Heritage of the Desert Part 39

Every rustler, except the masked ones standing stern and silent, clamored that he was the one to be saved.

"Hurry back home," said Caldwell in Hare's ear "Tell them to fetch Mescal. Find out and hurry back. Time presses. The Mormons are wavering.

You've got only a few minutes."

Hare slipped out of the crowd, sped up the road, jumped the fence on the run, and burst in upon the Bishop and his family.

"No danger--don't be alarmed--all's well," he panted. "The rustlers are captured. I want Mescal. Quick! Where is she? Fetch her, somebody."

One of the women glided from the room. Hare caught the clicking of a latch, the closing of a door, hollow footfalls descending on stone, and dying away under the cottage. They rose again, ending in swiftly pattering footsteps. Like a whirlwind Mescal came through the hall, black hair flying, dark eyes beaming.

"My darling!" Oblivious of the Mormons he swung her up and held her in his arms. "Mescal! Mescal!"

When he raised his face from the tumbling ma.s.s of her black hair, the Bishop and his family had left the room.

"Listen, Mescal. Be calm. I'm safe. The rustlers are prisoners. One of them released you from Holderness. Tell me which one?"

"I don't know," replied Mescal. "I've tried to think. I didn't see his face; I can't remember his voice."

"Think! Think! He'll be hanged if you don't recall something to identify him. He deserves a chance. Holderness's crowd are thieves, murderers.

But two were not all bad. That showed the night you were at Silver Cup.

I saved Nebraska--"

"Were you at Silver Cup? Jack!"

"Hush! don't interrupt me. We must save this man who saved you. Think!

Mescal! Think!"

"Oh! I can't. What--how shall I remember?"

"Something about him. Think of his coat, his sleeve. You must remember something. Did you see his hands?"

"Yes, I did--when he was loosing the cords," said Mescal, eagerly.

"Long, strong fingers. I felt them too. He has a sharp rough wart on one hand, I don't know which. He wears a leather wristband."

"That's enough!" Hare bounded out upon the garden walk and raced back to the crowded square. The uneasy circle stirred and opened for him to enter. He stumbled over a pile of la.s.soes which had not been there when he left. The stony Mormons waited; the rustlers coughed and shifted their feet. John Caldwell turned a gray face. Hare bent over the three dead rustlers lying with Holderness, and after a moment of anxious scrutiny he rose to confront the line of prisoners.

"Hold out your hands."

One by one they complied. The sixth rustler in the line, a tall fellow, completely masked, refused to do as he was bidden. Twice Hare spoke. The rustler twisted his bound hands under his coat.

"Let's see them," said Hare, quickly. He grasped the fellow's arm and received a violent push that almost knocked him over. Grappling with the rustler, he pulled up the bound hands, in spite of fierce resistance, and there were the long fingers, the sharp wart, the laced wristband.

"Here's my man!" he said.

"No," hoa.r.s.ely mumbled the rustler. The perspiration ran down his corded neck; his breast heaved convulsively.

"You fool!" cried Hare, dumfounded and resentful. "I recognized you.

Would you rather hang than live? What's your secret?"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed off the black mask. The Bishop's eldest son stood revealed.

"Good G.o.d!" cried Hare, recoiling from that convulsed face.

"Brother! Oh! I feared this," groaned John Caldwell.

The rustlers broke out into curses and harsh laughter.

"--- --- you Mormons! See him! Paul Caldwell! Son of a Bishop! Thought he was shepherdin' sheep?"

"D--n you, Hare!" shouted the guilty Mormon, in pa.s.sionate fury and shame. "Why didn't you hang me? Why didn't you bury me unknown?"

"Caldwell! I can't believe it," cried Hare, slowly coming to himself.

"But you don't hang. Here, come out of the crowd. Make way, men!"

The silent crowd of Mormons with lowered and averted eyes made pa.s.sage for Hare and Caldwell. Then cold, stern voices in sharp questions and orders went on with the grim trial. Leading the bowed and stricken Mormon, Hare drew off to the side of the town-hall and turned his back upon the crowd. The constant trampling of many feet, the harsh medley of many voices swelled into one dreadful sound. It pa.s.sed away, and a long hush followed. But this in turn was suddenly broken by an outcry:

"The Navajos! The Navajos!"

Hare thrilled at that cry and his glance turned to the eastern end of the village road where a column of mounted Indians, four abreast, was riding toward the square.

"Naab and his Indians," shouted Hare. "Naab and his Indians! No fear!"

His call was timely, for the aroused Mormons, ignorant of Naab's pursuit, fearful of hostile Navajos, were handling their guns ominously.

But there came a cry of recognition--"August Naab!"

Onward came the band, Naab in the lead on his spotted roan. The mustangs were spent and lashed with foam. Naab reined in his charger and the keen-eyed Navajos closed in behind him. The old Mormon's eagle glance pa.s.sed over the dark forms dangling from the cottonwoods to the files of waiting men.

"Where is he?"

"There!" answered John Caldwell, pointing to the body of Holderness.

"Who robbed me of my vengeance? Who killed the rustler?" Naab's stentorian voice rolled over the listening mult.i.tude. In it was a hunger of thwarted hate that held men mute. He bent a downward gaze at the dead Holderness as if to make sure of the ghastly reality. Then he seemed to rise in his saddle, and his broad chest to expand. "I know--I saw it all--blind I was not to believe my own eyes! Where is he? Where is Hare?"

Some one pointed Hare out. Naab swung from his saddle and scattered the men before him as if they had been sheep. His s.h.a.ggy gray head and ma.s.sive shoulders towered above the tallest there.

Hare felt again a cold sense of fear. He grew weak in all his being. He reeled when the gray s.h.a.ggy giant laid a huge hand on his shoulder and with one pull dragged him close. Was this his kind Mormon benefactor, this man with the awful eyes?

"You killed Holderness?" roared Naab.

"Yes," whispered Hare.

"You heard me say I'd go alone? You forestalled me? You took upon yourself my work?... Speak."

"I--did."

"By what right?"

"My debt--duty--your family--Dave!"