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?”