Zane Grey (21 page)

When the old chieftain's lips opened Hare anticipated the austere speech,
the import that meant only pain to him, and his whole inner being seemed
to shrink.

"The White Prophet's child of red blood is lost to him," said Eschtah.
"The Flower of the Desert is as a grain of drifting sand."

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 on the White Sage trail and had not been heard from since.

The Mormon put forth all his skill in surgery and medicine to save 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 pack and ride out to
the range, and tell his sons that he would come later.

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 low-branching cedars
toward the bright camp-fire he looked about him sharply. But not one of
the four faces ruddy in the glow belonged to Snap Naab.

"Hello, Jack," called Dave Naab, into the dark. "I knew that was you.
Silvermane sure rings bells when he hoofs it down the stones. How're you
and dad? and did you find Mescal? I'll bet that desert child led you
clear to the Little Colorado."

Hare told the story of the fruitless search.

"It's no more than we expected," said Dave. "The man doesn't live 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."

"What's your news?" inquired Hare.

"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 an argument about you."

"About me!"

"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 far—he is—" Dave did not conclude his remark, and the silence was
more significant than any utterance.

"What will the Mormons in White Sage say about Snap's killing Snood?"

"They've said a lot. This even-break business goes all right among
gun-fighters, but the Mormons call killing murder. They've outlawed
Culver, and Snap will be outlawed next."

"Your father hinted that Snap would find the desert too small for him and
me?"

"Jack, you can't be too careful. I've wanted to speak to you about it.
Snap will ride in here some day and then—" Dave's pause was not
reassuring.

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.
While they were speaking Dave hurriedly ran up the trail.

"It's Snap and Holderness," he called out, sharply "What's Snap doing
with Holderness? What's he bringing him here for?"

"I don't like the looks of it," replied Zeke, deliberately.

"Jack, what what'll you do?" asked Dave, suddenly.

"Do? What can I do? I'm not going to run out of camp because of a visit
from men who don't like me."

"It might be wisest."

"Do you ask me to run to avoid a meeting with your brother?"

"No." The dull red came to Dave's cheek. "But will you draw on him?"

"Certainly not. He's August Naab's son and your brother."

"Yes, and you're my friend, which Snap won't think of. Will you draw 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 self-defence. 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. Look here, would
either of them shoot an unarmed man?"

"Lord, I hope not; I don't think so. But you're packing your gun."

Hare unbuckled his cartridge-belt, which held his Colt, and hung it over
the pommel of his saddle; then he sat down on one of the stone seats near
the camp-fire.

"There they come," whispered Zeke, and he rose to his feet, followed by
George.

"Steady, you fellows," said Dave, with a warning glance. "I'll do the
talking."

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
cattle-man with cool scorn, but refusing to speak to him, addressed his
brother.

"Snap, what do you mean by riding in here with this fellow?"

"I'm Holderness's new foreman. We're just looking round," replied Snap.
The hard lines, the sullen shade the hawk-beak cruelty had 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. "No—you can't mean that—you're drunk!"

"That's what I said," growled Snap.

"You're a liar!" shouted Dave, a crimson blot blurring with the brown on
his cheeks. He jumped off the ground in his fury.

"It's true, Naab; he's my new foreman," put in Holderness, suavely. "A
hundred a month—in gold—and I've got as good a place for you."

"Well, by G—d!" Dave's arms came down and his face blanched to his lips.
"Holderness!"

"I know what you'd say," interrupted the ranchman.

"But stop it. I know you're game. And what's the use of fighting? I'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. "Say it again, Snap Naab. You've
hired out to ride for this man?"

"That's it."

"You're going against your father, your brothers, your own flesh and
blood?"

"I can't see it that way."

"Then you're a drunken, easily-led 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 water-rights. He's trying to break
us. For God's sake, ain't you a man?"

"Things have gone bad for me," replied Snap, sullenly, shifting in his
saddle. "I reckon I'll do better to cut out alone for myself."

"You crooked cur! But you're only my half-brother, after all. I 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 it!"

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 hand fumbling at his breast.

Dave leaped with tigerish agility, and knocking up the levelled Colt,
held Snap as in a vise. George Naab gave Holderness's horse a sharp kick
which made the mettlesome beast jump so suddenly that his rider was
nearly unseated. Zeke ran to Hare and laid him back against the stone.

"Cool down, there!" ordered Zeke. "He's done for."

"My God—my God!" cried Dave, in a broken voice. "Not—not dead?"

"Shot through the heart!"

Dave Naab flung Snap backward, almost off his horse. "D—n you! run, or
I'll kill you. And you, Holderness! Remember! If we ever meet again—you
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 blindly back toward his brothers.

"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 his eyes were smiling. "Cheer
up, Dave. I'm not dead yet."

"Sure he's not," said Zeke. "He ducked none too soon, or too late, and
caught the bullet high up in the shoulder."

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 stopped, so I just said Jack was
dead."

"Do you think they came over to get me?" asked Hare.

"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
edging over till too late."

"Listen, I hear horses," said Zeke, looking up from his task over Hare's
wound.

"It's Billy, up on the home trail," added George "Yes, and there's father
with him. Good Lord, must we tell him about Snap?"

"Some one must tell him," answered Dave.

"That'll be you, then. You always do the talking."

August Naab galloped into the glade, and swung himself out of the saddle.
"I heard a shot. What's this? Who's hurt?—Hare! Why—lad—how is it
with you?"

"Not bad," rejoined Hare.

"Let me see," August thrust Zeke aside. "A bullet-hole—just missed the
bone—not serious. Tie it up tight. I'll take him home to-morrow. . . .
Hare, who's been here?"

"Snap rode in and left his respects."

"Snap! Already? Yet I knew it—I saw it. You had Providence with you,
lad, for this wound is not bad. Snap surprised you, then?"

"No. I knew it was coming."

"Jack hung his belt and gun on Silvermane's saddle," said Dave. "He
didn't feel as if he could draw on either Snap or Holderness—"

"Holderness!"

"Yes. Snap rode in with Holderness. Hare thought if he was unarmed they
wouldn't draw. But Snap did."

"Was he drunk?"

"No. They came over to kill Hare." Dave went on to recount the incident
in full. "And—and see here, dad—that's not all. Snap's gone to the
bad."

Dave Naab hid his face while he told of his brother's treachery; the
others turned away, and Hare closed his eyes.

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 shaggy head rigid.

"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 see—but tell me, do you remember that I said you must
meet Snap as man to man?"

"Yes."

"Don't you want to live?"

"Of course."

"You hold to no Mormon creed?"

"Why, no," Hare replied, wonderingly.

"What was the reason I taught you my trick with a gun?"

"I suppose it was to help me to defend myself."

"Then why do you let yourself be shot down in cold blood? Why did you
hang up your gun? Why didn't you draw on Snap? Was it because of his
father, his brothers, his family?"

"Partly, but not altogether," replied Hare, slowly. "I didn't know
before what I know now. My flesh sickened at the thought of killing a
man, even to save my own life; and to kill—your son—"

"No son of mine!" thundered Naab. "Remember that when next you meet. I
don't want your blood on my hands. Don't stand to be killed like 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 dream.

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 the
time, brooding the rest.