"I saw
their tracks, and they filled up the Blue Star waterhole--and cost us
three thousand sheep."
Then he related the story of the drive of the sheep, the finding of the
plugged waterhole, the scent of the Colorado, and the plunge of the sheep
into the canyon.
"We've saved one, Mescal's belled lamb," he concluded.
Neither Zeke nor George had a word in reply. Hare thought their silence
unnatural. Neither did the mask-like stillness of their faces change.
But Hare saw in their eyes a pointed clear flame, vibrating like a
compass-needle, a mere glimmering spark.
"I'd like to know," continued Dave, calmly poking the fire, "who hired
Dene's men to plug the waterhole. Dene couldn't do that. He loves a
horse, and any man who loves a horse couldn't fill a waterhole in this
desert."
Hare entered upon his new duties as a range-rider with a zeal that almost
made up for his lack of experience; he bade fair to develop into a
right-hand man for Dave, under whose watchful eye he worked. His natural
qualifications were soon shown; he could ride, though his seat was awkward
and clumsy compared to that of the desert rangers, a fault that Dave
said would correct itself as time fitted him close to the saddle and to
the swing of his horse.
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