“Mebby as much as we need spyin’ on,” returned the other and rode along.
Three miles further on the sheriff turned down the mountain and the foreman reined up, sitting in silence to watch him out of sight.
“Wings is right,” said Selwood to himself, “those steers must have them—but that woman’s eyes were guilty, or I’m a liar.”
At the same moment Caldwell was heaving a long breath of relief as he pulled his horse around and headed home.
“This here sheriff is gettin’ a little bit inquisitive,” he thought, then grinned sardonically.
“But if he never gets any wiser than he is now he won’t set anything on fire. In fifteen feet of th’ Flange an’ never saw a thing! Holy smoke! Some sheriff! An’ yet—can’t blame him—the Flange’d fool th’ devil himself.”
CHAPTER VIII
BRAND FAIR
Nance Allison went back to Blue Stone Cañon. It was as inevitable as the recurrent sun that she should do so. Her whole nature was stirred to the depths by what she had found in the lonely gorge.
The mystery of the thing lured her, set her young mind hunting for its solution. And the little ragged boy with his weazened face and bright brown eyes tugged at her tender heart irresistibly.
He was a beautiful, small creature despite his thinness and his poverty. There was intelligence in the broad forehead under the long, loose, unkempt, dark curls, capacity for affection in the mobile lips and a terrible hunger for love in the whole little face.