Part 43

“Steady, you fellows,” said Dave, with a warning glance. “I'll do the talking.”

Holderness and Snap appeared among the cedars, and trotting out into the glade reined in their mounts a few paces from the fire. Dave Naab stood directly before Hare, and George and Zeke stepped aside.

“Howdy, boys?” called out Holderness, with a smile, which was like a gleam of light playing on a frozen lake. His amber eyes were steady, their gaze contracted into piercing yellow points. Dave studied the cattle-man with cool scorn, but refusing to speak to him, addressed his brother.

“Snap, what do you mean by riding in here with this fellow?”

“I'm Holderness's new foreman. We're just looking round,” replied Snap. The hard lines, the sullen shade, the hawk-beak cruelty had returned tenfold to his face and his glance was like a living, leaping flame.

“New foreman!” exclaimed Dave. His jaw dropped and he stared in amazement. “No--you can't mean that--you're drunk!”

“That's what I said,” growled Snap.

“You're a liar!” shouted Dave, a crimson blot blurring with the brown on his cheeks. He jumped off the ground in his fury.

“It's true, Naab; he's my new foreman,” put in Holderness, suavely. “A hundred a month--in gold--and I've got as good a place for you.”

“Well, by G--d!” Dave's arms came down and his face blanched to his lips. “Holderness!”

“I know what you'd say,” interrupted the ranchman.

“But stop it. I know you're game. And what's the use of fighting? I'm talking business. I'll--”

“You can't talk business or anything else to me,” said Dave Naab, and he veered sharply toward his brother. “Say it again, Snap Naab. You've hired out to ride for this man?”

“That's it.”

“You're going against your father, your brothers, your own flesh and blood?”

“I can't see it that way.”

“Then you're a drunken, easily-led fool. This man's no rancher. He's a rustler. He ruined Martin Cole, the father of your first wife. He's stolen our cattle; he's jumped our water-rights. He's trying to break us. For God's sake, ain't you a man?”

“Things have gone bad for me,” replied Snap, sullenly, shifting in his saddle. “I reckon I'll do better to cut out alone for myself.”

“You crooked cur! But you're only my half-brother, after all. I always knew you'd come to something bad, but I never thought you'd disgrace the Naabs and break your father's heart. Now then, what do you want here? Be quick. This's our range and you and your boss can't ride here. You can't even water your horses. Out with it!”

At this, Hare, who had been so absorbed as to forget himself, suddenly felt a cold tightening of the skin of his face, and a hard swell of his breast. The dance of Snap's eyes, the downward flit of his hand seemed instantaneous with a red flash and loud report. Instinctively Hare dodged, but the light impact of something like a puff of air gave place to a tearing hot agony. Then he slipped down, back to the stone, with a bloody hand fumbling at his breast.

Dave leaped with tigerish agility, and knocking up the levelled Colt, held Snap as in a vise. George Naab gave Holderness's horse a sharp kick which made the mettlesome beast jump so suddenly that his rider was nearly unseated. Zeke ran to Hare and laid him back against the stone.

“Cool down, there!” ordered Zeke. “He's done for.”

“My God--my God!” cried Dave, in a broken voice. “Not--not dead?”

“Shot through the heart!”

Dave Naab flung Snap backward, almost off his horse. “D--n you! run, or I'll kill you. And you, Holderness! Remember! If we ever meet again--you draw!” He tore a branch from a cedar and slashed both horses. They plunged out of the glade, and clattering over the stones, brushing the cedars, disappeared. Dave groped blindly back toward his brothers.

“Zeke, this's awful. Another murder by Snap! And my friend!... Who's to tell father?”

Then Hare sat up, leaning against the stone, his shirt open and his bare shoulder bloody; his face was pale, but his eyes were smiling. “Cheer up, Dave. I'm not dead yet.”

“Sure he's not,” said Zeke. “He ducked none too soon, or too late, and caught the bullet high up in the shoulder.”