by Zane Grey
she appeared in the doorway, silently
she held forth her bound hands. The man untied the bonds and pointed
into the cedars toward the corral. Swift and soundless as a flitting
shadow Mescal vanished in the gloom. The Mormon stole with wary,
unhurried steps back to his bed and rolled in his blankets.
Hare rose unsteadily, wavering in the hot grip of a moment that seemed
to have but one issue--the killing of Holderness. Mescal would soon be
upon Silvermane, far out on the White Sage trail, and this time there
would be no sand-strip to trap her. But Hare could not kill the rustler
while he was sleeping; and he could not awaken him without revealing to
his men the escape of the girl. Hare stood there on the bench, gazing
down on the blanketed Holderness. Why not kill him now, ending forever
his power, and trust to chance for the rest? No, no! Hare flung the
temptation from him. To ward off pursuit as long as possible, to aid
Mescal in every way to some safe hiding-place, and then to seek
Holderness--that was the forethought of a man who had learned to wait.
Under the dark projection of the upper cliff Hare felt his way to the
cedar slope, and the trail, and then he went swiftly down into the
little hollow where he had left Bolly. The darkness of the forest
hindered him, but he came at length to the edge of the aspen thicket; he
penetrated it, and guided toward Bolly by a suspicious stamp and neigh,
he found her and quieted her with a word. He rode down the hollow, out
upon the level valley.
The clouds had broken somewhat, letting pale light down through rifts.
All about him cattle were lying in a thick gloom. It was penetrable for
only a few rods. The ground was like a cushion under Bolly's hoofs,
giving forth no sound. The mustang threw up her head, causing Hare to
peer into the night-fog. Rapid hoof-beats broke the silence, a vague
gray shadow moved into sight. He saw Silvermane and called as loudly as
he dared. The stallion melted into the misty curtain, the beating of
hoofs softened and ceased. Hare spurred Bolly to her fleetest. He had a
long, silent chase, but it was futile, and unnecessarily hard on the
mustang; so he pulled her in to a trot.
Hare kept Bolly to this gait the remainder of the night, and when the
eastern sky lightened he found the trail and reached Seeping Springs at
dawn. Silvermane's tracks were deep in the clay at the drinking-trough.
He rested a few moments, gave Bolly sparingly of grain and water, and
once more took to the trail.
From the ridge below the spring he saw Silvermane beyond the valley,
miles ahead of him. This day seemed shorter than the foregoing one; it
passed while he watched Silvermane grow smaller and smaller and
disappear on the looming slope of Coconina. Hare's fear that Mescal
would run into the riders Holderness expected from his ranch grew less
and less after she had reached the cover of the cedars. That she would
rest the stallion at the Navajo pool on the mountain he made certain.
Late in the night he came to the camping spot and found no trace to
prove that she had halted there even to let Silvermane drink. So he tied
the tired mustang and slept until daylight.
He crossed the plateau and began the descent. Before he was half-way
down the warm bright sun had cleared the valley of vapor and shadow. Far
along the winding white trail shone a speck. It was Silvermane almost
out of sight.
"Ten miles--fifteen, more maybe," said Hare. "Mescal will soon be in the
village."
Again hours of travel flew by like winged moments. Thoughts of time,
distance, monotony, fatigue, purpose, were shut out from his mind. A
rushing kaleidoscopic dance of images filled his consciousness, but they
were all of Mescal. Safety for her had unsealed the fountain of
happiness.
It was near sundown when he rode Black Bolly into White Sage, and took
the back road, and the pasture lane to Bishop Caldwell's cottage. John,
one of the Bishop's sons, was in the barn-yard and ran to open the gate.
"Mescal!" cried Hare.
"Safe," replied the Mormon.
"Have you hidden her?"
"She's in a secret cave, a Mormon hiding-place for women. Only a few men
know of its existence. Rest easy, for she's absolutely safe."
"Thank God!... then that's settled." Hare drew a long, deep breath.
"Mescal told us what happened, how she got caught at the sand-strip and
escaped from Holderness at Silver Cup. Was Dene hurt?"
"Silvermane killed him."
"Good God! How things come about! I saw you run Dene down that time here
in White Sage. It must have been written. Did Holderness shoot Snap
Naab?"
"Yes."
"What of old Naab? Won't he come down here now to lead us Mormons
against the rustlers?"
"He called the Navajos across the river. He meant to take the trail
alone and kill Holderness, keeping the Indians back a few days. If he
failed to return then they were to ride out on the rustlers. But his
plan must be changed, for I came ahead of him."
"For what? Mescal?"
"No. For Holderness."
"You'll kill him!"
"Yes."
"He'll be coming soon?--When?"
"To-morrow, possibly by daylight. He wants Mescal. There's a chance Naab
may have reached Silver Cup before Holderness left, but I doubt it."
"May I know your plan?" The Mormon hesitated while his strong brown face
flashed with daring inspiration. "I--I've a good reason."
"Plan?-- Yes. Hide Bolly and Silvermane in the little arbor down in the
orchard. I'll stay outside to-night, sleep a little--for I'm dead tired-
-and watch in the morning. Holderness will come here with his men,
perhaps not openly at first, to drag Mescal away. He'll mean to use
strategy. I'll meet him when he comes--that's all."
"It's well. I ask you not to mention this to my father. Come in, now.
You need food and rest. Later I'll hide Bolly and Silvermane in the
arbor."
Hare met the Bishop and his family with composure, but his arrival
following so closely upon Mescal's, increased their alarm. They seemed
repelled yet fascinated by his face. Hare ate in silence. John Caldwell
did not come in to supper; his brothers mysteriously left the table
before finishing the meal. A subdued murmur of voices floated in at the
open window.
Darkness found Hare wrapped in a blanket under the trees. He needed
sleep that would loose the strange deadlock of his thoughts, clear the
blur from his eyes, ease the pain in his head and weariness of limbs--
all these weaknesses of which he had suddenly become conscious. Time and
again he had almost wooed slumber to him when soft footsteps on the
gravel paths, low voices, the gentle closing of the gate, brought him
back to the unreal listening wakefulness. The sounds continued late into
the night, and when he did fall asleep he dreamed of them. He awoke to a
dawn clearer than the light from the noonday sun. In his ears was the
ringing of a bell. He could not stand still, and his movements were
subtle and s
wift. His hands took a peculiar, tenacious, hold of
everything he chanced to touch. He paced his hidden walk behind the
arbor, at every turn glancing sharply up and down the road. Thoughts
came to him clearly, yet one was dominant. The morning was curiously
quiet, the sons of the Bishop had strangely disappeared--a sense of
imminent catastrophe was in the air.
A band of horsemen closely grouped turned into the road and trotted
forward. Some of the men wore black masks. Holderness rode at the front,
his red-gold beard shining in the sunlight. The steady clip-clop of
hoofs and clinking of iron stirrups broke the morning quiet. Holderness,
with two of his men, dismounted before the Bishop's gate; the others of
the band trotted on down the road. The ring of Holderness's laugh
preceded the snap of the gate-latch.
Hare stood calm and cold behind his green covert
