He loved the beauty of
these places, and the wildness in them had an affinity with something
strange and untamed in him. He would never leave them. When his blood
had cooled, when this tumultuous thrill and swell had worn themselves
out, happiness would come again.
Early in the winter Snap Naab had forced his wife to visit his father's
house with him; and she had remained in the room, white-faced,
passionately jealous, while he wooed Mescal. Then had come a scene.
Hare had not been present, but he knew its results. Snap had been
furious, his father grave, Mescal tearful and ashamed. The wife found
many ways to interrupt her husband's lovemaking. She sent the children
for him; she was taken suddenly ill; she discovered that the corral gate
was open and his cream-colored pinto, dearest to his heart, was running
loose; she even set her cottage on fire.
One Sunday evening just before twilight Hare was sitting on the porch
with August Naab and Dave, when their talk was interrupted by Snap's loud
calling for his wife. At first the sounds came from inside his cabin.
Then he put his head out of a window and yelled.
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