Zane Grey (4 page)

"Holderness, this is a desert. No men save Mormons could ever have made
it habitable. The Government scarcely knows of its existence. It'll be
fifty years before man can come in here to take our water."

"Why can't he? The water doesn't belong to any one. Why can't he?"

"Because of the unwritten law of the desert. No Mormon would refuse you
or your horse a drink, or even a reasonable supply for your stock. But
you can't come in here and take our water for your own use, to supplant
us, to parch our stock. Why, even an Indian respects desert law!"

"Bah! I'm not a Mormon or an Indian. I'm a cattleman. It's plain
business with me. Once more I make you the offer."

Naab scorned to reply. The men faced each other for a silent moment,
their glances scintillating. Then Holderness whirled on his heel,
jostling into Hare.

"Get out of my way," said the rancher, in the disgust of intense
irritation. He swung his arm, and his open hand sent Hare reeling
against the counter.

"Jack," said Naab, breathing hard, "Holderness showed his real self
to-day. I always knew it, yet I gave him the benefit of the doubt. . . .
For him to strike you! I've not the gift of revelation, but I see—let us
go."

On the return to the Bishop's cottage Naab did not speak once; the
transformation which had begun with the appearance of his drunken son had
reached a climax of gloomy silence after the clash with Holderness. Naab
went directly to the Bishop, and presently the quavering voice of the old
minister rose in prayer.

Hare dropped wearily into the chair on the porch; and presently fell into
a doze, from which he awakened with a start. Naab's sons, with Martin
Cole and several other men, were standing in the yard. Naab himself was
gently crowding the women into the house. When he got them all inside he
closed the door and turned to Cole.

"Was it a fair fight?"

"Yes, an even break. They met in front of Abe's. I saw the meeting.
Neither was surprised. They stood for a moment watching each other.
Then they drew—only Snap was quicker. Larsen's gun went off as he fell.
That trick you taught Snap saved his life again. Larsen was no slouch on
the draw."

"Where's Snap now?"

"Gone after his pinto. He was sober. Said he'd pack at once. Larsen's
friends are ugly. Snap said to tell you to hurry out of the village with
young Hare, if you want to take him at all. Dene has ridden in; he
swears you won't take Hare away."

"We're all packed and ready to hitch up," returned Naab. "We could start
at once, only until dark I'd rather take chances here than out on the
trail."

"Snap said Dene would ride right into the Bishop's after Hare."

"No. He wouldn't dare."

"Father!" Dave Naab spoke sharply from where he stood high on a grassy
bank. "Here's Dene now, riding up with Culver, and some man I don't
know. They're coming in. Dene's jumped the fence! Look out!"

A clatter of hoofs and rattling of gravel preceded the appearance of a
black horse in the garden path. His rider bent low to dodge the vines of
the arbor, and reined in before the porch to slip out of the saddle with
the agility of an Indian. It was Dene, dark, smiling, nonchalant.

"What do you seek in the house of a Bishop?" challenged August Naab,
planting his broad bulk square before Hare.

"Dene's spy!"

"What do you seek in the house of a Bishop?" repeated Naab.

"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. Then his right hand quivered and shot downward. Naab's act was
even quicker. A Colt gleamed and whirled to the grass, and the outlaw
cried as his arm cracked in the Mormon's grasp.

Dave Naab leaped off the bank directly in front of Dene's approaching
companions, and faced them, alert and silent, his hand on his hip.

August Naab swung the outlaw against the porch-post and held him there
with brawny arm.

"Whelp of an evil breed!" he thundered, shaking his gray head. "Do you
think we fear you and your gunsharp tricks? Look! See this!" He released
Dene and stepped back with his hand before him. Suddenly it moved,
quicker than sight, and a Colt revolver lay in his outstretched palm. He
dropped it back into the holster. "Let that teach you never to draw on me
again." He doubled his huge fist and shoved it before Dene's eyes. "One
blow would crack your skull like an egg-shell. Why don't I deal it?
Because, you mindless hell-hound, because there's a higher law than
man's—God's law—Thou shalt not kill! Understand that if you can. Leave
me and mine alone from this day. Now go!"

He pushed Dene down the path into the arms of his companions.

