“Yes, and you’re my friend, which Snap won’t think of.  Will you draw on Holderness, then?”

“For the life of me, Dave, I can’t tell you,” replied Hare, pacing the trail.  “Something must break loose in me before I can kill a man.  I’d draw, I suppose, in self-defence.  But what good would it do me to pull too late?  Dave, this thing is what I’ve feared.  I’m not afraid of Snap or Holderness, not that way.  I mean I’m not ready.  Look here, would either of them shoot an unarmed man?”

“Lord, I hope not; I don’t think so.  But you’re packing your gun.”

Hare unbuckled his cartridge-belt, which held his Colt, and hung it over the pommel of his saddle; then he sat down on one of the stone seats near the camp-fire.

“There they come,” whispered Zeke, and he rose to his feet, followed by George.

“Steady, you fellows,” said Dave, with a warning glance.  “I’ll do the talking.”

Holderness and Snap appeared among the cedars, and trotting out into the glade reined in their mounts a few paces from the fire.  Dave Naab stood directly before Hare, and George and Zeke stepped aside.

“Howdy, boys?” called out Holderness, with a smile, which was like a gleam of light playing on a frozen lake.  His amber eyes were steady, their gaze contracted into piercing yellow points.  Dave studied the cattle-man with cool scorn, but refusing to speak to him, addressed his brother.

“Snap, what do you mean by riding in here with this fellow?”

“I’m Holderness’s new foreman.  We’re just looking round,” replied Snap.  The hard lines, the sullen shade the hawk-beak cruelty had returned tenfold to his face and his glance was like a living, leaping flame.

“New foreman!” exclaimed Dave.  His jaw dropped and he stared in amazement.  “No—­you can’t mean that—­you’re drunk!”

“That’s what I said,” growled Snap.

“You’re a liar!” shouted Dave, a crimson blot blurring with the brown on his cheeks.  He jumped off the ground in his fury.

“It’s true, Naab; he’s my new foreman,” put in Holderness, suavely.  “A hundred a month—­in gold—­and I’ve got as good a place for you.”

“Well, by G—­d!” Dave’s arms came down and his face blanched to his lips.  “Holderness!”

“I know what you’d say,” interrupted the ranchman.

“But stop it.  I know you’re game.  And what’s the use of fighting?  I’m talking business.  I’ll—­”

“You can’t talk business or anything else to me,” said Dave Naab, and he veered sharply toward his brother.  “Say it again, Snap Naab.  You’ve hired out to ride for this man?”

“That’s it.”

“You’re going against your father, your brothers, your own flesh and blood?”

“I can’t see it that way.”

“Then you’re a drunken, easily-led fool.  This man’s no rancher.  He’s a rustler.  He ruined Martin Cole, the father of your first wife.  He’s stolen our cattle; he’s jumped our water-rights.  He’s trying to break us.  For God’s sake, ain’t you a man?”