Naab strike out on the White Sage trail? Would he come alone? Whether

he came alone or at the head of his hard-riding 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

and guard it so closely?
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 wind-storm
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 that cabin door."

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 dangers--losing 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 flat he crawled stealthily to the
bushy fringe of the bench.

A bright fire blazed under the cliff. Men were moving and laughing. The
cabin door was open. Mescal stood leaning back from Snap Naab,

struggling to release her hands.
"Let me untie them, I say," growled Snap.

Mescal tore loose from him and stepped back. Her hands were bound 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.
"All right, don't eat then--starve!" said Snap.

"I'll starve before I eat what you give me."
The rustlers laughed. Holderness blew out a puff of smoke and smiled.

Snap glowered upon Mescal and then upon his amiablecompanions. 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 White yet. Here, Miss, let me untie your

hands--there. . . . Say! Naab, d--n you, her wrists are black an'
blue!"

"Look out! Your gun!" yelled Snap.
With a swift movement Mescal snatched the man's Colt from its holster and

was raising it when he grasped her arm. She winced and dropped the
weapon.

"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
it?"

"I didn't--intend--to shoot--you," panted Mescal.
"Naab, if this's your Mormon kind of wife--excuse me! Though I ain't

denyin' she's the sassiest an' sweetest little cat I ever seen!"
"We Mormons don't talk about our women or hear any talk," returned Snap,

a dancing fury in his pale eyes. "You're from Nebraska?"
"Yep, jest a plain Nebraska rustler, cattle-thief, an' all round no-good

customer, though I ain't taken to houndin' women yet."
For answer Snap Naab's right hand slowly curved upward before him and

stopped taut and inflexible, while his strange eyes seemed to shoot
sparks.

"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' d--n 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 Holdemess, 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

camp-fire, 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, blessedrelief to see her unscathed, pride in her fighting
spirit--these came side by side with gratitude to the kind Nebraska

rustler, strange deepening insight into Holderness's game,
unextinguishable white-hot hatred of Snap Naab. And binding all was the

ever-mounting 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

the cabin door.
"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 up--no!"
"Who says no?" hissed the Mormon, with snapping teeth. As he wheeled

upon them his Colt seemed to leap forward, and suddenly quivered at
arm's-length, gleaming in the ruddy fire-rays.

Holderness laughed in the muzzle of the weapon. "Go ahead, Snap, tie up
your lady love. What a tame little wife she's going to make you! Tie her

up, but do it without hurting her."
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 moment, finally shut the door.

"It's funny about a woman, now, ain't it?" said Nebraska, confidentially,
to a companion. "One minnit she'll snatch you bald-headed; the next,

she'll melt in your mouth like sugar. An' I'll be darned if the
changeablest one ain't the kind to hold a feller longest. But it's h--1.

I was married onct. Not any more for mine! A pal I had used to say 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."