d of his hard-riding Navajos he would arrive too
late. Holderness's life was not worth a pinch of the ashes he flecked so
carelessly from his cigarette. Snap Naab's gloom, his long stride, his
nervous hand always on or near the butt of his Colt, spoke the keenness
of his desert instinct. For him the sun had arisen red over the red
wall. Had he harmed Mescal? Why did he keep the cabin door shut and
guard it so closely?

While Hare watched and thought the hours sped by. Holderness lounged
about and Snap kept silent guard. The rustlers smoked, slept, and moved
about; the day waned, and the shadow of the cliff crept over the cabin.
To Hare the time had been as a moment; he was amazed to find the sun had
gone down behind Coconina. If August Naab had left the oasis at dawn he
must now be near the divide, unless he had been delayed by a wind-storm
at the strip of sand. Hare longed to see the roan charger come up over
the crest; he longed to see a file of Navajos, plumes waving, dark
mustangs gleaming in the red light, sweep down the stony ridge toward
the cedars. "If they come," he whispered, "I'll kill Holderness and Snap
and any man who tries to open that cabin door."

So he waited in tense watchfulness, his gaze alternating between the
wavy line of the divide and the camp glade. Out in the valley it was
still daylight, but under the cliff twilight had fallen. All day Hare
had strained his ears to hear the talk of the rustlers, and it now
occurred to him that if he climbed down through the split in the cliff
to the bench where Dave and George had always hidden to watch the spring
he would be just above the camp. This descent involved risk, but since
it would enable him to see the cabin door when darkness set in, he
decided to venture. The moment was propitious, for the rustlers were
bustling around, cooking dinner, unrolling blankets, and moving to and
fro from spring and corral. Hare crawled back a few yards and along the
cliff until he reached the split. It was a narrow steep crack which he
well remembered. Going down was attended with two dangers--losing his
hold, and the possible rattling of stones. Face foremost he slipped
downward with the gliding, sinuous movement of a snake, and reaching the
grassy bench he lay quiet. Jesting voices and loud laughter from below
reassured him. He had not been heard. His new position afforded every
chance to see and hear, and also gave means of rapid, noiseless retreat
along the bench