"Not openly. They'll pretend to welcome us, and drive our cattle away in
our absence. You see there are only five of us to ride the ranges, and
we'd need five times five to watch all the stock."

"Then you can't stop this outrage?"

"There's only one way," said Dave, significantly tapping the black
handle of his Colt. "Holderness thinks he pulls the wool over our eyes
by talking of the cattle company that employs him. He's the company
himself, and he's hand and glove with Dene."

"And I suppose, if your father and you boys were to ride over to
Holderness's newest stand, and tell him to get off there would be a
fight."

"We'd never reach him now, that is, if we went together. One of us alone
might get to see him, especially in White Sage. If we all rode over to
his ranch we'd have to fight his men before we reached the corrals. You
yourself will find it pretty warm when you go out with us on the ranges,
and if you make White Sage you'll find it hot. You're called 'Dene's
spy' there, and the rustlers are still looking for you. I wouldn't worry
about it, though."

"Why not, I'd like to know?" inquired Hare, with a short laugh.

"Well, if you're like the other Gentiles who have come into Utah you
won't have scruples about drawing on a man. Father says the draw comes
natural to you, and you're as quick as he is. Then he says you can beat
any rifle shot he ever saw, and that long-barrelled gun you've got will
shoot a mile. So if it comes to shooting--why, you can shoot. If you
want to run--who's going to catch you on that white-maned stallion? We
talked about you, George and I; we're mighty glad you're well and can
ride with us."

Long into the night Jack Hare thought over this talk. It opened up a
vista of the range-life into which he was soon to enter. He tried to
silence the voice within that cried out, eager and reckless, for the
long rides on the windy open. The years of his illness returned in
fancy, the narrow room with the lamp and the book, and the tears over
stories and dreams of adventure never to be for such as he. And now
how wonderful was life! It was, after all, to be full for him. It was
already full. Already he slept on the ground, open to the sky. He looked
up at a wild black cliff, mountain-high, with its windworn star of blue;
he felt himself on the threshold of the desert, with that subtle mystery
waiting; he knew himself to be close to strenuous action on the ranges,
companion of these sombre Mo