"Jack, what what'll you do?" asked Dave, suddenly.
"Do? What can I do? I'm not going to run out of camp because of a visit
from men who don't like me."
"It might be wisest."
"Do you ask me to run to avoid a meeting with your brother?"
"No." The dull red came to Dave's cheek. "But will you draw on him?"
"Certainly not. He's August Naab's son and your brother."
"Yes, and you're my friend, which Snap won't think of. Will you draw on
Holderness, then?"
"For the life of me, Dave, I can't tell you," replied Hare, pacing the
trail. "Something must break loose in me before I can kill a man. I'd
draw, I suppose, in self-defence. But what good would it do me to pull
too late? Dave, this thing is what I've feared. I'm not afraid of Snap
or Holderness, not that way. I mean I'm not ready. Look here, would
either of them shoot an unarmed man?"
"Lord, I hope not; I don't think so. But you're packing your gun."
Hare unbuckled his cartridge-belt, which held his Colt, and hung it over
the pommel of his saddle; then he sat down on one of the stone seats near
the camp-fire.
"There they come," whispered Zeke, and he rose to his feet, followed by
George.
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