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 high-pitched, 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 suspicion.

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 evidentrelief. 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 her--his first
kiss--she slightly turned her face, so that his lips brushed her cheek,

yet even then her self-command 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, wide-open eyes staring into the darkness, and

his mind burned and seethed. Through the hours of that long night he
learned what love had cost him.

With the morning light came some degree of resignation. Several days
went slowly by, bringing the first of April, which was to be the

wedding-day. 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

springy step and jaunty mien. Once he regarded Hare with a slow smile.
Piute prepared to drive his new flock up on the plateau. The women of

the household were busy and excited; the children romped.
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 soft patter of moccasined feet brought him bolt upright.

A slender form rounded the corner wall. It was Mescal. The white dog
Wolf hung close by her side. Swiftly she reached Hare.

"Mescal!" he exclaimed.
"Hush! Speak softly," she whispered fearfully. Her hands were clinging

to his.
"Jack, do you love me still?"

More than woman's sweetness was in the whisper; the portent of
indefinable motive made Hare tremble like a shaking leaf.

"Good heavens! You are to be married in a few minutes--What do you mean?
Where are you going? this buckskin suit--and Wolf with you_Mescal!"

"There's no time--only a word--hurry--do you love me still?" she panted,
with great shining eyes close to his.

"Love you? With all my soul!"
"Listen," she whispered, and leaned against him. A fresh breeze bore the

boom of the river. She caught her breath quickly: "I love you!--I love
you!--Good-bye!"

She kissed him and broke from his clasp. Then silently, like a shadow,
with the white dog close beside her, she disappeared in the darkness of

the river trail.
She was gone before he came out of his bewilderment. He rushed down the

trail; he called her name. The gloom had swallowed her, and only the
echo of his voice made answer.

XII
ECHO CLIFFS

When thought came clearly to him he halted irresolute. For Mescal's sake
he must not appear to have had any part in her headlongflight, or any

knowledge of it.
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 bell-beat
of his heart. For a while all his being swung to the palpitating

consciousness of joy--Mescal had taken her freedom. She had escaped the
swoop of the hawk.

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

living-room next to his. Presently heavy boots thumped on the floor of
the hall; then a hand rapped on his door.

"Jack, are you there?" called August Naab.
"Yes."

"Come along then."
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 whispering
ceased.

"Why don't they fetch her?" he questioned.
"Judith, Esther, bring her in," said Mother Mary, calling into the

hallway.
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

wood-fire broke the silence.
"She hadn't put on her white frock," went on Judith.

"Her buckskins aren't hanging where they always are," continued Esther.
August Naab laid his Bible on the table." I always feared it," he said

simply.
"She's gone!" cried Snap Naab. He ran into the hall, into Mescal's room,

and returned trailing the white wedding-dress. "The time we thought she
spent to put this on she's been--"

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 desert-hawk 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 beds.

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 moccasin-tracks and burro-tracks and dog-tracks 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 boat, a mile below the rapids,