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This'll be a busy day for me, shoeing the horses and packing supplies. I want to start for home to-morrow." Hare pondered over Naab's words while he ate. The suggestion in them, implying a relation to his future, made him wonder if the good Mormon intended to take him to his desert home. He hoped so, and warmed anew to this friend. But he had no enthusiasm for himself; his future seemed hopeless.

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. "I am forbidden."

But Father Naab doesn't trust Bolly, though she's the best mustang he ever broke." "Better keep her in," replied Jack, remembering Naab's warning. "I'll hobble her, so if she does break loose she can't go far." When Mescal and Jack drove in the sheep that afternoon, rather earlier than usual, Piute had returned with August Naab, Dave, and Billy, a string of mustangs and a pack-train of burros.

They gave him the branding outfit to carry, a running-iron and a little pot with charcoal and bellows; and with these he followed the riders at a convenient distance and leisurely pace. Some days they branded one hundred cattle. By October they had August Naab's crudely fashioned cross on thousands of cows and steers.

He's August Naab's son and your brother." "Yes, and you're my friend, which Snap won't think of. Will you draw on Holderness, then?" "For the life of me, Dave, I can't tell you," replied Hare, pacing the trail. "Something must break loose in me before I can kill a man. I'd draw, I suppose, in self-defence. But what good would it do me to pull too late? Dave, this thing is what I've feared.

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.

"Seen any Navvies?" "Yes." The outlaw stared hard at him. Apparently he was about to speak of the Navajos, for his quick uplift of head at Naab's blunt affirmative suggested the impulse. But he checked himself and slowly drew on his gloves. "Naab, I'm shore comin' to visit you some day. Never been over thet range. Heerd you hed fine water, fine cattle.

The old Mormon's eagle glance passed over the dark forms dangling from the cottonwoods to the files of waiting men. "Where is he?" "There!" answered John Caldwell, pointing to the body of Holderness. "Who robbed me of my vengeance? Who killed the rustler?" Naab's stentorian voice rolled over the listening multitude. In it was a hunger of thwarted hate that held men mute.

In front of the largest store were a number of mustangs all standing free, with bridles thrown over their heads and trailing on the ground. The loungers leaning against the railing and about the doors were lank brown men very like Naab's sons. Some wore sheepskin "chaps," some blue overalls; all wore boots and spurs, wide soft hats, and in their belts, far to the back, hung large Colt's revolvers.

Mother Ruth, August's second wife, was younger than Mother Mary, more comely of face, and more sad and serious of expression. The wives of the five sons, except Snap Naab's frail bride, were stalwart women, fit to make homes and rear children. "Now, Jack, things are moving all right," said August. "For the present you must eat and rest. Walk some, but don't tire yourself.