Hare slapped his face. Then he backed a few paces with his right arm
held before him almost as high as his shoulder, the wrist rigid, the
fingers quivering.
"Don't try to draw, Holderness. Thet's August Naab's trick with a gun,"
whispered a man, hurriedly.
"Holderness, I made a bonfire over at Seeping Springs," said Hare. "I
burned the new corrals your men built, and I tracked them to your ranch.
Snood threw up his job when he heard it. He's an honest man, and no
honest man will work for a water-thief, a cattle-rustler, a sheep-killer.
You're shown up, Holderness. Leave the country before some one kills
you--understand, before some one kills you!"
Holderness stood motionless against the bar, his eyes fierce with
passionate hate.
Hare backed step by step to the outside door, his right hand still high,
his look holding the crowd bound to the last instant. Then he slipped
out, scattered the group round Silvermane, and struck hard with the
spurs.
The gray, never before spurred, broke down the road into his old wild
speed.
Men were crossing from the corner of the green square. One, a compact
little fellow, swarthy, his dark hair long and flowing, with jaunty and
alert air, was Dene, the outlaw leader.
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