started the same day, and
made Silver Cup that night. As he rode under the low-branching cedars
toward the bright camp-fire he looked about him sharply. But not one of
the four faces ruddy in the glow belonged to Snap Naab.

"Hello, Jack," called Dave Naab, into the dark. "I knew that was you.
Silvermane sure rings bells when he hoofs it down the stones. How're
you and dad? and did you find Mescal? I'll bet that desert child led you
clear to the Little Colorado."

Hare told the story of the fruitless search.

"It's no more than we expected," said Dave. "The man doesn't live who
can trail the peon. Mescal's like a captured wild mustang that's slipped
her halter and gone free. She'll die out there on the desert or turn
into a stalk of the Indian cactus for which she's named. It's a pity,
for she's a good girl, too good for Snap."

"What's your news?" inquired Hare.

"Oh, nothing much," replied Dave, with a short laugh. "The cattle
wintered well. We've had little to do but hang round and watch. Zeke and
I chased old Whitefoot one day, and got pretty close to Seeping Springs.
We met Joe Stube, a rider who was once a friend of Zeke's. He's with
Holderness now, and he said that Holderness had rebuilt the corrals at
the spring; also he has put up a big cabin, and he has a dozen riders
there. Stube told us Snap had been shooting up White Sage. He finished
up by killing Snood. They got into an argument about you."

"About me!"

"Yes, it seems that Snood took your part, and Snap wouldn't stand for
it. Too bad! Snood was a good fellow. There's no use talking, Snap's
going too far--he is--" Dave did not conclude his remark, and the
silence was more significant than any utterance.

"What will the Mormons in White Sage say about Snap's killing Snood?"

"They've said a lot. This even-break business goes all right among
gun-fighters, but the Mormons call killing murder. They've outlawed
Culver, and Snap will be outlawed next."

"Your father hinted that Snap would find the desert too small for him
and me?"

"Jack, you can't be too careful. I've wanted to speak to you about
it. Snap will ride in here some day and then--" Dave's pause was not
reassuring.

And it was only on the third day after Dave's remark that Hare, riding
down the mountain with a deer he had shot, looked out from the trail and
saw Snap's cream pinto trotting toward Silver Cup. Beside Snap rode a
tall man on a big bay. When Hare reached camp he reported