespreading cottonwoods. Hare suddenly grasped the terrible significance of those

outstretched branches, and out of the thought grew another which made him run at bursting breakneck

"Open up! Let me in!" he yelled to the thickly thronged circle. Right and left he flung men. "Make way!" His

piercing voice stilled the angry murmur. Fierce men with weapons held aloft fell back from his face.

The circle opened and closed upon him. He saw bound rustlers under armed guard. Four still forms were on

the ground. Holderness lay outstretched, a darkred blot staining his gray shirt. Flintyfaced Mormons,

ruthless now as they had once been mild, surrounded the rustlers. John Caldwell stood foremost, with ashen

The listeners burst into the short stern shout of men proclaiming a leader in war.

"A fair trial for the rustlers, then a rope," replied John Caldwell. The low ominous murmur swelled through

"Pick them out!" A strange ripple of emotion made a fleeting break in John Caldwell's hard face.

"I reckon you're mistaken," replied the rustler, his blue eyes intently on Hare. "I never seen you before. An' I

"Nebraska, if I save your life will you quit rustling cattle? You weren't cut out for a thief."

"Will I? Dn 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 of rustlers. Several were masked in black.

"No! Those men go to their graves masked." Again the strange twinge of pain crossed John Caldwell's face.

"Ah, I see," exclaimed Hare. Then quickly: "I couldn't recognize the other man anyhow; I don't know him.

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 fetch Mescal. Find out and hurry back. Time

Hare slipped out of the crowd, sped up the road, jumped the fence on the run, and burst in upon the Bishop

"No dangerdon't be alarmedall's well," he panted. "The rustlers are captured. I want Mescal. Quick!

One of the women glided from the room. Hare caught the clicking of a latch, the closing of a door, hollow

footfalls descending on stone, and dying away under the cottage. They rose again, ending in swiftly pattering

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 in his arms. "Mescal! Mescal!"

When he raised his face from the tumbling mass of her black hair, the Bishop and his family had left the

"Listen, Mescal. Be calm. I'm safe. The rustlers are prisoners. One of them released you from Holderness.

"I don't know," replied Mescal. "I've tried to think. I didn't see his face; I can't remember his voice."

"Think! Think! He'll be hanged if you don't recall something to identify him. He deserves a chance.

Holderness's crowd are thieves, murderers. But two were not all bad. That showed the night you were at

"Hush! don't interrupt me. We must save this man who saved you. Think! Mescal! Think!"

"Something about him. Think of his coat, his sleeve. You must remember something. Did you see his hands?"

"Yes, I didwhen he was loosing the cords," said Mescal, eagerly. "Long, strong fingers. I felt them too. He

has a sharp rough wart on one hand, I don't know which. He wears a leather wristband."

"That's enough!" Hare bounded out upon the garden walk and raced back to the crowded square. The uneasy

circle stirred and opened for him to enter. He stumbled over a pile of lassoes which had not been there when

he left. The stony Mormons waited; the rustlers coughed and shifted their feet. John Caldwell turned a gray

face. Hare bent over the three dead rustlers lying with Holderness, and after a moment of anxious scrutiny he

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. The rustler twisted his bound hands under his coat.

"Let's see them," said Hare, quickly. He grasped the fellow's arm and received a violent push that almost

knocked him over. Grappling with the rustler, 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 corded neck; his breast heaved

"You fool!" cried Hare, dumfounded and resentful. "I recognized you. Would you rather hang than live?

" you Mormons! See him! Paul Caldwell! Son of a Bishop! Thought he was shepherdin' sheep?"

"Dn you, Hare!" shouted the guilty Mormon, in passionate fury and shame. "Why didn't you hang me?

"Caldwell! I can't believe it," cried Hare, slowly coming to himself." But you don't hang. Here, come out of

The silent crowd of Mormons with lowered and averted eyes made passage for Hare and Caldwell. Then

cold, stern voices in sharp questions and orders went on with the grim trial. Leading the bowed and stricken

Mormon, Hare drew off to the side of the townhall and turned his back upon the crowd. The constant

trampling of many feet, the harsh medley of many voices swelled into one dreadful sound. It passed away,

Hare thrilled at that cry and his glance turned to the eastern end of the village road where a column of

"Naab and his Indians," shouted Hare. "Naab and his Indians! No fear!" His call was timely, for the aroused

Mormons, ignorant of Naab's pursuit, fearful of hostile Navajos, were handling their guns ominously.

