Nance regarded this unusual proceeding with some astonishment. She did not realize that this was the peak of proper politeness in the backwoods of her Mammy’s day—that a girl must have her chance and a clear field when a man came “settin’ up” to her. And so it was that presently she found herself sitting beside Brand Fair in the doorway, for the man preferred the inconspicuous spot, while Sonny sighed with happiness in his arms and Dirk sat gravely on his plumy tail at his master’s knee. Diamond stood like a statue in the farther shadows. A little soft wind was drawing up the river, the stars were thick in the night sky, and something as sweet as fairy music seemed to pulse in the lonely silence. “Has old-timer been good?” Fair wanted to know jocosely, rubbing the curly head which was no longer tousled. “Sure I have, Brand,” the little fellow ventured eagerly, “awful good—haven’t I, Nance?” “Miss Allison, Sonny,” said Brand severely. “No—Nance. She told me so herself.” “That settles it. No one could go against such authority. But has he been good?” “Good?” said Nance. “He’s brought all the happiness into this house it’s seen for many a long day—or is likely to see.” “That’s good hearing,” returned the man, “and I have done a lot of riding this past week. Tell me, Miss Allison—what sort of a chap is this sheriff of yours?” “He’s the best man on Nameless River!” cried the girl swiftly, “the kindest, the steadiest. I’d trust him with anything.” “Does he talk?” “Talk?” “Can he keep a still tongue in his head?” “I don’t know as to that—but I do know he’s been a friend to me in my tribulation. He probably saved my life today—and he saved me a lot of trouble.” “Saved your life?” queried Fair sharply, “How’s that?” “I swung Cattle Kate Cathrew out of McKane’s store and she was going to shoot me but the sheriff faced her. I told her some things she didn’t like.” Fair drew a long breath. “What was the occasion?” he asked. “My field of corn,” said Nance miserably, her trouble flooding back upon her, “last night it was rich with promise—what I was building on for my debt and my winter’s furnishing. This morning it was nothing but a dirty mass of pulp—trampled out by cattle—and we know that a Sky Line rider was behind those cattle. It’s some more of the same work that’s been going on with us since before our Pappy died. It’s old stuff—what the cattle kings have done to the homesteaders for many years in this country. “If we weren’t our Pappy’s own—Bud and I—we’d have been run out long ago. I would, I think, when Bud got hurt, if it hadn’t been for him. He’s a fighter and won’t let go. The land is ours, right and fair, and he says no bunch of cut-throats is going to take it from us. I say so, too,” she finished doggedly. Fair reached out a hand and for a moment laid it over hers, clasped on her folded arm.