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August Naab walked swiftly from the circle of light into the darkness;
his heavy steps sounded on the porch, and in the hallway. His three sons went
toward their cabins with bowed heads and silent tongues. Eschtah folded his
blanket about him and stalked off into the gloom of the grove, followed by his
warriors.
Hare remained in the shadow of the cottonwood where he had stood unnoticed.
He had not moved a muscle since he had heard August Naab's declaration. That
one word of Naab's intention, "Alone!" had arrested him. For it had struck
into his heart and mind. It had paralyzed him with the revelation it brought;
for Hare now knew as he had never known anything before, that he would
forestall August Naab, avenge the death of
Dave, and kill the rustler Holderness. Through blinding shock he passed
slowly into cold acceptance of his heritage from the desert.
The two long years of his desert training were as an open page to Hare's
unveiled eyes. The life he owed to August Naab, the strength built up by the
old man's knowledge of the healing power of plateau and range--these lay in a
long curve between the day Naab had lifted him out of the White
Sage trail and this day of the Mormon's extremity. A long curve with
Holderness's insulting blow at the beginning, his murder of a beloved friend
at the end! For Hare remembered the blow, and never would he forget Dave's
last words. Yet unforgetable as these were, it was duty rather than revenge
that called him. This was August Naab's hour of need. Hare knew himself to
be the tool of inscrutable fate; he was the one to fight the old
desert-scarred Mormon's battle. Hare recalled how humbly he had expressed his
gratitude to Naab, and the apparent impossibility of ever repaying him, and
then Naab's reply: "Lad, you can never tell how one man may repay another."
Hare could pay his own debt and that of the many wanderers who had drifted
across the sands to find a home with the Mormon. These men stirred in their
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graves, and from out the shadow of the cliff whispered the voice of Mescal's
nameless father:
"Is there no one to rise up for this old hero of the desert?"
Softly Hare slipped into his room. Putting on coat and belt and catching up
his rifle he stole out again stealthily, like an Indian. In the darkness of
the wagon-shed he felt for his saddle, and finding it, he groped with eager
hands for the grain-box; raising the lid he filled a measure with grain, and
emptied it into his saddle-bag. Then lifting the saddle he carried it out of
the yard, through the gate and across the
lane to the corrals. The wilder mustangs in the far corral began to kick and
snort, and those in the corral where Black Bolly was kept trooped noisily to
the bars. Bolly whinnied and thrust her black muzzle over the fence. Hare
placed a caressing hand on her while he waited listening and watching. It was
not unusual for the mustangs to get restless at any time, and Hare was
confident that this would pass without investigation.
Gradually the restless stampings and suspicious snortings ceased, and
Hare, letting down the bars, led Bolly out into the lane. It was the work of
a moment to saddle her; his bridle hung where he always kept it, on the
pommel, and with nimble fingers he shortened the several straps to fit Bolly's
head, and slipped the bit between her teeth. Then he put up the bars of the
gate.
Before mounting he stood a moment thinking coolly, deliberately numberin g the
several necessities he must not forget--grain for Bolly, food for himself, his
Colt and Winchester, cartridges, canteen, matches, knife.
He inserted a hand into one of his saddle-bags expecting to find some strips
of meat. The bag was empty. He felt in the other one, and under the grain he
found what he sought. The canteen lay in the coil of his lasso tied to the
saddle, and its heavy canvas covering was damp to his touch. With that he
thrust the long Winchester into its saddle-sheath, and swung his leg over the
mustang.
The house of the Naabs was dark and still. The dying council-fire cast
flickering shadows under the black cottonwoods where the Navajos slept.
The faint breeze that rustled the leaves brought the low sullen roar of the
river.
Hare guided Bolly into the thick dust of the lane, laid the bridle loosely on
her neck for her to choose the trail, and silently rode out into the lonely
desert night.
XIX
UNLEASHED
HARE, listening breathlessly, rode on toward the gateway of the cliffs, and
when he had passed the corner of the wall he sighed in relief.
Spurring Bolly into a trot he rode forward with a strange elation. He had
slipped out of the oasis unheard, and it would be morning before
August Naab discovered his absence, perhaps longer before he divined his
purpose. Then Hare would have a long start. He thrilled with something akin
to fear when he pictured the old man's rage, and wondered what change it would
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make in his plans. Hare saw in mind Naab and his sons, and the Navajos
sweeping in pursuit to save him from the rustlers. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]