“What do you seek in the house of a Bishop?” challenged August Naab, planting his broad bulk square before Hare.
“Dene's spy!”
“What do you seek in the house of a Bishop?” repeated Naab.
“I shore want to see the young feller you lied to me about,” returned Dene, his smile slowly fading.
“No speech could be a lie to an outlaw.”
“I want him, you Mormon preacher!”
“You can't have him.”
“I'll shore get him.”
In one great stride Naab confronted and towered over Dene.
The rustler's gaze shifted warily from Naab to the quiet Mormons and back again. Then his right hand quivered and shot downward. Naab's act was even quicker. A Colt gleamed and whirled to the grass, and the outlaw cried as his arm cracked in the Mormon's grasp.