“'Naab, I ain't in any mind to fool. Snap wants the girl, an' I want Silvermane, an' that damned spy that come back to life.' “Then Holderness spoke from the back of the crowd: 'Naab, you'd better hurry, if you don't want the house burned!' “Dave drew and Holderness fired from behind the men. Dave fell, raised up and shot Chance and Culver, then dropped his gun. “With that the women in the house began to scream, and Mescal ran out saying she'd go with Snap if they'd do no more harm. “'All right,' said Snap, 'get a horse, hurry--hurry!' “Then Dene dismounted and went toward the corral saying, 'I shore want Silvermane.' “Mescal reached the gate ahead of Dene. 'Let me get Silvermane. He's wild; he doesn't know you; he'll kick you if you go near him.' She dropped the bars and went up to the horse. He was rearing and snorting. She coaxed him down and then stepped up on the fence to untie him. When she had him loose she leaped off the fence to his back, screaming as she hit him with the halter. Silvermane snorted and jumped, and in three jumps he was going like a bullet. Dene tried to stop him, and was knocked twenty feet. He was raising up when the stallion ran over him. He never moved again. Once in the lane Silvermane got going--Lord! how he did run! Mescal hung low over his neck like an Indian. He was gone in a cloud of dust before Snap and the rustlers knew what had happened. Snap came to first and, yelling and waving his gun, spurred down the lane. The rest of the rustlers galloped after him.” August Naab placed a sympathetic hand on Hare's shaking shoulder. “You see, lad, things are never so bad as they seem at first. Snap might as well try to catch a bird as Silvermane.” XVIII. THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT “MESCAL'S far out in front by this time. Depend on it, Hare,” went on Naab. “That trick was the cunning Indian of her. She'll ride Silvermane into White Sage to-morrow night. Then she'll hide from Snap. The Bishop will take care of her. She'll be safe for the present in White Sage. Now we must bury these men. To-morrow--my son. Then--” “What then?” Hare straightened up. Unutterable pain darkened the flame in the Mormon's gaze. For an instant his face worked spasmodically, only to stiffen into a stony mask. It was the old conflict once more, the never-ending war between flesh and spirit. And now the flesh had prevailed. “The time has come!” said George Naab. “Yes,” replied his father, harshly. A great calm settled over Hare; his blood ceased to race, his mind to riot; in August Naab's momentous word he knew the old man had found himself. At last he had learned the lesson of the desert--to strike first and hard. “Zeke, hitch up a team,” said August Naab. “No--wait a moment. Here comes Piute. Let's hear what he has to say.” Piute appeared on the zigzag cliff-trail, driving a burro at dangerous speed. “He's sighted Silvermane and the rustlers,” suggested George, as the shepherd approached.