The Heritage of the Desert: A Novel

by Zane Grey

report. Instinctively Hare

  dodged, but the light impact of something like a puff of air gave place

  to a tearing hot agony. Then he slipped down, back to the stone, with a

  bloody hand fumbling at his breast.

  Dave leaped with tigerish agility, and knocking up the levelled Colt,

  held Snap as in a vise. George Naab gave Holderness's horse a sharp kick

  which made the mettlesome beast jump so suddenly that his rider was

  nearly unseated. Zeke ran to Hare and laid him back against the stone.

  "Cool down, there!" ordered Zeke. "He's done for."

  "My God--my God!" cried Dave, in a broken voice. "Not--not dead?"

  "Shot through the heart!"

  Dave Naab flung Snap backward, almost off his horse. "D--n you! run, or

  I'll kill you. And you, Holderness! Remember! If we ever meet again--you

  draw!" He tore a branch from a cedar and slashed both horses. They

  plunged out of the glade, and clattering over the stones, brushing the

  cedars, disappeared. Dave groped blindly back toward his brothers.

  "Zeke, this's awful. Another murder by Snap! And my friend!... Who's to

  tell father?"

  Then Hare sat up, leaning against the stone, his shirt open and his bare

  shoulder bloody; his face was pale, but his eyes were smiling. "Cheer

  up, Dave. I'm not dead yet."

  "Sure he's not," said Zeke. "He ducked none too soon, or too late, and

  caught the bullet high up in the shoulder."

  Dave sat down very quietly without a word, and the hand he laid on

  Hare's knee shook a little.

  "When I saw George go for his gun," went on Zeke, "I knew there'd be a

  lively time in a minute if it wasn't stopped, so I just said Jack was

  dead."

  "Do you think they came over to get me?" asked Hare.

  "No doubt," replied Dave, lifting his face and wiping the sweat from his

  brow. "I knew that from the first, but I was so dazed by Snap's going

  over to Holderness that I couldn't keep my wits, and I didn't mark Snap

  edging over till too late."

  "Listen, I hear horses," said Zeke, looking up from his task over Hare's

  wound.

  "It's Billy, up on the home trail," added George. "Yes, and there's

  father with him. Good Lord, must we tell him about Snap?"

  "Some one must tell him," answered Dave.

  "That'll be you, then. You always do the talking."

  August Naab galloped into the glade, and swung himself out of the

  saddle. "I heard a shot. What's this? Who's hurt?--Hare! Why--lad--how

  is it with you?"

  "Not bad," rejoined Hare.

  "Let me see," August thrust Zeke aside. "A bullet-hole--just missed the

  bone--not serious. Tie it up tight. I'll take him home to-morrow....

  Hare, who's been here?"

  "Snap rode in and left his respects."

  "Snap! Already? Yet I knew it--I saw it. You had Providence with you,

  lad, for this wound is not bad. Snap surprised you, then?"

  "No. I knew it was coming."

  "Jack hung his belt and gun on Silvermane's saddle," said Dave. "He

  didn't feel as if he could draw on either Snap or Holderness--"

  "Holderness!"

  "Yes. Snap rode in with Holderness. Hare thought if he was unarmed they

  wouldn't draw. But Snap did."

  "Was he drunk?"

  "No. They came over to kill Hare." Dave went on to recount the incident

  in full. "And--and see here, dad--that's not all. Snap's gone to the

  bad."

  Dave Naab hid his face while he told of his brother's treachery; the

  others turned away, and Hare closed his eyes.

  For long moments there was silence broken only by the tramp of the old

  man as he strode heavily to and fro. At last the footsteps ceased, and

  Hare opened his eyes to see Naab's tall form erect, his arms uplifted,

  his shaggy head rigid.

  "Hare," began August, presently. "I'm responsible for this cowardly

  attack on you. I brought you out here. This is the second one. Beware of

  the third! I see--but tell me, do you remember that I said you must meet

  Snap as man to man?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't you want to live?"

  "Of course."

  "You hold to no Mormon creed?"

  "Why, no," Hare replied, wonderingly.

  "What was the reason I taught you my trick with a gun?"

  "I suppose it was to help me to defend myself."

  "Then why do you let yourself be shot down in cold blood? Why did you

  hang up your gun? Why didn't you draw on Snap? Was it because of his

  father, his brothers, his family?"

  "Partly, but not altogether," replied Hare, slowly. "I didn't know

  before what I know now. My flesh sickened at the thought of killing a

  man, even to save my own life; and to kill--your son--"

  "No son of mine!" thundered Naab. "Remember that when next you meet. I

  don't want your blood on my hands. Don't stand to be killed like a

  sheep! If you have felt duty to me, I release you."

  Zeke finished bandaging the wound. Making a bed of blankets he lifted

  Hare into it, and covered him, cautioning him to lie still. Hare had a

  sensation of extreme lassitude, a deep drowsiness which permeated even

  to his bones. There were intervals of oblivion, then a time when the

  stars blinked in his eyes; he heard the wind, Silvermane's bell, the

  murmur of voices, yet all seemed remote from him, intangible as things

  in a dream.

  He rode home next day, drooping in the saddle and fainting at the end of

  the trail, with the strong arm of August Naab upholding him. His wound

  was dressed and he was put to bed, where he lay sleeping most of the

  time, brooding the rest.

  In three weeks he was in the saddle again, riding out over the red strip

  of desert toward the range. During his convalescence he had learned that

  he had come to the sombre line of choice. Either he must deliberately

  back away, and show his unfitness to survive in the desert, or he must

  step across into its dark wilds. The stern question haunted him. Yet he

  knew a swift decision waited on the crucial moment.

  He sought lonely rides more than ever, and, like Silvermane, he was

  always watching and listening. His duties carried him half way to

  Seeping Springs, across the valley to the red wall, up the slope of

  Coconina far into the forest of stately pines. What with Silvermane's

  wonderful scent and sight, and his own constant watchfulness, there were

  never range-riders or wild horses nor even deer near him without his

  knowledge.

  The days flew by; spring had long since given place to summer; the blaze

  of sun and blast of flying sand were succeeded by the cooling breezes

  from the mountain; October brought the flurries of snow and November the

  dark storm-clouds.

  Hare was the last of the riders to be driven off the mountain. The

  brothers were waiting for him at Silver Cup, and they at once packed and

  started for home.

  August Naab listened to the details of the range-riding since his

  absence, with silent surprise. Holderness and Snap had kept away from

  Silver Cup after the supposed killing of Hare. Occasionally a group of

  horsemen rode across the valley or up a trail within sight of Dave and

  his followers, but there was never a
meeting. Not a steer had been

  driven off the range that summer and fall; and except for the menace

  always hanging in the blue smoke over Seeping Springs the range-riding

  had passed without unusual incident.

  So for Hare the months had gone by swiftly; though when he looked back

  afterward they seemed years. The winter at the oasis he filled as best

  he could, with the children playing in the yard, with Silvermane under

  the sunny lee of the great red wall, with any work