over the camp-fire
and raked the coals around the pots; others lounged on a bench waiting
for breakfast; some rolled out of their blankets; they stretched and
yawned, and pulling on their boots made for the spring. The last man to
rise was Snap Naab, and he had slept with his head on the threshold of
the door. Evidently Snap had made Mescal a prisoner in the cabin, and no
one could go in or out without stepping upon him. The rustler-foreman of
Holderness's company had slept with his belt containing two Colts, nor
had he removed his boots. Hare noted these details with grim humor. Now
the tall Holderness, face shining, gold-red beard agleam, rounded the
cabin whistling. Hare watched the rustlers sit down to breakfast, and
here and there caught a loud-spoken word, and marked their leisurely
care-free manner. Snap Naab took up a pan of food and a cup of coffee,
carried them into the cabin, and came out, shutting the door.

After breakfast most of the rustlers set themselves to their various
tasks. Hare watched them with the eyes of a lynx watching deer. Several
men were arranging articles for packing, and their actions were slow to
the point of laziness; others trooped down toward the corral. Holderness
rolled a cigarette and stooped over the campfire to reach a burning
stick. Snap Naab stalked to and fro before the door of the cabin. He
alone of the rustler's band showed restlessness, and more than once he
glanced up the trail that led over the divide toward his father's oasis.
Holderness sent expectant glances in the other direction toward Seeping
Springs. Once his clear voice rang out:

"I tell you, Naab, there's no hurry. We'll ride in tomorrow."

A thousand thoughts flitted through Hare's mind--a steady stream of
questions and answers. Why did Snap look anxiously along the oasis
trail? It was not that he feared his father or his brothers alone, but
there was always the menace of the Navajos. Why was Holderness in no
hurry to leave Silver Cup? Why did he lag at the spring when, if he
expected riders from his ranch, he could have gone on to meet them,
obviously saving time and putting greater distance between him and the
men he had wronged? Was it utter fearlessness or only a deep-played
game? Holderness and his rustlers, all except the gloomy Naab, were
blind to the peril that lay beyond the divide. How soon would August
Naab strike out on the White Sage trail? Would he come alone? Whether he
came alone or at the hea