“The roar of the river is heavy here. Maybe I was mistaken. I thought I heard shots.” Then he went on spading clay into the break, but he stopped every moment or so, uneasily, as if he could not get rid of some disturbing thought. Suddenly he dropped the spade and his eyes flashed.
“Judith! Judith! Here!” he called. Wheeling with a sudden premonition of evil Hare saw the girl running along the wall toward them. Her face was white as death; she wrung her hands and her cries rose above the sound of the river. Naab sprang toward her and Hare ran at his heels.
“Father!— Father!” she panted. “Come—quick—the rustlers!—the rustlers! Snap!—Dene—Oh—hurry! They've killed Dave—they've got Mescal!”
Death itself shuddered through Hare's veins and then a raging flood of fire. He bounded forward to be flung back by Naab's arm.
“Fool! Would you throw away your life? Go slowly. We'll slip through the fields, under the trees.”
Sick and cold Hare hurried by Naab's side round the wall and into the alfalfa. There were moments when he was weak and trembling; others when he could have leaped like a tiger to rend and kill.
They left the fields and went on more cautiously into the grove. The screaming and wailing of women added certainty to their doubt and dread.
“I see only the women—the children—no—there's a man—Zeke,” said Hare, bending low to gaze under the branches.
“Go slow,” muttered Naab.
“The rustlers rode off—after Mescal—she's gone!” panted Judith.