bove the tallest there.

Hare felt again a cold sense of fear. He grew weak in all his being. He
reeled when the gray shaggy giant laid a huge hand on his shoulder and
with one pull dragged him close. Was this his kind Mormon benefactor,
this man with the awful eyes?

"You killed Holderness?" roared Naab.

"Yes," whispered Hare.

"You heard me say I'd go alone? You forestalled me? You took upon
yourself my work?... Speak."

"I--did."

"By what right?"

"My debt--duty--your family--Dave!"

"Boy! Boy! You've robbed me." Naab waved his arm from the gaping crowd
to the swinging rustlers. "You've led these white-livered Mormons to do
my work. How can I avenge my sons--seven sons?"

His was the rage of the old desert-lion. He loosed Hare and strode in
magnificent wrath over Holderness and raised his brawny fists.

"Eighteen years I prayed for wicked men," he rolled out. "One by one I
buried my sons. I gave my springs and my cattle. Then I yielded to the
lust for blood. I renounced my religion. I paid my soul to everlasting
hell for the life of my foe. But he's dead! Killed by a wild boy! I sold
myself to the devil for nothing!"

August Naab raved out his unnatural rage amid awed silence. His revolt
was the flood of years undammed at the last. The ferocity of the desert
spirit spoke silently in the hanging rustlers, in the ruthlessness
of the vigilantes who had destroyed them, but it spoke truest in the
sonorous roll of the old Mormon's wrath.

"August, young Hare saved two of the rustlers," spoke up an old friend,
hoping to divert the angry flood. "Paul Caldwell there, he was one of
them. The other's gone."

Naab loomed over him. "What!" he roared. His friend edged away,
repeating his words and jerking his thumb backward toward the Bishop's
son.

"Judas Iscariot!" thundered Naab. "False to thyself, thy kin, and thy
God! Thrice traitor!... Why didn't you get yourself killed? ... Why are
you left? Ah-h! for me--a rustler for me to kill--with my own hands!--A
rope there--a rope!"

"I wanted them to hang me," hoarsely cried Caldwell, writhing in Naab's
grasp.

Hare threw all his weight and strength upon the Mormon's iron arm.
"Naab! Naab! For God's sake, hear! He saved Mescal. This man, thief,
traitor, false Mormon--whatever he is--he saved Mescal."

August Naab's eyes were bloodshot. One shake of his great body
flung Hare off. He dragged Paul Caldwell across the grass toward the
cottonwood as easily as if