“Ki—yi-i-i!” yelled Dave Naab with all the power of his lungs. His head was back, his mouth wide open, his face red, his neck corded and swollen with the intensity of his passion.
“Be still—boy!” ordered his father. “Hare, this was madness—but tell me what you learned.”
Briefly Hare repeated all that he had been told at the Bishop's, and concluded with the killing of Martin Cole by Dene.
August Naab bowed his head and his giant frame shook under the force of his emotion. Martin Cole was the last of his life-long friends.
“This—this outlaw—you say you ran him down?” asked Naab, rising haggard and shaken out of his grief.
“Yes. He didn't recognize me or know what was coming till Silvermane was on him. But he was quick, and fell sidewise. Silvermane's knee sent him sprawling.”
“What will it all lead to?” asked August Naab, and in his extremity he appealed to his eldest son.
“The bars are down,” said Snap Naab, with a click of his long teeth.
“Father,” began Dave Naab earnestly, “Jack has done a splendid thing. The news will fly over Utah like wildfire. Mormons are slow. They need a leader. But they can follow and they will. We can't cure these evils by hoping and praying. We've got to fight!”
“Dave's right, dad, it means fight,” cried George, with his fist clinched high.