“Though I suppose it will be just that much work thrown away,” she said, “for the stacks will burn some night like they did before.”
“Take a chance,” counseled Fair, “maybe they won’t this time.”
“You bet we’ll take the chance,” said the girl with a of her old spirit, “we’ve never laid down yet.”
But try as she would there was a dullness in her, a desire to stop and rest a bit, and the that was slowly growing in her stirred anew each time she raised her eyes to the distant line of Rainbow Cliff gleaming in the light like fairy stuff.
“If it wasn’t for you now, Mr. Fair,” she said to him, “I think I’d—almost—be ready to give up. You give me new courage—as Sheriff Selwood did when he stepped behind me that day on McKane’s porch.”
“No, you wouldn’t. It isn’t in you to give up. Perhaps reinforcements do have their effect—but you’d never leave the line, Nance.”
The girl smiled.
It was the first time he had used her given name and her heart missed a beat, while the warm surge went through her again.
“No—I know it—but sometimes I do feel—well, tired.”
“You’ve had enough to make you so,” he said and laid his hand on hers. At his infrequent touches Nance always felt a glow of returning strength, as if once more she could work and fight for her own. She counted it one of her secant that Brand Fair had come into her life at its darkest hour.
Sheriff Selwood had a visitor.
The , John Smith, rode into his yard and sat judging him with shrewd eyes.
“Sheriff,” he said, “I’ve a notion you and I could have a pleasant and perhaps a profitable talk. Will you saddle a horse and ride out with me a way?”
“Sure,” said Price Selwood readily, and asked no questions.
He went into his stable and soon came out leading the lean bay, mounted and followed as the other turned away.
“That’s a pretty good horse you ride, stranger,” he said, “I’ve noticed it at Cordova a time or two.”
“Yes,” returned Smith, “he has blood and bottom—also intelligence.”
They rode for a while in silence. Then the stranger slouched sidewise in his saddle and looked at Selwood.
“I’m going to tell you several things, Sheriff,” he said, “and show you some more. And I want to make a with you. It’s about Cattle Kate Cathrew and the Allison family.”
“Shoot,” said the sheriff .
“I’m a stranger hereabouts, but I’m not a happen-so. I’ve hunted Kate Cathrew for two years.”
At that Price Selwood became alert in every nerve.
“What?” he ejaculated.
“On horseback, by train—from New York to this side the Rockies. Are you willing to let me line up with you in this matter?”
“I’m willing to do anything under Heaven that’s square to get that bunch of rustlers—for so I’m convinced they are,” said Selwood, “and to do it quick, for I’m afraid if we don’t, something will happen to the folks on Nameless that can’t be mended.”
“So am I. Miss Allison was shot in her a few nights back.”
“God!” cried the sheriff, “what’s that?”
“Just a scratch on her arm—but it was meant for her heart. I was there at the time. The ball came from across the river—a high-power gun.”
The sheriff .
“That’s it! The same old stuff—shoot from ambush—no evidence—nothing. It makes a man wild! I’ve done all a man could do, and I can’t put my finger on a thing.”
“I’ve heard about the disappearing cattle,” said the other, “and I’ve done a bit on my own hook. I may as well tell you now, that my name is not Smith, and that I’ve been in Blue Stone Cañon for nearly two months.”
Selwood looked at him in .
“No one knows it all, even about his own doorstep,” he said. “I thought you were just passing through.”
“If you will, I’d like you to ride up the cañon with me,” said Fair, “to where the right wall falls away beyond the mouth of Little Blue. It’s early and we can make it by noon, I think.”
They fell silent for a while, threading the hills that rose in a mass to the south of Nameless Valley, and after an hour or so, reached the river. They crossed on the riffle where Nance was accustomed to on her way to Blue Stone, and entered the mouth of the great cut.
“We’ll keep to the water as much as possible,” said Fair, “because there are other eyes than ours here sometimes.”
They passed the empty cave where Nance had found Sonny and Dirk and followed the stream on up to the mouth of Little Blue.
“From up in there,” said Fair, riding ahead, “I saw one of the Cathrew riders—a man named Provine—driving a red up this way.”
“Ah!” said the sheriff, adding to himself—“and so did Nance Allison. These young folks seem to know each other pretty well.”
“He went on north and disappeared. I followed next day and came upon a mystery—some more of this water travel which leads nowhere.”
“We’ve had a lot of that,” said Selwood bitterly, “it’s what has baffled the whole country.”
“Well—I’ll show you something,” said Fair, “that may set you guessing.”
The keen blue shadows were cold and the voices were murmuring in the high escarpments.
Through pools and over , where ever they could, they put their horses, avoiding the sand, and presently, when the sunlight had crept almost down to the floor of the cañon, they came out at the spot where the right wall fell away showing the plains stretched out like a dry brown floor, dotted with bunch grass.
On the left the great continued unbroken.
Fair went on ahead, still keeping to the water, though both horses were pretty well winded with the hard going it afforded, and at last drew up to let Selwood come alongside.
He sat still for a moment.
“Listen a bit,” he said, “do you hear anything different from the sounds of water and the murmuring of the big cut?”
The sheriff listened sharply.
“Yes,” he said presently, “I do. Sounds like wind.”
“Exactly. Yet there isn’t any wind, more than the draft which always draws down the cañon. Now look closely at the wall. Watch that
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