“Some one must tell him,” answered Dave.

“That’ll be you, then.  You always do the talking.”

August Naab galloped into the glade, and swung himself out of the saddle.  “I heard a shot.  What’s this?  Who’s hurt?—­Hare!  Why—­lad—­how is it with you?”

“Not bad,” rejoined Hare.

“Let me see,” August thrust Zeke aside.  “A bullet-hole—­just missed the bone—­not serious.  Tie it up tight.  I’ll take him home to-morrow. . . .  Hare, who’s been here?”

“Snap rode in and left his respects.”

“Snap!  Already?  Yet I knew it—­I saw it.  You had Providence with you, lad, for this wound is not bad.  Snap surprised you, then?”

“No.  I knew it was coming.”

“Jack hung his belt and gun on Silvermane’s saddle,” said Dave.  “He didn’t feel as if he could draw on either Snap or Holderness—­”

“Holderness!”

“Yes.  Snap rode in with Holderness.  Hare thought if he was unarmed they wouldn’t draw.  But Snap did.”

“Was he drunk?”

“No.  They came over to kill Hare.”  Dave went on to recount the incident in full.  “And—­and see here, dad—­that’s not all.  Snap’s gone to the bad.”

Dave Naab hid his face while he told of his brother’s treachery; the others turned away, and Hare closed his eyes.

For long moments there was silence broken only by the tramp of the old man as he strode heavily to and fro.  At last the footsteps ceased, and Hare opened his eyes to see Naab’s tall form erect, his arms uplifted, his shaggy head rigid.

“Hare,” began August, presently.  “I’m responsible for this cowardly attack on you.  I brought you out here.  This is the second one.  Beware of the third!  I see—­but tell me, do you remember that I said you must meet Snap as man to man?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you want to live?”

“Of course.”

“You hold to no Mormon creed?”

“Why, no,” Hare replied, wonderingly.

“What was the reason I taught you my trick with a gun?”

“I suppose it was to help me to defend myself.”

“Then why do you let yourself be shot down in cold blood?  Why did you hang up your gun?  Why didn’t you draw on Snap?  Was it because of his father, his brothers, his family?”

“Partly, but not altogether,” replied Hare, slowly.  “I didn’t know before what I know now.  My flesh sickened at the thought of killing a man, even to save my own life; and to kill—­your son—­”

“No son of mine!” thundered Naab.  “Remember that when next you meet.  I don’t want your blood on my hands.  Don’t stand to be killed like a sheep!  If you have felt duty to me, I release you.”

Zeke finished bandaging the wound.  Making a bed of blankets he lifted Hare into it, and covered him, cautioning him to lie still.  Hare had a sensation of extreme lassitude, a deep drowsiness which permeated even to his bones.  There were intervals of oblivion, then a time when the stars blinked in his eyes; he heard the wind, Silvermane’s bell, the murmur of voices, yet all seemed remote from him, intangible as things in a dream.