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Updated: June 19, 2025
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.
But he knew better, because he'd marked the thing very close when he bought it, and there was a stain in the amber which had knocked off two bob. He said no more but ate his poached eggs and cleaned up the plate after with a piece of bread, according to his habit. Then he drank his tea, and ten minutes later he was off on his pony to old Mrs. Dene's house to have a tell with his sweetheart.
Her purpose there was to please her aunt as never she'd pleased her until that time; and for two reasons. Cora well knew that there was going to come a fearful strain on Mrs. Dene's goodwill, and was anxious to plan her own life after the crash had fallen, because she little doubted Mrs. Dene would cast her out. Indeed, she reckoned on it.
Her kind eyes, her fair little faded face, were troubled. "Madame Bordier says the young lady tells her she has met you before, Rex." "Yes, in Paris"; for his life he could not have kept down the crimson flush that darkened his cheeks and made his temples throb. Mrs Dene's manner grew a little colder. "She seems very nice. You knew her people, of course."
Mrs Dene's face became a cheerful blank. "Yes, there is more," she said. A pause. "Mamma," began Ruth, "do you think Griffins desirable as mothers?" "Very, for bad children!" Mrs Dene relapsed into a pleasant reverie. Ruth looked at her mother as a kitten does in a game of tag when the old cat has retired somewhere out of reach and sits up smiling through the barrier.
Snap's pale eyes gleamed on Hare and the little flames seemed to darken and leap. "This is John Hare, the young man I found. But he's not a spy." "You can't make any one believe that. He's down as a spy. Dene's spy! His name's gone over the ranges as a counter of unbranded stock. Dene has named him and Dene has marked him. Don't take him home, as you've taken so many sick and hunted men before.
We've been tolerable friends. He's wanted me to join his band. I'll kill him." He laughed as he raised his right hand and swept it down to his left side; the blue Colt lay on his outstretched palm. Dene's life and Holderness's, too, hung in the balance between two deadly snaps of this desert-wolf's teeth.
Her craft was to plant in old Sarah Dene's mind the picture of a helpmate very much out of the common; and she done so, and on the night before James White came along, Cora's aunt had gone so far as to admit it would be a dark day for her when the girl was wed and had took her many gifts to Hartland.
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