His hawk's eyes were softer than
Hare had ever seen them; he was obliging, kind, gay, an altogether
different Snap Naab. He groomed himself often, and wore clean scarfs,
and left off his bloody spurs. For eight months he had not touched the
bottle. When spring approached he was madly in love with Mescal. And
the marriage was delayed because his wife would not have another woman in
her home.
Once Hare heard Snap remonstrating with his father.
"If she don't come to time soon I'll keep the kids and send her back to
her father."
"Don't be hasty, son. Let her have time," replied August. "Women must
be humored. I'll wager she'll give in before the cottonwood blows, and
that's not long."
It was Hare's habit, as the days grew warmer, to walk a good deal, and
one evening, as twilight shadowed the oasis and grew black under the
towering walls, he strolled out toward the fields. While passing Snap's
cottage Hare heard a woman's voice in passionate protest and a man's in
strident anger. Later as he stood with his arm on Silvermane, a woman's
scream, at first high-pitched, then suddenly faint and smothered, caused
him to grow rigid, and his hand clinched tight.
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