Onward came the band, Naab in the lead on his spotted roan. The mustangs were spent and lashed with foam.

Naab reined in his charger and the keeneyed Navajos closed in behind him. The old Mormon's eagle glance

passed over the dark forms dangling from the cottonwoods to the files of waiting men.

"Who robbed me of my vengeance? Who killed the rustler?" Naab's stentorian voice rolled over the listening

multitude. In it was a hunger of thwarted hate that held men mute. He bent a downward gaze at the dead

Holderness as if to make sure of the ghastly reality. Then he seemed to rise in his saddle, and his broad chest

to expand. "I knowI saw it allblind I was not to believe my own eyes! Where is he? Where is Hare?"

Some one pointed Hare out. Naab swung from his saddle and scattered the men before him as if they had

been sheep. His shaggy gray head and massive shoulders towered above the tallest there.

Hare felt again a cold sense of fear. He grew weak in all his being. He reeled when the gray shaggy giant laid

a huge hand on his shoulder and with one pull dragged him close. Was this his kind Mormon benefactor, this

"You heard me say I'd go alone? You forestalled me? You took upon yourself my work? . . . Speak."

"Boy! Boy! You've robbed me." Naab waved his arm from the gaping crowd to the swinging rustlers.

"You've led these whitelivered Mormons to do my work. How can I avenge my sonsseven sons?"

His was the rage of the old desertlion. He loosed Hare and strode in magnificent wrath over Holderness and

"Eighteen years I prayed for wicked men," he rolled out. "One by one I buried my sons. I gave my springs

and my cattle. Then I yielded to the lust for blood. I renounced my religion. I paid my soul to everlasting hell

for the life of my foe. But he's dead! Killed by a wild boy! I sold myself to the devil for nothing!"

August Naab raved out his unnatural rage amid awed silence. His revolt was the flood of years undammed at

the last. The ferocity of the desert spirit spoke silently in the hanging rustlers, in the ruthlessness of the

vigilantes who had destroyed them, but it spoke truest in the sonorous 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.

Naab loomed over him. "What!" he roared. His friend edged away, repeating his words and jerking his thumb

"Judas Iscariot!" thundered Naab. "False to thyself, thy kin, and thy God! Thrice traitor! . . . Why didn't you

get yourself killed? . . . Why are you left? Ahh! for mea rustler for me to killwith my own hands!A

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 Mormonwhatever he ishe saved Mescal."

August Naab's eyes were bloodshot. One shake of his great body flung Hare off. He dragged Paul Caldwell

across the grass toward the cottonwood as easily as if he were handling an empty grainsack.

Hare suddenly darted after him. "August! August!look! look!" he cried. He pointed a shaking finger down

the square. The old Bishop came tottering over the grass, leaning on his cane, shading his eyes with his hand.

Hare's appeal pierced Naab's frenzied brain. The Mormon Elder saw his old Bishop pause and stare at the

Naab loosed his hold. His frame seemed wrenched as though by the passing of an evil spirit, and the reaction

"Paul, it's your father, the Bishop," he said, brokenly. "Be a man. He must 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. Then

hear me. Bishop Caldwell must never know of his son's guilt. He would sink under it. Keep the secret. Paul

will be a man again. I know. I see. For, Mormons, August Naab has the gift of revelation!"

SUMMER gleams of golden sunshine swam under the glistening red walls of the oasis. Shadows from white

clouds, like sails on a deepblue sea, darkened the broad fields of alfalfa. Circling columns of smoke were

wafted far above the cottonwoods and floated in the still air. The desertred color of Navajo blankets

Halfnaked bronze Indians lolled in the shade, lounged on the cabin porches and stood about the sunny glade

in idle groups. They wore the dress of peace. A single blacktipped white eagle feather waved above the

band binding each black head. They watched the merry children tumble round the playground. Silvermane

browsed where he listed under the shady trees, and many a sinewy red hand caressed his flowing mane. Black

Bolly neighed her jealous displeasure from the corral, and the other mustangs trampled and kicked and

whistled defiance across the bars. The peacocks preened their gorgeous plumage and uttered their clarion

calls. The belligerent turkeygobblers sidled about ruffling their feathers. The blackbirds and swallows sang

and twittered their happiness to find old nests in the branches and under the eaves. Over all boomed the dull

August Naab, for once without a task, sat astride a peeled log of driftwood in the lane, and Hare stood beside

"Five thousand steers, lad! Why do you refuse them? They're worth ten dollars a head today in Salt Lake

"Good! Jack, I see happiness and prosperity for you. Do you remember that night on the White Sage trail?

