The shepherds were home in the oasis that evening, and next day the tragedy of the sheep was a thing of the past.  No other circumstance of Hare’s four months with the Naabs had so affected him as this swift inevitable sweeping away of the flock; nothing else had so vividly told him the nature of this country of abrupt heights and depths.  He remembered August Naab’s magnificent gesture of despair; and now the man was cheerful again; he showed no sign of his great loss.  His tasks were many, and when one was done, he went on to the next.  If Hare had not had many proofs of this Mormon’s feeling he would have thought him callous.  August Naab trusted God and men, loved animals, did what he had to do with all his force, and accepted fate.  The tragedy of the sheep had been only an incident in a tragical life—­that Hare divined with awe.

Mescal sorrowed, and Wolf mourned in sympathy with her, for their occupation was gone, but both brightened when August made known his intention to cross the river to the Navajo range, to trade with the Indians for another flock.  He began his preparations immediately.  The snow-freshets had long run out of the river, the water was low, and he wanted to fetch the sheep down before the summer rains.  He also wanted to find out what kept his son Snap so long among the Navajos.

“I’ll take Billy and go at once.  Dave, you join George and Zeke out on the Silver Cup range.  Take Jack with you.  Brand all the cattle you can before the snow flies.  Get out of Dene’s way if he rides over, and avoid Holderness’s men.  I’ll have no fights.  But keep your eyes sharp for their doings.”

It was a relief to Hare that Snap Naab had not yet returned to the oasis, for he felt a sense of freedom which otherwise would have been lacking.  He spent the whole of a long calm summer day in the orchard and the vineyard.  The fruit season was at its height.  Grapes, plums, pears, melons were ripe and luscious.  Midsummer was vacationtime for the children, and they flocked into the trees like birds.  The girls were picking grapes; Mother Ruth enlisted Jack in her service at the pear-trees; Mescal came, too, and caught the golden pears he threw down, and smiled up at him; Wolf was there, and Noddle; Black Bolly pushed her black nose over the fence, and whinnied for apples; the turkeys strutted, the peafowls preened their beautiful plumage, the guinea-hens ran like quail.  Save for those frowning red cliffs Hare would have forgotten where he was; the warm sun, the yellow fruit, the merry screams of children, the joyous laughter of girls, were pleasant reminders of autumn picnic days long gone.  But, in the face of those dominating wind-scarred walls, he could not forget.

That night Hare endeavored to see Mescal alone for a few moments, to see her once more with unguarded eyes, to whisper a few words, to say good-bye; but it was impossible.