There was a thick bush on the edge
of the cliff; in three steps he could reach it and, unseen himself, look
down upon the camp.

A little cloud or smoke rose lazily and capped a slender column of blue.
Sounds were wafted softly upward, the low voices of men in conversation,
a merry whistle, and then the humming of a tune. Hare's mouth was dry
and his temples throbbed as he asked himself what it was best to do. The
answer came instantaneously as though it had lain just below the level
of his conscious thought. "I'll watch till Holderness walks out into
sight, jump up with a yell when he comes, give him time to see me, to
draw his gun--then kill him!"

Hare slipped to the bush, drew in a deep long breath that stilled his
agitation, and peered over the cliff. The crude shingles of the cabin
first rose into sight; then beyond he saw the corral with a number of
shaggy mustangs and a great gray horse. Hare stared blankly. As in a
dream he saw the proud arch of a splendid neck, the graceful wave of a
white-crested mane.

"Silvermane!... My God!" he gasped, suddenly. "They caught him--after
all!"

He fell backward upon the cliff and lay there with hands clinching
his rifle, shudderingly conscious of a blow, trying to comprehend its
meaning.

"Silvermane!... they caught him--after all!" he kept repeating; then in
a flash of agonized understanding he whispered: "Mescal... Mescal!"

He rolled upon his face, shutting out the blue sky; his body stretched
stiff as a bent spring released from its compress, and his nails dented
the stock of his rifle. Then this rigidity softened to sobs that shook
him from head to foot. He sat up, haggard and wild-eyed.

Silvermane had been captured, probably by rustlers waiting at the
western edge of the sand-strip. Mescal had fallen into the hands of Snap
Naab. But Mescal was surely alive and Snap was there to be killed; his
long career of unrestrained cruelty was in its last day--something told
Hare that this thing must and should be. The stern deliberation of his
intent to kill Holderness, the passion of his purpose to pay his debt to
August Naab, were as nothing compared to the gathering might of this new
resolve; suddenly he felt free and strong as an untamed lion broken free
from his captors.

From the cover of the bush he peered again over the cliff. The cabin
with its closed door facing him was scarcely two hundred feet down from
his hiding-place. One of the rustlers sang as he bent