When Nance went out she found Selwood examining the trampled field minutely. “Must have had fifty head or more,” he said, “and five or six riders. Sud Provine was one of them.” “Yes? How can you tell?” “I know his horse’s tracks,” grinned the sheriff, “it’s that big grey gelding.” CHAPTER XIII “WE’RE OUR PAPPY’S OWN—AND WE BELONG ON NAMELESS.” That night at dusk as Nance sat in the open door with Sonny drowsing in her lap, Dirk shot out across the yard like a tawny streak and headed away toward the river. He made no outcry, but went straight as a dart, and presently there came the little crack of shod hoofs on the stones of Nameless’ lip, and a rider came up out of the farther shadows with the Collie leaping in ecstasy against his stirrup. Something tightened in Nance’s throat, a thrill shot through her from head to foot. That strange surge of warmth and light seemed to flood her whole being again. “Mammy—Bud—” she said softly, “I think Brand Fair is coming.” Bud stirred in the darkened room, but Mrs. Allison was silent. “Always, soon or late,” she thought to herself, “a man comes ridin’ out th’ night—an’ a woman is waitin’. It’s comin’ late to her—she’ll be twenty-two come June—but it’s comin’. An’ she don’t know it yet.” “Good evening,” said a deep voice pleasantly as the dark horse stopped in the dooryard, “is a stranger welcome?” “We’ve been listening for you every night,” said the girl simply, “it’s been a long time.” “Brand!” cried the child sharply, struggling frantically to find his feet, “Oh! Oh!—_Brand!_” The man dismounted and came forward. He lifted the boy and kissed him, holding him on his breast, while he held out a hand to Nance. At its warm clasp the surging glory inside her deepened strangely. Mrs. Allison rose and lighted the lamp on the table. “Come in, stranger,” she said, “an’ set.” Fair came in and Nance presented him to her two relatives. Mrs. Allison looked deep in his face with her discerning eyes as she gave him her toil-hard hand and nodded unconsciously. With Bud it was a different matter. There was a faint coldness in his young face, a sullen disapproval. But Nance saw none of these things. Her eyes were dark with the sudden dilation of the pupils which this man’s presence always caused. There was a soft excitement in her. For a little while they sat in the well-worn, well-scrubbed and polished room which was parlor, dining-room and kitchen, and talked of the warmth of the season, the many deer that were in the hills, and such minor matters, while Sonny clung to the man and devoured his face with adoring eyes. Then the mother, harking back to the customs of another time, another environment, rose, bade good-night, signaled her son and retired to the inner regions. Bud spoke with studied coldness and shambled after her.