“Jack, you can see I am in the worst fix of my life,” said August Naab.  “My sons have persuaded me that I was pushed off my ranges too easily.  I’ve come to believe Martin Cole; certainly his prophecy has come true.  Dave brought news from White Sage, and it’s almost unbelievable.  Holderness has proclaimed himself or has actually got himself elected sheriff.  He holds office over the Mormons from whom he steals.  Scarcely a day goes by in the village without a killing.  The Mormons north of Lund finally banded together, hanged some rustlers, and drove the others out.  Many of them have come down into our country, and Holderness now has a strong force.  But the Mormons will rise against him.  I know it; I see it.  I am waiting for it.  We are God-fearing, life-loving men, slow to wrath.  But—­”

The deep rolling burr in his voice showed emotion too deep for words.

“They need a leader,” replied Hare, sharply.

August Naab rose with haggard face and his eyes had the look of a man accused.

“Dad figures this way,” put in Dave.  “On the one hand we lose our water and stock without bloodshed.  We have a living in the oasis.  There’s little here to attract rustlers, so we may live in peace if we give up our rights.  On the other hand, suppose Dad gets the Navajos down here and we join them and go after Holderness and his gang.  There’s going to be an all-fired bloody fight.  Of course we’d wipe out the rustlers, but some of us would get killed—­and there are the wives and kids.  See!”

The force of August Naab’s argument for peace, entirely aside from his Christian repugnance to the shedding of blood, was plainly unassailable.

“Remember what Snap said?” asked Hare, suddenly.  “One man to kill Dene!  Therefore one man to kill Holderness!  That would break the power of this band.”

“Ah! you’ve said it,” replied Dave, raising a tense arm.  “It’s a one-man job.  D—­n Snap!  He could have done it, if he hadn’t gone to the bad.  But it won’t be easy.  I tried to get Holderness.  He was wise, and his men politely said they had enjoyed my call, but I wasn’t to come again.”

“One man to kill Holderness!” repeated Hare.

August Naab cast at the speaker one of his far-seeing glances; then he shook himself, as if to throw off the grip of something hard and inevitable.  “I’m still master here,” he said, and his voice showed the conquest of his passions.

“I give up Silver Cup and my stock.  Maybe that will content Holderness.”

Some days went by pleasantly for Hare, as he rested from his long exertions.  Naab’s former cheer and that of his family reasserted itself once the decision was made, and the daily life went on as usual.  The sons worked in the fields by day, and in the evening played at pitching horseshoes on the bare circle where the children romped.  The women went on baking, sewing, and singing.  August