When this man spoke she listened avidly, her blue eyes on his face. He seemed the visible embodiment of all she had missed in life, the cities, the open seas, the distant lands and the pleasures. As he sat before her in his worn garments which might have denoted a poverty as great as hers, he seemed rich beyond compare, a potentate of the world. He smoked small brown cigarettes which he made from a little old leather pouch and rolled with the dexterity of long usage, and he buried each stub carefully in the sand.
He was a marvellous person, indeed, and Nance regarded him in a sort of awe.
“I’ve been in to Cordova a time or two,” he said casually, “and have met the sheriff and several others. To them I’m a prospector. There seems to be a lot of unrest in the country.”
“It’s the rustlers,” said Nance, “a lot of cattle have disappeared, and some folks blame the sheriff. I don’t. I think he does all he can. It’s a great mystery. We lost some ourselves. I’ve ridden myself down looking for them, and so has my brother, Bud, and we’ve never found a hoof-mark.”
“Strange. Isn’t there any one you might suspect in these hills?”
“I’ve heard that Sheriff Selwood is watching Kate Cathrew, but the others laugh at him.”
Fair’s eyes narrowed just a fraction of an inch.
“Cathrew?” he said. “Who’s she?”
“The woman who owns Sky Line Ranch,” returned Nance grimly, “and my enemy.”
“What? Your enemy? How’s that?”