If ever Hare breathed a prayer it was then.  What if one of the band awakened!  As the rustler turned at the door his dark face gleamed in the flickering light.  He unwound the lasso and opened the door without a sound.

Hare whispered:  “Heavens! if he goes in she’ll scream! that will wake Holderness—­then I must shoot—­I must!”

But the Mormon rustler added wisdom to his cunning and stealth.

“Hist!” he whispered into the cabin.  “Hist!”

Mescal must have been awake; she must have guessed instantly the meaning of that low whisper, for silently she appeared in the doorway, silently she held forth her bound hands.  The man untied the bonds and pointed into the cedars toward the corral.  Swift and soundless as a flitting shadow Mescal vanished in the gloom.  The Mormon stole with wary, unhurried steps back to his bed and rolled in his blankets.

Hare rose unsteadily, wavering in the hot grip of a moment that seemed to have but one issue—­the killing of Holderness.  Mescal would soon be upon Silvermane, far out on the White Sage trail, and this time there would be no sand-strip to trap her.  But Hare could not kill the rustler while he was sleeping; and he could not awaken him without revealing to his men the escape of the girl.  Hare stood there on the bench, gazing down on the blanketed Holderness.  Why not kill him now, ending forever his power, and trust to chance for the rest?  No, no!  Hare flung the temptation from him.  To ward off pursuit as long as possible, to aid Mescal in every way to some safe hiding-place, and then to seek Holderness—­that was the forethought of a man who had learned to wait.

Under the dark projection of the upper cliff Hare felt his way to the cedar slope, and the trail, and then he went swiftly down into the little hollow where he had left Bolly.  The darkness of the forest hindered him, but he came at length to the edge of the aspen thicket; he penetrated it, and guided toward Bolly by a suspicious stamp and neigh, he found her and quieted her with a word.  He rode down the hollow, out upon the level valley.

The clouds had broken somewhat, letting pale light down through rifts.  All about him cattle were lying in a thick gloom.  It was penetrable for only a few rods.  The ground was like a cushion under Bolly’s hoofs, giving forth no sound.  The mustang threw up her head, causing Hare to peer into the night-fog.  Rapid hoof-beats broke the silence, a vague gray shadow moved into sight.  He saw Silvermane and called as loudly as he dared.  The stallion melted into the misty curtain, the beating of hoofs softened and ceased.  Hare spurred Bolly to her fleetest.  He had a long, silent chase, but it was futile, and unnecessarily hard on the mustang; so he pulled her in to a trot.

Hare kept Bolly to this gait the remainder of the night, and when the eastern sky lightened he found the trail and reached Seeping Springs at dawn.  Silvermane’s tracks were deep in the clay at the drinking-trough.  He rested a few moments, gave Bolly sparingly of grain and water, and once more took to the trail.