"Out with you!" said Dave Naab. "Hurry! Get your horse. Hurry! I'm not
so particular about God as Dad is!"

AFTER the departure of Dene and his comrades Naab decided to leave White
Sage at nightfall. Martin Cole and the Bishop's sons tried to persuade
him to remain, urging that the trouble sure to come could be more safely
met in the village. Naab, however, was obdurate, unreasonably so, Cole
said, unless there were some good reason why he wished to strike the
trail in the night. When twilight closed in Naab had his teams ready and
the women shut in the canvas-covered wagons. Hare was to ride in an open
wagon, one that Naab had left at White Sage to be loaded with grain.
When it grew so dark that objects were scarcely discernible a man vaulted
the cottage fence.

"Dave, where are the boys?" asked Naab.

"Not so loud! The boys are coming," replied Dave in a whisper. "Dene is
wild. I guess you snapped a bone in his arm. He swears he'll kill us
all. But Chance and the rest of the gang won't be in till late. We've
time to reach the Coconina Trail, if we hustle."

"Any news of Snap?"

"He rode out before sundown."

Three more forms emerged from the gloom.

"All right, boys. Go ahead, Dave, you lead."

Dave and George Naab mounted their mustangs and rode through the gate;
the first wagon rolled after them, its white dome gradually dissolving in
the darkness; the second one started; then August Naab stepped to his
seat on the third with a low cluck to the team. Hare shut the gate and
climbed over the tail-board of the wagon.

A slight swish of weeds and grasses brushing the wheels was all the sound
made in the cautious advance. A bare field lay to the left; to the right
low roofs and sharp chimneys showed among the trees; here and there
lights twinkled. No one hailed; not a dog barked.

Presently the leaders turned into a road where the iron hoofs and wheels
cracked and crunched the stones.

Hare thought he saw something in the deep shade of a line of
poplar-trees; he peered closer, and made out a motionless horse and
rider, just a shade blacker than the deepest gloom. The next instant
they vanished, and the rapid clatter of hoofs down the road told Hare his
eyes had not deceived him.

"Getup," growled Naab to his horses. "Jack, did you see that fellow?"

"Yes. What was he doing there?"

"Watching the road. He's one of Dene's scouts."

"Will Dene—"

One of Naab's sons came trotting back. "Think that was Larsen's pal. He
was laying in wait for Snap."

"I thought he was a scout for Dene," replied August.

"Maybe he's that too."

"Likely enough. Hurry along and keep the gray team going lively.
They've had a week's rest."

Hare watched the glimmering lights of the village vanish one by one, like
Jack-o'-lanterns. The horses kept a steady, even trot on into the huge
windy hall of the desert night. Fleecy clouds veiled the stars, yet
transmitted a wan glow. A chill crept over Hare. As he crawled under
the blankets Naab had spread for him his hand came into contact with a
polished metal surface cold as ice. It was his rifle. Naab had placed
it under the blankets. Fingering the rifle Hare found the spring opening
on the right side of the breech, and, pressing it down, he felt the round
head of a cartridge. Naab had loaded the weapon, he had placed it where
Hare's hand must find it, yet he had not spoken of it. Hare did not stop
to reason with his first impulse. Without a word, with silent
insistence, disregarding his shattered health, August Naab had given him
a man's part to play. The full meaning lifted Hare out of his
self-abasement; once more he felt himself a man.

Hare soon yielded to the warmth of the blankets; a drowsiness that he
endeavored in vain to throw off smothered his thoughts; sleep glued his
eyelids tight. They opened again some hours later. For a moment he
could not realize where he was; then the whip of the cold wind across his
face, the woolly feel and smell of the blankets, and finally the steady
trot of horses and the clink of a chain swinging somewhere under him,
recalled the actuality of the night ride. He wondered how many miles had
been covered, how the drivers knew the direction and kept the horses in
the trail, and whether the outlaws were in pursuit. When Naab stopped
the team and, climbing down, walked back some rods to listen, Hare felt
sure that Dene was coming. He listened, too, but the movements of the
horses and the rattle of their harness were all the sounds he could hear.
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. A rose-red horizon lay
far below and to the eastward; the intervening descent was like a rolling
sea with league-long swells.

