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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.






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