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Only a few can live on the desert. Let him who has found the springs and the trails keep them for his own. Let him who came too late go away to find for himself, to prove himself a warrior, or let his bones whiten in the sand. The Navajo counsels his white friend to kill." "The great Eschtah speaks wise words," said Naab. "The White Prophet is richer for them.
August Naab trusted God and men, loved animals, did what he had to do with all his force, and accepted fate. The tragedy of the sheep had been only an incident in a tragical life that Hare divined with awe.
At the end of an hour the horses toiled over the last rise to the summit and entered a level forest of cedars; in another hour they were descending gradually. "Here we are at the tanks," said Naab. Hare saw that they had come up with the other wagons. George Naab was leading a team down a rocky declivity to a pool of yellow water. The other boys were unharnessing and unsaddling.
Naab returned to his seat; the team started, now no longer in a trot; they were climbing. After that Hare fell into a slumber in which he could hear the slow grating whirr of wheels, and when it ceased he awoke to raise himself and turn his ear to the back trail. By-and-by he discovered that the black night had changed to gray; dawn was not far distant; he dozed and awakened to clear light.
August Naab let him run this time, and Silvermane, keeping close to the fence, passed the gate, ran down to the rim, and wheeled. The black mustang was on him again, holding him in close to the fence, driving him back down the stretch.
"I shore want to see the young feller you lied to me about," returned Dene, his smile slowly fading. "No speech could be a lie to an outlaw." "I want him, you Mormon preacher!" "You can't have him." "I'll shore get him." In one great stride Naab confronted and towered over Dene. The rustler's gaze shifted warily from Naab to the quiet Mormons and back again.
He can look over his shoulder at you and beat any horse in this country. The Navajos have given up catching him as a bad job. Why here! Jack! quick, get out your rifle coyotes!" Naab pulled on the reins, and pointed to one side. Hare discerned three grayish sharp-nosed beasts sneaking off in the sage, and he reached back for the rifle. Naab whistled, stopping the coyotes; then Hare shot.
The white mane waved in the wind; the half-naked Navajo swayed to the motion. Horse and rider disappeared in the cedars. They were gone all day. Toward night they appeared on the stretch. The Indian rode into camp and, dismounting, handed the bridle-rein to Naab. He spoke no word; his dark impassiveness invited no comment. Silvermane was dust-covered and sweat-stained.
Hare was regardless of time while he stole under the cedars and through the thickets, spying out the cunning coyotes. Then Naab's yell pealing out claimed his attention; he answered and returned. When they met he recounted his adventures in mingled excitement and disappointment. "Are you tired?" asked Naab. "Tired? No," replied Jack. "Well, you mustn't overdo the very first day. I've news for you.
For days after the departure of August and Jack the man had kept himself in a stupor; then his store of drink failing, he had come out of his almost senseless state into an insane frenzy. He had tried to kill his wife and wreck his cottage, being prevented in the nick of time by Dave Naab, the only one of his brothers who dared approach him.
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