But Nance laid her face on his breast and fell to weeping, so that Fair anathematized himself for his grave words.
“It seems,” she said, sobbing, “that we have reached the bottom—of all things—hope—and—and strength—and happiness. And my grasp on God is failing—He has turned His face from me—I am lost to the light of His countenance—because of the hatred in me. I have stood firm through tribulation but now—when I think of you—I feel my strength desert me.”
“Buck up,” scoffed the man playfully, “we’ll all come through with colors flying and see this nest of vipers caged. Then think of life on Nameless, Nance—safe and happy, with our fields and our herds and peace in all the land. I shouldn’t have suggested anything else. Come—be my brave girl again, my good fighter.”
Obedient to his words, Nance straightened and tried to smile in the starlight.
“That’s it,” he said, “you’re resilient as willow wood—ready with a come-back. You’ll never leave the line, Sweetheart, never in this world!”
It was late in the night when Fair rode away.
He went south, going back to look again on the quiet face of Sheriff Selwood, then on to the Deep Heart fringes to meet Bossick and Jermyn.
As for Nance Allison, she was seized with a great restlessness that made inaction unbearable.
“I think I’ll ride the lower slopes of Mystery, Mammy,” she said next morning, “and look for that black shoat that’s missing. I can’t afford to lose it.”
The mother looked at her with worried eyes.