“Father!—­ Father!” she panted.  “Come—­quick—­the rustlers!—­the rustlers!  Snap!—­Dene—­Oh—­hurry!  They’ve killed Dave—­they’ve got Mescal!”

Death itself shuddered through Hare’s veins and then a raging flood of fire.  He bounded forward to be flung back by Naab’s arm.

“Fool!  Would you throw away your life?  Go slowly.  We’ll slip through the fields, under the trees.”

Sick and cold Hare hurried by Naab’s side round the wall and into the alfalfa.  There were moments when he was weak and trembling; others when he could have leaped like a tiger to rend and kill.

They left the fields and went on more cautiously into the grove.  The screaming and wailing of women added certainty to their doubt and dread.

“I see only the women—­the children—­no—­there’s a man—­Zeke,” said Hare, bending low to gaze under the branches.

“Go slow,” muttered Naab.

“The rustlers rode off—­after Mescal—­she’s gone!” panted Judith.

Hare, spurred by the possibilities in the half-crazed girl’s speech, cast caution to the winds and dashed forward into the glade.  Naab’s heavy steps thudded behind him.

In the corner of the porch scared and stupefied children huddled in a heap.  George and Billy bent over Dave, who sat white-faced against the steps.  Blood oozed through the fingers pressed to his breast.  Zeke was trying to calm the women.

“My God!  Dave!” cried Hare.  “You’re not hard hit?  Don’t say it!”

“Hard hit—­Jack—­old fellow,” replied Dave, with a pale smile.  His face was white and clammy.

August Naab looked once at him and groaned, “My son!  My son!”

“Dad—­I got Chance and Culver—­there they lie in the road—­not bungled, either!”

Hare saw the inert forms of two men lying near the gate; one rested on his face, arm outstretched with a Colt gripped in the stiff hand; the other lay on his back, his spurs deep in the ground, as if driven there in his last convulsion.

August Naab and Zeke carried the injured man into the house.  The women and children followed, and Hare, with Billy and George, entered last.

“Dad—­I’m shot clean through—­low down,” said Dave, as they laid him on a couch.  “It’s just as well I—­as any one—­somebody had to—­start this fight.”

Naab got the children and the girls out of the room.  The women were silent now, except Dave’s wife, who clung to him with low moans.  He smiled upon all with a quick intent smile, then he held out a hand to Hare.

“Jack, we got—­to be—­good friends.  Don’t forget—­that—­when you meet—­ Holderness.  He shot me—­from behind Chance and Culver—­and after I fell—­ I killed them both—­trying to get him.  You—­won’t hang up—­your gun—­ again—­will you?”

Hare wrung the cold hand clasping his so feebly.  “No!  Dave, no!” Then he fled from the room.  For an hour he stood on the porch waiting in dumb misery.  George and Zeke came noiselessly out, followed by their father.