"
It was in this way that August and Hare fell far behind the other wagons.
The nearer Naab got to his home the more genial he became. When he was
not answering Hare's queries he was giving information of his own accord,
telling about the cattle and the range, the mustangs, the Navajos, and
the desert. Naab liked to talk; he had said he had not the gift of
revelation, but he certainly had the gift of tongues.
The sun was in the west when they began to climb a ridge. A short
ascent, and a long turn to the right brought them under a bold spur of
the mountain which shut out the northwest. Camp had been pitched in a
grove of trees of a species new to Hare. From under a bowlder gushed the
sparkling spring, a grateful sight and sound to desert travellers. In a
niche of the rock hung a silver cup.
"Jack, no man knows how old this cup is, or anything about it. We named
the spring after it--Silver Cup. The strange thing is that the cup has
never been lost nor stolen. But--could any desert man, or outlaw, or
Indian, take it away, after drinking here?"
The cup was nicked and battered, bright on the sides, moss-green on the
bottom.
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