It was well after midnight when two things took place at almost the same moment—Brand Fair rode in behind the clump of willows that were always _blowing out_ from the cañon’s wall with his men in single file behind him—and Rod Stone got off his horse at Cordova. He handed his rein to the Pomo girl and went swiftly up the steps, opening the door upon the lighted room where a group of men were playing. They were mostly from the Upper Country, though one or two were Cordovans. Among them were the bearded man who had sat on McKane’s porch that day in spring and watched Cattle Kate come riding in on Bluefire, and the young cowboy with whom he had spoken concerning them. Stone, a Sky Line man, received cold glances from the faces raised at his entrance. All Nameless knew and disapproved of Sky Line. But the boy was made of courageous stuff and he tackled the issue promptly. “Men,” he said sharply, “I’m from Sky Line, as you all know, and you may class me now as a traitor to my outfit. Perhaps I am. That’s neither here nor there. I don’t give a damn whether I am or not. I’d have stood true in all cases but one. That one has happened. There’s a good girl—a Bible girl, like I used to know back in the middle west—shut up in a secret spot with Sud Provine—and I’ve got to have help to save her and that quick. She’s a fighter, I think, and is strong—but—you all know Provine. I don’t know what I’m stirring up and I don’t care. Will you come?” Every chair at the dirty canvas-covered table but one shot back and outward as the players rose. “Where’s this here spot—an’ who’s th’ girl?” said the cowboy. “Lead us to ’em.” “In Rainbow Cliff—and the Allison girl from the homestead on the River.” “Th’ hell you say! Ain’t that poor kid had enough trouble?” But McKane the trader spoke from where he sat, frowning. “Ain’t you all taking a lot for granted?” he asked, “and mussing in Kate Cathrew’s business?” The bearded man turned on him. “Damn Kate Cathrew’s business! She can’t give a decent girl to that slimy rep-tile Provine and get by with it in this man’s country—not by a damn sight! Get your horses, boys!” As the players surged out, McKane, obeying some apprehensive instinct which pulled at his heart like a cold hand, rose and followed. “Wait till I get mine!” he shouted as he ran. CHAPTER XX CONCLUSION When Nance Allison mounted Buckskin at Kate Cathrew’s door a terrible weight hung at her heart, yet a current of strength seemed flowing in her veins. “‘The Lord is the strength of my life,’” she thought valiantly, “‘of whom shall I be afraid?’” The courage of the familiar words had been with her through many bitter trials—it did not fail her now. But she was not conscious that she no longer called upon her Maker for help to bear, to be patient under persecution, or that she ran a hand along the muscle of her right arm testing its quality.