Ah! Well, the worst is over. We can look forward to better times. It's not likely the rustlers will ride into Utah

"Ah! Yes, I'm coming to that." Naab bent his head over the log and chipped off little pieces with his knife."

Long had Hare shrunk from this question which he felt must inevitably come, and now he met it as bravely as

"No, August, I can't," he replied. "I feeldifferently from Mormons aboutabout 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 better man

than you. Your work, your religion, your life Why! I've no words to say what I feel. Teach me what little

"Well, well," sighed Naab. The gray clearness of his eagle eyes grew shadowed and his worn face was sad. It

was the look of a strong wise man who 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 not to know there was nothing wholly good,

wholly perfect, wholly without error. The shade passed from his face like the cloudshadow from the sunlit

"Little more than I've already told. He was evidently a man of some rank. I suspected that he ruined his life

and became an adventurer. His health was shattered when I brought him here, but he got well after a year or

so. He was a splendid, handsome fellow. He spoke very seldom and I don't remember ever seeing him smile.

His favorite walk was the river trail. I came upon him there one day, and found him dying. He asked me to

have a care of Mescal. And he died muttering a Spanish word, a woman's name, I think."

"Cherish her, yes. My Bible will this day give her a name. We know she has the blood of a great chief.

Beautiful she is and good. I raised her for the Mormon Church, but God disposes after all, and I"

A shrill screeching sound split the warm stillness, the longdrawnout bray of a burro.

Under the shady line of the red wall a little gray burro came trotting leisurely along with one long brown ear

"By George! it's Noddle!" exclaimed Hare. "He's climbed out of the canyon. Won't this please Mescal?"

"Hey, Mother Mary," called Naab toward the cabin. "Send Mescal out. Here's a weddingpresent."

With laughing wonder the womenfolk flocked out into the yard. Mescal hung back shyeyed, roses dyeing

"Mescal's weddingpresent from Thunder River. Just arrived!" called Naab cheerily, yet deepvoiced with

the happiness he knew the tidings would give. "A dusty, dirty, shaggy, starved, lopeared, lazy

Mescal flew out into the lane, and with a strange broken cry of joy that was half a sob she fell upon her knees

and clasped the little burro's neck. Noddle wearily flapped his long brown ears, wearily nodded his white

"Noddle! dear old Noddle!" murmured Mescal, with farseeing, thoughtmirroring eyes. "For you to come

back today from our canyon! . . . Oh! The long dark nights with the thunder of the river and the lonely

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 the cottonwoods. Eschtah, magnificent in

robes of state, stood up with them. The many members of Naab's family and the grave Navajos formed an

attentive circle around them. The ceremony was brief. At its close the Mormon lifted his face and arms in

"Almighty God, we entreat Thy blessing upon this marriage. Many and inscrutable are Thy ways; strange are

the workings of Thy will; wondrous the purpose with which Thou hast brought this man and this woman

together. Watch over them in the new path they are to tread, help them in the trials to come; and in Thy good

time, when they have reached the fulness of days, when they have known the joy of life and rendered their

service, gather them to Thy bosom in that eternal home where we all pray to meet Thy chosen ones of good;

Happy congratulations of the Mormon family, a merry romp of children flinging flowers, marriagedance of

singing Navajosthese, with the feast spread under the cottonwoods, filled the warm noonhours of the day.

Then the chief Eschtah raised his lofty form, and turned his eyes upon the bride and groom.

"Eschtah's hundred summers smile in the face of youth. The arm of the White 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 the trees,

and chant when the dawn brightens in the east. Out of his wise years the Navajo bids them love while they

Jack lifted Mescal upon Black Bolly and mounted Silvermane. Piute grinned till he shook his earrings and

started the pack burros toward the plateau trail. Wolf pattered on before, turning his white head, impatient of

When they reached the old camp on the plateau the sun was setting behind the Painted Desert. With hands

closely interwoven they watched the color fade and the mustering of purple shadows.

Twilight fell. Piute raked the red coals from the glowing centre of the campfire. Wolf crouched all his long

white length, his sharp nose on his paws, watching Mescal. Hare watched her, too. The night shone in her

eyes, the light of the fire, the old brooding mystic desertspirit, and something more. The thump of

Silvermane's hobbled hoofs was heard in the darkness; Bolly's bell jangled musically. The sheep were

bleating. A lonesome coyote barked. The white stars blinked out of the blue and the night breeze whispered