Zane Grey (27 page)

"They've turned back, Mescal. We're safe. Why, you look as you did the
day the bear ran for you."

"I'd rather a bear got me than Snap. Jack, did you see him?"

"See him? Rather! I'll bet he nearly killed his pinto. Mescal, what do
you think of Silvermane now? Can he run? Can he outrun Bolly?"

"Yes—yes. 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
fence-pickets 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 lifted Hare from the saddle.

"Every day I've watched the river for you," he said. His eyes were warm
and his grasp like a vise.

"Mescal—child!" he continued, as she came running to him. "Safe and
well. He's brought you back. Thank the Lord!" He took her to his breast
and bent his gray head over her.

Then the crowd of big and little Naabs burst from the house and came
under the cottonwoods to offer noisy welcome to Mescal and Hare.

"Jack, you look done up," said Dave Naab solicitously, when the first
greetings had been spoken, and Mother Ruth had led Mescal indoors.
"Silvermane, too—he's wet and winded. He's been running?"

"Yes, a little," replied Hare, as he removed the saddle from the weary
horse.

"Ah! What's this?" questioned August Naab, with his hand on Silvermane's
flank. He touched a raw groove, and the stallion flinched. "Hare, a
bullet made that!"

"Yes."

"Then you didn't ride in by the Navajo crossing?"

"No. I came by Silver Cup."

"Silver Cup? How on earth did you get down there?"

"We climbed out of the canyon up over Coconina, and so made the spring."

Naab whistled in surprise and he flashed another keen glance over Hare
and his horse. "Your story can wait. I know about what it is—after you
reached Silver Cup. Come in, come in, Dave will look out for the
stallion."

But Hare would allow no one else to attend to Silvermane. He rubbed the
tired gray, gave him a drink at the trough, led him to the corral, and
took leave of him with a caress like Mescal's. Then he went to his room
and bathed himself and changed his clothes, afterward presenting himself
at the supper-table to eat like one famished. Mescal and he ate alone,
as they had been too late for the regular hour. The women-folk waited
upon them as if they could not do enough. There were pleasant words and
smiles; but in spite of them something sombre attended the meal. There
was a shadow in each face, each step was slow, each voice subdued. Naab
and his sons were waiting for Hare when he entered the sitting room, and
after his entrance the door was closed. They were all quiet and stern,
especially the father. "Tell us all," said Naab, simply.

While Hare was telling his adventures not a word or a move interrupted
him till he spoke of Silvermane's running Dene down.

"That's the second time!" rolled out Naab. "The stallion will kill him
yet!"

Hare finished his story.

"What don't you owe to that whirlwind of a horse!" exclaimed Dave Naab.
No other comment on Hare or Silvermane was offered by the Naabs.

"You knew Holderness had taken in Silver Cup?" inquired Hare.

August Naab nodded gloomily.

"I guess we knew it," replied Dave for him. "While I was in White Sage
and the boys were here at home, Holderness rode to the spring and took
possession. I called to see him on my way back, but he wasn't around.
Snap was there, the boss of a bunch of riders. Dene, too, was there."

"Did you go right into camp?" asked Hare.

"Sure. I was looking for Holderness. There were eighteen or twenty
riders in the bunch. I talked to several of them, Mormons, good fellows,
they used to be. Also I had some words with Dene. He said: 'I shore was
sorry Snap got to my spy first. I wanted him bad, an' I'm shore goin' to
have his white horse.' Snap and Dene, all of them, thought you were
number thirty-one in dad's cemetery."

"Not yet," said Hare. "Dene certainly looked as if he saw a ghost when
Silvermane jumped for him. Well, he's at Silver Cup now. They're all
there. What's to be done about it? They're openly thieves. The new
brand on all your stock proves that."

"Such a trick we never heard of," replied August Naab. "If we had we
might have spared ourselves the labor of branding the stock."

"But that new brand of Holderness's upon yours proves his guilt."

"It's not now a question of proof. It's one of possession. Holderness
has stolen my water and my stock."

"They are worse than rustlers; firing on Mescal and me proves that."

"Why didn't you unlimber the long rifle?" interposed Dave, curiously.

"I got it full of water and sand. That reminds me I must see about
cleaning it. I never thought of shooting back. Silvermane was running
too fast."

"Jack, you can see I am in the worst fix of my life," said August Naab.
"My sons have persuaded me that I was pushed off my ranges too easily.
I've come to believe Martin Cole; certainly his prophecy has come true.
Dave brought news from White Sage, and it's almost unbelievable.
Holderness has proclaimed himself or has actually got himself elected
sheriff. He holds office over the Mormons from whom he steals. Scarcely
a day goes by in the village without a killing. The Mormons north of
Lund finally banded together, hanged some rustlers, and drove the others
out. Many of them have come down into our country, and Holderness now
has a strong force. But the Mormons will rise against him. I know it; I
see it. I am waiting for it. We are God-fearing, life-loving men, slow
to wrath. But—"

The deep rolling burr in his voice showed emotion too deep for words.

"They need a leader," replied Hare, sharply.

