And so it was that Sonny Fair came into the warmth and comfort of fire and lamplight, of chairs and tables, and beds with deep shuck-ticks, and to the loving arms of woman-kind, after two years of riding on the big black’s rump, of sleeping on the earth beside a campfire, and the long lonely days of waiting. And, faithful as his shadow, Dirk the Collie sat on the stone that formed the doorstep and refused to budge until both Nance and Sonny convinced him that all was well, and that this was home. When Nance sat to her gracious hour with the Scriptures that night it seemed a very fitting coincidence that the Book should fall open at the Master’s tender words, “Suffer little children to come unto Me, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.” CHAPTER XI THE ASHES OF HOPE It was dark of the moon and Sheriff Price Selwood sat on his horse a little distance from McKane’s store at Cordova, his hat pulled over his brows, his hands on his saddle horn. Inside the lighted store four tables were going. A bunch of cattlemen from the Upper Country were in and most of the Cathrew men were down from Sky Line. The nine or ten bona-fide citizens of Cordova were present also, and McKane was in high fettle. The few houses of the town were dark for it was fairly late. All these things the sheriff noted in the quarter hour he sat patiently watching. When he was satisfied that all the families were represented inside, that the dogs of the place were settled to inaction, and that no one was likely to leave the store for several hours at least, he did a peculiar thing. He tied his horse to a tree near where it stood and went forward quietly on foot, stopping at the rack where the Cathrew horses stood in a row. They were good stock. Cattle Kate would have nothing else at Sky Line. Selwood took plenty of time, patting a shoulder here, stroking a nose there, and finally stepped in between a big brown mare and the rangy grey gelding which Sud Provine always rode. He fondled the animal for a few moments, then ran his hand down the left foreleg and picked up the hoof. It was shod, saddle-horse fashion. He placed the foot between his knees, very much after the manner of a blacksmith, and taking a small coarse file from his coat pocket, proceeded to file a small notch in the shoe. Then he put the file away, gave the grey a last friendly slap, got his own horse and rode away. He intended to have a good night’s sleep. * * * * * Several days later Kate Cathrew came down to Cordova and held a short private conversation with McKane. “McKane,” she said, “who gives you the heaviest trade in this man’s country?” “You do,” said McKane promptly, “far and away.” “Do you value it?” “Does a duck swim?” “Then give me a moment’s attention,” said Kate Cathrew, “and keep what I say under your hat.”