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 to the cedars.  Lying flat he crawled stealthily to the bushy fringe of the bench.

A bright fire blazed under the cliff.  Men were moving and laughing.  The cabin door was open.  Mescal stood leaning back from Snap Naab, struggling to release her hands.

“Let me untie them, I say,” growled Snap.

Mescal tore loose from him and stepped back.  Her hands were bound before her, and twisting them outward, she warded him off.  Her dishevelled hair almost hid her dark eyes.  They burned in a level glance of hate and defiance.  She was a little lioness, quivering with fiery life, fight in every line of her form.

“All right, don’t eat then—­starve!” said Snap.

“I’ll starve before I eat what you give me.”

The rustlers laughed.  Holderness blew out a puff of smoke and smiled.  Snap glowered upon Mescal and then upon his amiable companions.  One of them, a ruddyfaced fellow, walked toward Mescal.

“Cool down, Snap, cool down,” he said.  “We’re not goin’ to stand for a girl starvin’.  She ain’t eat a bite yet.  Here, Miss, let me untie your hands—­there. . . .  Say!  Naab, d—­n you, her wrists are black an’ blue!”

“Look out!  Your gun!” yelled Snap.

With a swift movement Mescal snatched the man’s Colt from its holster and was raising it when he grasped her arm.  She winced and dropped the weapon.

“You little Indian devil!” exclaimed the rustler, in a rapt admiration.  “Sorry to hurt you, an’ more’n sorry to spoil your aim.  Thet wasn’t kind to throw my own gun on me, jest after I’d played the gentleman, now, was it?”

“I didn’t—­intend—­to shoot—­you,” panted Mescal.