Hare nursed a grievance for forty-eight hours, and then, taking advantage of Piute's absence on an errand down to the farm, and of the Naabs' strenuous day with four vicious wild horses in the corral at one time, he walked out to the pasture where Mescal shepherded the flock. “Mescal, why are you avoiding me?” he asked. “What has happened?” She looked tired and unhappy, and her gaze, instead of meeting his, wandered to the crags. “Nothing,” she replied. “But there must be something. You have given me no chance to talk to you, and I wanted to know if you'd let me speak to Father Naab.” “To Father Naab? Why--what about?” “About you, of course--and me--that I love you and want to marry you.” She turned white. “No--no!” Hare paused blankly, not so much at her refusal as at the unmistakable fear in her face. “Why--not?” he asked presently, with an odd sense of trouble. There was more here than Mescal's habitual shyness. “Because he'll be terribly angry.” “Angry--I don't understand. Why angry?” The girl did not answer, and looked so forlorn that Hare attempted to take her in his arms. She resisted and broke from him. “You must never--never do that again.” Hare drew back sharply. “Why not? What's wrong? You must tell me, Mescal.” “I remembered.” She hung her head. “Remembered--what?” “I am pledged to marry Father Naab's eldest son.” For a moment Hare did not understand. He stared at her unbelievingly. “What did you say?” he asked, slowly. Mescal repeated her words in a whisper. “But--but Mescal--I love you. You let me kiss you,” said Hare stupidly, as if he did not grasp her meaning. “You let me kiss you,” he repeated. “Oh, Jack, I forgot,” she wailed. “It was so new, so strange, to have you up here. It was like a kind of dream. And after--after you kissed me I--I found out--” “What, Mescal?” Her silence answered him. “But, Mescal, if you really love me you can't marry any one else,” said Hare. It was the simple persistence of a simple swain. “Oh, you don't know, you don't know. It's impossible!” “Impossible!” Hare's anger flared up. “You let me believe I had won you. What kind of a girl are you? You were not true. Your actions were lies.” “Not lies,” she faltered, and turned her face from him. With no gentle hand he grasped her arm and forced her to look at him. But the misery in her eyes overcame him, and he roughly threw his arms around her and held her close. “It can't be a lie. You do care for me--love me. Look at me.” He drew her head back from his breast. Her face was pale and drawn; her eyes closed tight, with tears forcing a way out under the long lashes; her lips were parted. He bowed to their sweet nearness; he kissed them again and again, while the shade of the cedars seemed to whirl about him. “I love you, Mescal. You are mine--I will have you--I will keep you--I will not let him have you!”