-minute. I was foreman, but there were things gain' on thet I didn't

know of. I kicked on thet deal with Martin Cole. I quit. I steal no
man's water. Is thet good with you?"

Snood's query was as much a challenge as a question. He bit savagely at
his pipe. Hare offered his hand.

"Your word goes. Dave Naab said you might be Holderness's foreman, but
you weren't a liar or a thief. I'd believe it even if Dave hadn't told

me."
"Them fellers you tracked rode in here yesterday. They're gone now.

I've no more to say, except I never hired them.'
"I'm glad to hear it. Good-day, Snood, I'm in something of a hurry."

With that Hare faced about in the direction of White Sage. Once clear of
the corrals he saw the village closer than he had expected to find it.

He walked Silvermane most of the way, and jogged along the rest, so that
he reached the village in the twilight. Memory served him well. He rode

in as August Naab had ridden out, and arrived at the Bishop's barn-yard,
where he put up his horse. Then he went to the house. It was necessary

to introduce himself for none of the Bishop's family recognized in him
the young man they had once befriended. The old Bishop prayed and

reminded him of the laying on of hands. The women served him with food,
the young men brought him new boots and garments to replace those that

had been worn to tatters. Then they plied him with questions about the
Naabs, whom they had not seen for nearly a year. They rejoiced at his

recovered health; they welcomed him with warm words.
Later Hare sought an interview alone with the Bishop's sons, and he told

them of the loss of the sheep, of the burning of the new corrals, of the
tracks leading to Holderness's ranch. In turn they warned him of his

danger, and gave him information desired by August Naab. Holderness's
grasp on the outlying ranges and water-rights had slowly and surely

tightened; every month he acquired new territory; he drove cattle
regularly to Lund, and it was no secret that much of the stock came from

the eastern slope of Coconina. He could not hire enough riders to do his
work. A suspicion that he was not a cattle-man but a rustler had slowly

gained ground; it was scarcely hinted, but it was believed. His
friendship with Dene had become offensive to the Mormons, who had

formerly been on good footing with him. Dene's killing of Martin Cole
was believed to have been at Holderness's instigation. Cole had

threatened Holderness. Then Dene and Cole had met in the main street of
White Sage. Cole's death ushered in the bloody time that he had

prophesied. Dene's band had grown; no man could say how many men he had
or who they were. Chance and Culver were openly his lieutenants, and

whenever they came into the village there was shooting. There were ugly
rumors afloat in regard to their treatment of Mormon women. The wives

and daughters of once peaceful White Sage dared no longer venture
out-of-doors after nightfall. There was more money in coin and more

whiskey than ever before in the village. Lund and the few villages
northward were terrorized as well as White Sage. It was a bitter story.

The Bishop and his sons tried to persuade Hare next morning to leave the
village without seeing Holderness, urging the futility of such a meeting.

"I will see him," said Hare. He spent the morning at the cottage, and
when it came time to take his leave he smiled into the anxious faces." If

I weren't able to take care of myself August Naab would never have said
so.'

Had Hare asked himself what he intended to do when he faced Holderness he
could not have told. His feelings were pent-in, bound, but at the bottom

something rankled. His mind seemed steeped in still thunderous
atmosphere.

How well he remembered the quaint wide street, the gray church! As he
rode many persons stopped to gaze at Silvermane. He turned the corner

into the main thoroughfare A new building had been added to the several
stores. Mustangs stood, bridles down, before the doors; men lounged

along the railings.
As he dismounted he heard the loungers speak of his horse, and he saw

their leisurely manner quicken. He stepped into the store to meet more
men, among them August Naab's friend Abe. Hare might never have been in

White Sage for all the recognition he found, but he excited something
keener than curiosity. He asked for spurs, a clasp-knife and some other

necessaries, and he contrived, when momentarily out of sight behind a
pile of boxes, to whisper his identity to Abe. The Mormon was

dumbfounded. When he came out of his trance he showed his gladness, and
at a question of Hare's he silentlypointed toward the saloon.

Hare faced the open door. The room had been enlarged; it was now on a
level with the store floor, and was blue with smoke, foul with the fumes

of rum, and noisy with the voices of dark, rugged men.
A man in the middle of the room was dancing a jig.

"Hello, who's this?" he said, straightening up.
It might have been the stopping of the dance or the quick spark in Hare's

eyes that suddenly quieted the room. Hare had once vowed to himself that
he would never forget the scarred face; it belonged to the outlaw Chance.

The sight of it flashed into the gulf of Hare's mind like a meteor into
black night. A sudden madness raced through his veins.

"Hello' Don't you know me?" he said, with a long step that brought him
close to Chance.

The outlaw stood irresolute. Was this an old friend or an enemy? His
beady eyes scintillated and twitched as if they sought to look him over,

yet dared not because it was only in the face that intention could be
read.

The stillness of the room broke to a hoarsewhisper from some one.
"Look how he packs his gun."

Another man answering whispered: "There's not six men in Utah who pack a
gun thet way."

Chance heard these whispers, for his eye shifted downward the merest
fraction of a second. The brick color of his face turned a dirty white.

"Do you know me?" demanded Hare.
Chance's answer was a spasmodic jerking of his hand toward his hip.

Hare's arm moved quicker, and Chance's Colt went spinning to the floor.
"Too slow," said Hare. Then he flung Chance backward and struck him

blows that sent his head with sodden thuds against the log wall. Chance
sank to the floor in a heap.

Hare kicked the outlaw's gun out of the way, and wheeled to the crowd.
Holderness stood foremost, his tall form leaning against the bar, his

clear eyes shining like light on ice.
"Do you know me?" asked Hare, curtly.

HolderDess started slightly. "I certainly don't," he replied.
"You slapped my face once." Hare leaned close to the rancher. "Slap it

now--you rustler!"
In the slow, guarded instant when Hare's gaze held Holderness and the

other men, a low murmuring ran through the room.
"Dene's spy!" suddenly burst out Holderness.

Hare slapped his face. Then he backed a few paces with his right arm
held before him almost as high as his shoulder, the wrist rigid, the

fingers quivering.
"Don't try to draw, Holderness. Thet's August Naab's trick with a gun,"

whispered a man, hurriedly.
"Holderness, I made a bonfire over at Seeping Springs," said Hare." I

burned the new corrals your men built, and I tracked them to your ranch.
Snood threw up his job when he heard it. He's an honest man, and no

honest man will work for a water-thief, a cattle-rustler, a sheep-killer.
You're shown up, Holderness. Leave the country before some one kills

you--understand, before some one kills you!"
Holderness stood motionless against the bar, his eyes fierce with

passionate hate.
Hare backed step by step to the outside door, his right hand still high,

his look holding the crowd bound to the last instant. Then he slipped
out, scattered the group round Silvermane, and struck hard with the

spurs.