Diamond waited in Selwood’s stable, saddled and fit, and everything waited on the intrepid sheriff himself who had done such valiant work “to get the goods” on Sky Line.
A late round moon was rising above the distant rimrock of Rainbow Cliff, a great golden disc that promised full light, and all the little winds, born in the cañons of the Deep Heart hills, frolicked like elves among the trees.
Fair’s thoughts were of the girl on Nameless—of her long blue eyes with their steady light, of her smiling lips and the golden crown of her braided hair.
He drifted away, as lovers have done since time was, and it was the low-toned voice of the doctor which recalled him.
“Mr. Smith,” it said without a change of inflection, “come in carefully.”
He rose and, tossing away his cigarette, stepped softly across the sill.
In the faint light of the oil lamp on a stand Sheriff Selwood looked up into the face of his wife, bending above him.
“Sally,” he said weakly.
Then he turned his head and looked slowly around at the others.
“Hello, Doc,” he whispered, then—“they didn’t get me—after all! Smith—Smith——” a sudden light leaped into the dazed eyes, “I saw—them drive Bossick’s—Bossick’s steers into the face of—Rainbow Cliff a mile west—of Sky Line——”