“Dave’s right, dad, it means fight,” cried George, with his fist clinched high.

“You’ve been wrong, father, in holding back,” said Zeke Naab, his lean jaw bulging.  “This Holderness will steal the water and meat out of our children’s mouths.  We’ve got to fight!”

“Let’s ride to White Sage,” put in Snap Naab, and the little flecks in his eyes were dancing.  “I’ll throw a gun on Dene.  I can get to him.  We’ve been tolerable friends.  He’s wanted me to join his band.  I’ll kill him.”

He laughed as he raised his right hand and swept it down to his left side; the blue Colt lay on his outstretched palm.  Dene’s life and Holderness’s, too, hung in the balance between two deadly snaps of this desert-wolf’s teeth.  He was one of the Naabs, and yet apart from them, for neither religion, nor friendship, nor life itself mattered to him.

August Naab’s huge bulk shook again, not this time with grief, but in wrestling effort to withstand the fiery influence of this unholy fighting spirit among his sons.

“I am forbidden.”

His answer was gentle, but its very gentleness breathed of his battle over himself, of allegiance to something beyond earthly duty.  “We’ll drive the cattle to Silver Cup,” he decided, “and then go home.  I give up Seeping Springs.  Perhaps this valley and water will content Holderness.”

When they reached the oasis Hare was surprised to find that it was the day before Christmas.  The welcome given the long-absent riders was like a celebration.  Much to Hare’s disappointment Mescal did not appear; the homecoming was not joyful to him because it lacked her welcoming smile.

Christmas Day ushered in the short desert winter; ice formed in the ditches and snow fell, but neither long resisted the reflection of the sun from the walls.  The early morning hours were devoted to religious services.  At midday dinner was served in the big room of August Naab’s cabin.  At one end was a stone fireplace where logs blazed and crackled.

In all his days Hare had never seen such a bountiful board.  Yet he was unable to appreciate it, to share in the general thanksgiving.  Dominating all other feeling was the fear that Mescal would come in and take a seat by Snap Naab’s side.  When Snap seated himself opposite with his pale little wife Hare found himself waiting for Mescal with an intensity that made him dead to all else.  The girls, Judith, Esther, Rebecca, came running gayly in, clad in their best dresses, with bright ribbons to honor the occasion.  Rebecca took the seat beside Snap, and Hare gulped with a hard contraction of his throat.  Mescal was not yet a Mormon’s wife!  He seemed to be lifted upward, to grow light-headed with the blessed assurance.  Then Mescal entered and took the seat next to him.  She smiled and spoke, and the blood beat thick in his ears.