"Glad you slept some," was Naab's greeting. "No sign of Dene yet. If we
can get over the divide we're safe. That's Coconina there, Fire Mountain
in Navajo meaning. It's a plateau low and narrow at this end, but it
runs far to the east and rises nine thousand feet. It forms a hundred
miles of the north rim of the Grand Canyon. We're across the Arizona
line now."

Hare followed the sweep of the ridge that rose to the eastward, but to
his inexperienced eyes its appearance carried no sense of its noble
proportions.

"Don't form any ideas of distance and size yet a while," said Naab,
reading Hare's expression. "They'd only have to be made over as soon as
you learn what light and air are in this country. It looks only half a
mile to the top of the divide; well, if we make it by midday we're lucky.
There, see a black spot over this way, far under the red wall? Look
sharp. Good! That's Holderness's ranch. It's thirty miles from here.
Nine Mile Valley heads in there. Once it belonged to Martin Cole.
Holderness stole it. And he's begun to range over the divide."

The sun rose and warmed the chill air. Hare began to notice the
increased height and abundance of the sagebrush, which was darker in
color. The first cedar-tree, stunted in growth, dead at the top, was the
half-way mark up the ascent, so Naab said; it was also the forerunner of
other cedars which increased in number toward the summit. At length
Hare, tired of looking upward at the creeping white wagons, closed his
eyes. The wheels crunched on the stones; the horses heaved and labored;
Naab's "Getup" was the only spoken sound; the sun beamed down warm, then
hot; and the hours passed. Some unusual noise roused Hare out of his
lethargy. The wagon was at a standstill. Naab stood on the seat with
outstretched arm. George and Dave were close by their mustangs, and Snap
Naab, mounted on a cream-colored pinto, reined him under August's arm,
and faced the valley below.

"Maybe you'll make them out," said August. "I can't, and I've watched
those dust-clouds for hours. George can't decide, either."

Hare, looking at Snap, was attracted by the eyes from which his father
and brothers expected so much. If ever a human being had the eyes of a
hawk Snap Naab had them. The little brown flecks danced in clear pale
yellow. Evidently Snap had not located the perplexing dust-clouds, for
his glance drifted. Suddenly the remarkable vibration of his pupils
ceased, and his glance grew fixed, steely, certain.

"That's a bunch of wild mustangs," he said.

Hare gazed till his eyes hurt, but could see neither clouds of dust nor
moving objects. No more was said. The sons wheeled their mustangs and
rode to the fore; August Naab reseated himself and took up the reins; the
ascent proceeded.

But it proceeded leisurely, with more frequent rests. 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.

"About three," said Naab, looking at the sun. "We're in good time.
Jack, get out and stretch yourself. We camp here. There's the Coconina
Trail where the Navajos go in after deer."

It was not a pretty spot, this little rock-strewn glade where the white
hard trail forked with the road. The yellow water with its green scum
made Hare sick. The horses drank with loud gulps. Naab and his sons
drank of it. The women filled a pail and portioned it out in basins and
washed their faces and hands with evident pleasure. Dave Naab whistled
as he wielded an axe vigorously on a cedar. It came home to Hare that
the tension of the past night and morning had relaxed. Whether to
attribute that fact to the distance from White Sage or to the arrival at
the water-hole he could not determine. But the certainty was shown in
August's cheerful talk to the horses as he slipped bags of grain over
their noses, and in the subdued laughter of the women. Hare sent up an
unspoken thanksgiving that these good Mormons had apparently escaped from
the dangers incurred for his sake. He sat with his back to a cedar and
watched the kindling of fires, the deft manipulating of biscuit dough in
a basin, and the steaming of pots. The generous meal was spread on a
canvas cloth, around which men and women sat cross-legged, after the
fashion of Indians. Hare found it hard to adapt his long legs to the
posture, and he wondered how these men, whose legs were longer than his,
could sit so easily. It was the crown of a cheerful dinner after hours
of anxiety and abstinence to have Snap Naab speak civilly to him, and to
see him bow his head meekly as his father asked the blessing. Snap ate
as though he had utterly forgotten that he had recently killed a man; to
hear the others talk to him one would suppose that they had forgotten it
also.