He meant to free Mescal.
If ever Hare breathed a prayer it was then. What if one of the band
awakened! As the rustler turned at the door his dark face gleamed in the
flickering light. He unwound the lasso and opened the door without a
sound.
Hare whispered: "Heavens! if he goes in she'll scream! that will wake
Holderness--then I must shoot--I must!"
But the Mormon rustler added wisdom to his cunning and stealth.
"Hist!" he whispered into the cabin. "Hist!"
Mescal must have been awake; she must have guessed instantly the meaning
of that low whisper, for silently she appeared in the doorway, silently
she held forth her bound hands. The man untied the bonds and pointed
into the cedars toward the corral. Swift and soundless as a flitting
shadow Mescal vanished in the gloom. The Mormon stole with wary,
unhurried steps back to his bed and rolled in his blankets.
Hare rose unsteadily, wavering in the hot grip of a moment that seemed to
have but one issue--the killing of Holderness. Mescal would soon be upon
Silvermane, far out on the White Sage trail, and this time there would be
no sand-strip to trap her.
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