Why was Holderness in no
hurry to leave Silver Cup? Why did he lag at the spring when, if he
expected riders from his ranch, he could have gone on to meet them,
obviously saving time and putting greater distance between him and the
men he had wronged? Was it utter fearlessness or only a deep-played
game? Holderness and his rustlers, all except the gloomy Naab, were
blind to the peril that lay beyond the divide. How soon would August
Naab strike out on the White Sage trail? Would he come alone? Whether
he came alone or at the head of his hard-riding Navajos he would arrive
too late. Holderness's life was not worth a pinch of the ashes he
flecked so carelessly from his cigarette. Snap Naab's gloom, his long
stride, his nervous hand always on or near the butt of his Colt, spoke
the keenness of his desert instinct. For him the sun had arisen red over
the red wall. Had he harmed Mescal? Why did he keep the cabin door shut
and guard it so closely?
While Hare watched and thought the hours sped by. Holderness lounged
about and Snap kept silent guard. The rustlers smoked, slept, and moved
about; the day waned, and the shadow of the cliff crept over the cabin.
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