“No. They came over to kill Hare.” Dave went on to recount the incident in full. “And—and see here, dad—that's not all. Snap's gone to the bad.”
Dave Naab hid his face while he told of his brother's treachery; the others turned away, and Hare closed his eyes.
For long moments there was silence broken only by the tramp of the old man as he strode heavily to and fro. At last the footsteps ceased, and Hare opened his eyes to see Naab's tall form erect, his arms uplifted, his shaggy head rigid.
“Hare,” began August, presently. “I'm responsible for this cowardly attack on you. I brought you out here. This is the second one. Beware of the third! I see—but tell me, do you remember that I said you must meet Snap as man to man?”
“Yes.”
“Don't you want to live?”
“Of course.”
“You hold to no Mormon creed?”
“Why, no,” Hare replied, wonderingly.
“What was the reason I taught you my trick with a gun?”