From that night forth Fair came frequently to the homestead on Nameless. It was a dull spot now and his advent was a saving grace. The light of hope, the joy of labor and accomplishment, had in a measure departed. There was little or nothing to do, less to look forward to. For a little while Nance kept to the cabin as a matter of precaution, but soon she began to pick up the odds and ends of her pointless work—to mend the fence which had been cut, and to make ready to harvest the crop of hay across the river.

“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 flare 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 hatred 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 blessings that Brand Fair had come into her life at its darkest hour.

Sheriff Selwood had a visitor.

The prospector, John Smith, rode into his ranch 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 pact with you. It’s about Cattle Kate Cathrew and the Allison family.”

“Shoot,” said the sheriff succinctly.

“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 doorway 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 groaned.

“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 astonishment.

“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 jumbled 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 ford 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 steer 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 shale, 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 abruptly showing the plains stretched out like a dry brown floor, dotted with sparse bunch grass.

On the left the great precipice 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 clump of willows yonder.”

He pointed ahead and to the left where a dense green growth stood alone against the rock face.

Selwood looked and for a moment his face did not change.

Then, suddenly, his mouth fell open, his eyes grew wide with astonishment.

“Great Scott!” he said, “they’re blowing out from the wall! There’s wind behind them!”

Fair moved forward and dismounted, leaving Diamond in the stream. The sheriff followed.

They stepped lightly across the strip of sand which lay between the water and the willows and Fair turned to the right, circling the clump.

“Here,” he said, “that red steer and the man who drove it went into the wall. I found their tracks that day. They’ve been obliterated by the shifting sand since then.”

He pushed aside a feathery branch and the sheriff at his shoulder craned an incredulous head to look into what seemed the mouth of a cave.

“No—it’s not a cave,” said Fair at his surmise, “it’s a prehistoric underground passage. It leads straight into the heart of Mystery Ridge from this end, and it has an opening somewhere, attested to by this current of wind. This mouth is just wide enough to admit one steer at a time, one horse and rider—but—what more do you want?”

“Great Scott!” cried Selwood again, “of all the impossible things! And not a soul on Nameless knows about it!”

“Wrong!” said Fair, “Kate Cathrew and her riders know. That open plain yonder—it leads out to a town, doesn’t it? On the railroad?”

“Marston—yes. A long way across.”

“Water?” queried Fair.

“Yes—at intervals. Springs. Do for driving—yes—not for range—too far apart.”

“Exactly,” said Fair. “Now, sheriff, find the other end of this subterranean passage and I believe you’ll have solved the mystery of the disappearing steers.”

Price Selwood held out his hand. It was trembling.

“I can’t tell you what I owe you for this information, Mr. ——?”

“Smith—yes,” said Fair smiling.

“Smith. It means more than I can say—to me.”

“It means as much—or more—to me,” returned the other, “I’ve given two years of my life to a still-hunt for Kate Cathrew. I’d give two more to see her brought to justice.”

“And we’ll get her!” said the sheriff grimly though with a lilt of joy in his voice. “Oh, my Lord, just won’t we get her! We’ll follow this hole straight to its——”

“If I might suggest,” cut in Fair, “I’d say we’ll back out now—even brush out our tracks—and begin a systematic picketing of the Cathrew bunch. The cattle are fat on the ranges—it’ll soon be time to drive. Don’t you think it likely that another big bunch might—disappear down Nameless River?”

“Say,” said Selwood smiling. “Mister, you just move in my house with me! You can think faster and straighter than any man I ever met. Let’s go right now.”

Fair laughed and turned away, leading Diamond back down the caÑon.

“For the present,” he said, “I’ll keep to the background as I have been doing. This woman would recognise me and be instantly alert for trouble. Another thing, Sheriff—those men with her are not cattlemen.”

“Just what I’ve always said!” cried Selwood delightedly, “I knew that long ago. There’s one or two who do pass muster—her foreman and that black devil from Texas, Sud Provine. The rest are city stuff.”

“They are, without exception, criminals who have been defended by one of the ablest lawyers in New York and acquitted. They owe him a lot—and he has something more on each one of them, so that they are his henchmen in every instance. This man is Lawrence Arnold.”

“Kate Cathrew’s partner! He owns half of Sky Line!”

“Exactly. When he gets hold of a man he wants to use, he seems to send him here. I have recognized three of these riders already, though none of them knew me.”

“Excuse me, mister,” said Selwood, “but how do you happen to know so much?”

“That question is your right, and I will answer it. Kate Cathrew was a New York woman—I knew her there some six years ago. She was clever then—and unscrupulous, always playing for her own advancement. It was along that line that she did the deed for which I have hunted her down—and found her at last. What deed that was I am not ready to say, nor to whom it was done. It must suffice for the present to tell you that it ruined one life and bade fair to ruin another until I stepped in to take a hand. These two lives were very near my own—and for their sake I have become a wanderer, a homeless tramp, searching the lone places of the West to find this woman and make her pay—to bring her to justice. I watched Lawrence Arnold for three years before I started and I knew he was in touch with her, that between them some way they were making money, but I could never get track of her through him. He was too sharp for me. I have visited every cattle ranch owned by a woman in the whole United States, it seems to me. I found seven in Texas, two in Montana, and more in Idaho. I have ridden this little chap thousands of miles, shipped him with me by rail thousands more. I knew it was cattle stuff from some of Arnold’s deals, but where they came from has been a mystery—until two months ago. Now you know what I am and why I’m on Cattle Kate’s trail like a nemesis. I think, if we work together, we’ll land her soon—and land her hard and fast where she belongs.”

“Amen to that,” said Selwood fervently.

The summer drowsed along on Nameless, sweet with sun and the little winds that stirred the pine tops, green with verdure and starred with wild flowers. The lonesome world of the jumbled hills was fair as Paradise, wistful with silence, mysterious with its suggestion of eternal waiting.

To Nance Allison, sitting listlessly on her doorstep, it seemed strangely empty. There was nothing to do, now that the heavy labor of the haying was over. She watched her three big stacks with sombre eyes, expecting each morning to find them destroyed, but nothing happened to them.

Bud carried his father’s rifle now and day after day he went morosely into the hills after venison.

“Got to hang up enough meat for winter,” he told Nance when she looked at him with troubled eyes.

“Got to remember that Commandment which says ‘Thou shalt not kill,’” she answered.

“Brand said to carry the gun.”

“Brand said ‘defend’—not ‘murder.’ Hold hard, Bud. We’ve kept clean so far.”

“Yes—and what’ve we got? A grave—and this.”

He shrugged his sagging shoulder.

Quick tears came in Nance’s eyes and she laid a hand upon it with infinite tenderness.

“I know,” she said, “but somehow I still have faith. We’ll come out free some day.”

“Perhaps—free like our Pappy.”

“God forbid!” said the girl with trembling lips.