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Updated: June 28, 2025
Her trail leads to the bitter waters under the cliff, and then is as a bird's." "Eschtah has waited, yet Mescal has not come to him." "She has not been here?" "Mescal's shadow has not gladdened the Navajo's door." "She has climbed the crags or wandered into the canyons. The white father loves her; he must find her." "Eschtah's braves and mustangs are for his friend's use.
The sheep began to bleat. A rippling crash, a splintering of wood, told of an irresistible onslaught on the corral fence. "Chus chus!" exclaimed Piute. Wolf, not heeding Mescal's cry, flashed like lightning under the cedars. The rush of the sheep, pattering across the corral was succeeded by an uproar. "Bear! Bear!" cried Mescal, with dark eyes on Jack. He seized his rifle.
The voices of the Navajos, scarcely audible, sounded "toa's" and "taa's" syllables he soon learned were characteristic and dominant in low, deep murmurs. It reminded Hare of something that before had been pleasant to his ear. Then it came to mind: a remembrance of Mescal's sweet voice, and that recalled the kinship between her and the Navajo chieftain.
"Why don't they fetch her?" he questioned. "Judith, Esther, bring her in," said Mother Mary, calling into the hallway. Quick footsteps, and the girls burst in impetuously, exclaiming: "Mescal's not there!" "Where is she, then?" demanded August Naab, going to the door. "Mescal!" he called. Succeeding his authoritative summons only the cheery sputter of the wood-fire broke the silence.
But they found no sign of Mescal. After long hours the excitement subsided and all sought their beds. Morning disclosed the facts of Mescal's flight.
He rushed down the trail; he called her name. The gloom had swallowed her, and only the echo of his voice made answer. WHEN thought came clearly to him he halted irresolute. For Mescal's sake he must not appear to have had any part in her headlong flight, or any knowledge of it.
It was a warrior's salute to an unconquered world. Hare saw in his falcon eyes the still gleam, the brooding fire, the mystical passion that haunted the eyes of Mescal. "The slave without a tongue is a wolf. He scents the trails and the waters. Eschtah's eyes have grown old watching here, but he has seen no Indian who could follow Mescal's slave.
"She hadn't put on her white frock," went on Judith. "Her buckskins aren't hanging where they always are," continued Esther. August Naab laid his Bible on the table. "I always feared it," he said simply. "She's gone!" cried Snap Naab. He ran into the hall, into Mescal's room, and returned trailing the white wedding-dress. "The time we thought she spent to put this on she's been "
Hare paused blankly, not so much at her refusal as at the unmistakable fear in her face. "Why not?" he asked presently, with an odd sense of trouble. There was more here than Mescal's habitual shyness. "Because he'll be terribly angry." "Angry I don't understand. Why angry?" The girl did not answer, and looked so forlorn that Hare attempted to take her in his arms. She resisted and broke from him.
"He's like Mescal's Wolf!" He looked closer, his heart beginning to thump, and then he yelled: "Ki-yi! Wolf! Hyer! Hyer!" The dog leaped straight up in the air, and coming down, began to dash back and forth along the sand with piercing yelps. "It's Wolf! Mescal must be near," cried Hare. A veil obscured his sight, and every vein was like a hot cord. "Wolf! Wolf! I'm coming!"
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