August Naab rose with haggard face and his eyes had the look of a man
accused.

"Dad figures this way," put in Dave. "On the one hand we lose our water
and stock without bloodshed. We have a living in the oasis. There's
little here to attract rustlers, so we may live in peace if we give up
our rights. On the other hand, suppose Dad gets the Navajos down here
and we join them and go after Holderness and his gang. There's going to
be an all-fired bloody fight. Of course we'd wipe out the rustlers, but
some of us would get killed—and there are the wives and kids. See!"

The force of August Naab's argument for peace, entirely aside from his
Christian repugnance to the shedding of blood, was plainly unassailable.

"Remember what Snap said?" asked Hare, suddenly. "One man to kill Dene!
Therefore one man to kill Holderness! That would break the power of this
band."

"Ah! you've said it," replied Dave, raising a tense arm. "It's a one-man
job. D—n Snap! He could have done it, if he hadn't gone to the bad. But
it won't be easy. I tried to get Holderness. He was wise, and his men
politely said they had enjoyed my call, but I wasn't to come again."

"One man to kill Holderness!" repeated Hare.

August Naab cast at the speaker one of his far-seeing glances; then he
shook himself, as if to throw off the grip of something hard and
inevitable. "I'm still master here," he said, and his voice showed the
conquest of his passions.

"I give up Silver Cup and my stock. Maybe that will content Holderness."

Some days went by pleasantly for Hare, as he rested from his long
exertions. Naab's former cheer and that of his family reasserted itself
once the decision was made, and the daily life went on as usual. The
sons worked in the fields by day, and in the evening played at pitching
horseshoes on the bare circle where the children romped. The women went
on baking, sewing, and singing. August Naab's prayers were more fervent
than ever, and he even prayed for the soul of the man who had robbed him.
Mescal's cheeks soon rounded out to their old contour and her eyes shone
with a happier light than Hare had ever seen there. The races between
Silvermane and Black Bolly were renewed on the long stretch under the
wall, and Mescal forgot that she had once acknowledged the superiority of
the gray. The cottonwoods showered silken floss till the cabins and
grass were white; the birds returned to the oasis; the sun kissed warm
color into the cherries, and the distant noise of the river seemed like
the humming of a swarm of bees.

"Here, Jack," said August Naab, one morning, "get a spade and come with
me. There's a break somewhere in the ditch."

Hare went with him out along the fence by the alfalfa fields, and round
the corner of red wall toward the irrigating dam.

"Well, Jack, I suppose you'll be asking me for Mescal one of these days,"
said Naab.

"Yes," replied Hare.

"There's a little story to tell you about Mescal, when the day comes."

"Tell it now."

"No. Not yet. I'm glad you found her. I never knew her to be so happy,
not even when she was a child. But somehow there's a better feeling
between her and my womenfolk. The old antagonism is gone. Well, well,
life is so. I pray that things may turn out well for you and her. But I
fear—I seem to see—Hare, I'm a poor man once more. I can't do for you
what I'd like. Still we'll see, we'll hope."

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 wind-song in the crags,
the river-murmur 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 washed-out bank of the ditch had not gone far when Naab
raised his head as if listening.

"Did you hear anything?" he asked.

"No," replied Hare.

"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
disturbing thought. Suddenly he dropped the spade and his eyes flashed.

"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 sound of
the river. Naab sprang toward her and Hare ran at his heels.

"Father!— Father!" she panted. "Come—quick—the rustlers!—the
rustlers! Snap!—Dene—Oh—hurry! They've killed Dave—they've got
Mescal!"

Death itself shuddered through Hare's veins and then a raging flood of
fire. He bounded forward to be flung back by Naab's arm.

"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 certainty to their doubt and dread.

"I see only the women—the children—no—there's a man—Zeke," said Hare,
bending low to gaze under the branches.

"Go slow," muttered Naab.

"The rustlers rode off—after Mescal—she's gone!" panted Judith.

Hare, spurred by the possibilities in the half-crazed girl's speech, cast
caution to the winds and dashed forward into the glade. Naab's heavy
steps thudded behind him.

In the corner of the porch scared and stupefied children huddled in a
heap. George and Billy bent over Dave, who sat white-faced against the
steps. Blood oozed through the fingers pressed to his breast. Zeke was
trying to calm the women.

"My God! Dave!" cried Hare. "You're not hard hit? Don't say it!"

"Hard hit—Jack—old fellow," replied Dave, with a pale smile. His face
was white and clammy.

August Naab looked once at him and groaned, "My son! My son!"

"Dad—I got Chance and Culver—there they lie in the road—not bungled,
either!"

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 convulsion.

August Naab and Zeke carried the injured man into the house. The women
and children followed, and Hare, with Billy and George, entered last.

"Dad—I'm shot clean through—low down," said Dave, as they laid him on a
couch. "It's just as well I—as any one—somebody had to—start this
fight."

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 got—to be—good friends. Don't forget—that—when you meet—
Holderness. He shot me—from behind Chance and Culver—and after I fell—
I killed them both—trying to get him. You—won't hang up—your gun—
again—will you?"