"There's an old brand like a cross, Father Naab's cross, and a
new brand, a single bar. Together they make an H!"
"Mescal! You've hit it. I remember that steer. He was a very devil to
brand. He's the property of August Naab, and Holderness has added the
bar, making a clumsy H. What a rustler's trick! It wouldn't deceive a
child."
They had reached the cedars and the trail when Wolf began to sniff
suspiciously at the wind.
"Look!" whispered Mescal, calling Hare's attention from the dog. "Look!
A new corral!"
Bending back to get in line with her pointing finger Hare looked through
a network of cedar boughs to see a fence of stripped pines. Farther up
were piles of unstripped logs, and close by the spring there was a new
cabin with smoke curling from a stone chimney. Hare guided Silvermane
off the trail to softer ground and went on. He climbed the slope, passed
the old pool, now a mud-puddle, and crossed the dry wash to be brought
suddenly to a halt. Wolf had made an uneasy stand with his nose pointing
to the left, and Silvermane pricked up his ears. Presently Hare heard
the stamping of hoofs off in the cedars, and before he had fully
determined the direction from which the sound came three horses and a man
stepped from the shade into a sunlit space.
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