Nance shook her head.
“Every bone in his body was broken,” she said sadly, “he was as loose as a bag of sand. He fell down Rainbow Cliff all right—but how it happened, that’s what we’d love to know.”
“And probably never will,” said Fair.
“No.”
They sat for a time in silence.
The little wind blew in their faces, sweet with its fresh and nameless suggestion of flowing water. Out in the shadows the big black horse stood perfectly still, his peaceful breath scarce lifting his sides. The Collie was silent, though his handsome head was up, his sharp ears lifted above his ruff. The child in Fair’s lap continued to sleep.
It seemed to Nance Allison that the night had never been so calm before, the stars so bright, the unspeakable majesty of the heavens so apparent. She wondered how it was possible to feel so safe and at peace in the face of this last disaster, to look to the future once more with hope.
The little smile was pulling at her lips again, her long blue eyes were soft with hidden light.
And then, out of the stillness and starlight, from somewhere across the river, there came the clear crack of a high-power gun, the thud of a ball in wood. With one sweep of his right arm Fair flung Nance back upon the floor, himself and the child beside her.
He slipped Sonny from his lap with a low word and rolled clear. Quick as a cat he drew his body to the table, raised an arm above its edge and swept the lamp to the floor, extinguishing it instantly.