"Mescal, I've rid you
of your would-be husband. Cheer-up!" Then, pointing to the fallen man,
he said to the nearest bystanders: "Some of you drag that out for the
coyotes."
The first fellow who bent over Snap happened to be the Nebraska rustler,
and he curiously opened the breech of the six-shooter he picked up. "No
shells!" he said. He pulled Snap's second Colt from his belt, and
unbreeched that. "No shells! Well, d--n me!" He surveyed the group of
grim men, not one of whom had any reply.
Holderness again laughed harshly, and turning to the cabin, he fastened
the door with a lasso.
It was a long time before Hare recovered from the starting revelation of
the plot which had put Mescal into Holderness's power. Bad as Snap Naab
had been he would have married her, and such a fate was infinitely
preferable to the one that now menaced her. Hare changed his position
and settled himself to watch and wait out the night. Every hour
Holderness and his men tarried at Silver Cup hastened their approaching
doom. Hare's strange prescience of the fatality that overshadowed these
men had received its first verification in the sudden taking off of Snap
Naab.
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