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.