garden gate to admit Martin
Cole. They met as friends; no trace of scorn marred August's greeting,
and Martin was not the same man who had shown fear on the desert. His
welcome was one of respectful regard for his superior.

"Elder, I heard you were safe in," he said, fervently. "We feared--I
know not what. I was distressed till I got the news of your arrival.
How's the young man?"

"He's very ill. But while there's life there's hope."

"Will the Bishop administer to him?"

"Gladly, if the young man's willing. Come, let's go in."

"Wait, August," said Cole. "Did you know your son Snap was in the
village?"

"My son here!" August Naab betrayed anxiety. "I left him home with work.
He shouldn't have come. Is--is he--"

"He's drinking and in an ugly mood. It seems he traded horses with
Jeff Larsen, and got the worst of the deal. There's pretty sure to be a
fight."

"He always hated Larsen."

"Small wonder. Larsen is mean; he's as bad as we've got and that's
saying a good deal. Snap has done worse things than fight with Larsen.
He's doing a worse thing now, August--he's too friendly with Dene."

"I've heard--I've heard it before. But, Martin, what can I do?"

"Do? God knows. What can any of us do? Times have changed, August.
Dene is here in White Sage, free, welcome in many homes. Some of our
neighbors, perhaps men we trust, are secret members of this rustler's
band."

"You're right, Cole. There are Mormons who are cattle-thieves. To my
eternal shame I confess it. Under cover of night they ride with Dene,
and here in our midst they meet him in easy tolerance. Driven from
Montana he comes here to corrupt our young men. God's mercy!"

"August, some of our young men need no one to corrupt them. Dene had no
great task to win them. He rode in here with a few outlaws and now he
has a strong band. We've got to face it. We haven't any law, but he
can be killed. Some one must kill him. Yet bad as Dene is, he doesn't
threaten our living as Holderness does. Dene steals a few cattle, kills
a man here and there. Holderness reaches out and takes our springs.
Because we've no law to stop him, he steals the blood of our
life--water--water--God's gift to the desert! Some one must kill
Holderness, too!"

"Martin, this lust to kill is a fearful thing. Come in, you must pray
with the Bishop."

"No, it's not prayer I need, Elder," replied Cole, stubbornly. "I'm
still a good Mormon. What I want is the stock I've lost, and my f