There was much afoot. Bossick’s steers were going down the Pipe that day—and perhaps Sud Provine and Nance Allison would go with them, bound for the Big Bend country in Texas whence the man had hailed.
“I think she’ll sign this morning,” said Arnold easily as he sat down to Josefa’s steaming breakfast by lamplight, “and keep her mouth shut, too.”
In the shielding clump of pines Bossick waited for Fair’s signal somewhere inside the cliff.
Not so far down the great slope of Mystery Rod Stone was climbing up with the Cordova men behind him and Minnie Pine like his shadow at his side.
And deep in the heart of the earth Brand Fair was slowly forging upward toward that coup of justice for which he had labored so long and patiently.
There was excitement in him and exultation and a certain grim joy, for he knew the man he wanted was at Sky Line Ranch and that he was about to lay upon him and Kate Cathrew the stern hand of the law.
Not least of the actors in the coming play, set to function on the stage of Rainbow’s Pot, was Bud Allison urging his exhausted horse slowly up toward Sky Line.
False dawn had come and passed. The short darkness following was shot now with pale light above the distant rim.
There was a cold breeze blowing when Arnold and Kate Cathrew rode along the rock face to the Flange. They spoke in low tones to Big Basford standing like an image and slipped into the wall. They rode in silence down the defile, dark as Erebus and full of wind, and came out into the amphitheatre where the pale light was breaking.
The trees stood like tall gnomes, humped and darkly draped.