The gray, never before spurred, broke down the road into his old wild
speed.
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 let the horse cross.
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
him with his left fore-leg, sending him into the dust.
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 desert.
XI
THE DESERT-HAWK
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
August Naab and his other sons appeared with a pack-train.
"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.
"What does this mean?" he demanded, with the sonorous roll of his angry
voice.
Hare told all that had happened.
August Naab's
gloomy face worked, and his eagle-gaze had in it a strange
far-
seeing light; his mind was
dwelling upon his
mystic power of
revelation.
"I see--I see," he said haltingly.
"Ki--yi-i-i!" yelled Dave Naab with all the power of his lungs. His head
was back, his mouth wide open, his face red, his neck corded and swollen
with the
intensity of his passion.
"Be still--boy!" ordered his father." Hare, this was
madness--but 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 by Dene.
August Naab bowed his head and his giant frame shook under the force of
his
emotion. Martin Cole was the last of his life-long friends.
"This--this
outlaw--you 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 fell sidewise. Silvermane's knee sent him
sprawling."
"What will it all lead to?" asked August Naab, and in his
extremity he
appealed to his
eldest son.
"The bars are down," said Snap Naab, with a click of his long teeth.
"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
by hoping and praying. We've got to fight!"
"Dave's right, dad, it means fight," cried George, with his fist clinched
high.
"You've been wrong, father, in
holding back," said Make Naab, his lean
jaw bulging. "This Holderness will steal the water and meat out of our
children's mouths. We've got to fight!"
"Let's ride to White Sage," put in Snap Naub, 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
desert-wolf's teeth. He was one of the Naabs, and yet apart from them,
for neither religion, nor friendship, nor life itself mattered to him.
August Naab's huge bulk shook again, not this time with grief, but in
wrestling effort to
withstand the fiery influence of this unholy fighting
spirit among his sons.