“Ki--yi-i-i!” yelled Dave Naab with all the power of his lungs. His head was back, his mouth wide open, his face red, his neck corded and swollen with the intensity of his passion. “Be still--boy!” ordered his father. “Hare, this was madness--but tell me what you learned.” Briefly Hare repeated all that he had been told at the Bishop's, and concluded with the killing of Martin Cole by Dene. August Naab bowed his head and his giant frame shook under the force of his emotion. Martin Cole was the last of his life-long friends. “This--this outlaw--you say you ran him down?” asked Naab, rising haggard and shaken out of his grief. “Yes. He didn't recognize me or know what was coming till Silvermane was on him. But he was quick, and fell sidewise. Silvermane's knee sent him sprawling.” “What will it all lead to?” asked August Naab, and in his extremity he appealed to his eldest son. “The bars are down,” said Snap Naab, with a click of his long teeth. “Father,” began Dave Naab earnestly, “Jack has done a splendid thing. The news will fly over Utah like wildfire. Mormons are slow. They need a leader. But they can follow and they will. We can't cure these evils by hoping and praying. We've got to fight!” “Dave's right, dad, it means fight,” cried George, with his fist clinched high. “You've been wrong, father, in holding back,” said Zeke Naab, his lean jaw bulging. “This Holderness will steal the water and meat out of our children's mouths. We've got to fight!” “Let's ride to White Sage,” put in Snap Naab, and the little flecks in his eyes were dancing. “I'll throw a gun on Dene. I can get to him. We've been tolerable friends. He's wanted me to join his band. I'll kill him.” He laughed as he raised his right hand and swept it down to his left side; the blue Colt lay on his outstretched palm. Dene's life and Holderness's, too, hung in the balance between two deadly snaps of this desert-wolf's teeth. He was one of the Naabs, and yet apart from them, for neither religion, nor friendship, nor life itself mattered to him. August Naab's huge bulk shook again, not this time with grief, but in wrestling effort to withstand the fiery influence of this unholy fighting spirit among his sons. “I am forbidden.” His answer was gentle, but its very gentleness breathed of his battle over himself, of allegiance to something beyond earthly duty. “We'll drive the cattle to Silver Cup,” he decided, “and then go home. I give up Seeping Springs. Perhaps this valley and water will content Holderness.” When they reached the oasis Hare was surprised to find that it was the day before Christmas. The welcome given the long-absent riders was like a celebration. Much to Hare's disappointment Mescal did not appear; the homecoming was not joyful to him because it lacked her welcoming smile.