“I was in Little Blue Cañon the other day,” said Nance, “and saw Sud Provine pass its mouth in Blue Stone driving a red steer north. I’ve wondered a lot where he could have been taking it.”
“North in Blue Stone? That’s odd. There isn’t enough feed in that cañon to graze a calf two days.”
“And what’s at its head?” asked Nance, “I’ve never been clear up.”
“Blue Stone heads high in the Deep Heart hills,” said the sheriff, “but about eight miles up from its mouth on Nameless its right wall falls abruptly away for a distance of a couple of miles and there one can go out on the open plain that stretches over toward the Sawtooth Range and leads out to Marston and the railroad. There’s some bunch grass there, but mighty little water. Nothing but the stream in the cañon itself to come back to. And cattle driven so far away from the home range would be a poor risk, it seems to me, for Sky Line.”
“Well—I wondered about it. Thought I’d tell you any way.”
“I’m glad you did. I shall remember it.”
At the homestead Nance led Selwood to the corn field’s lower gate and left him.
“Go over it if you want,” she said, “and I’ll be out in a minute or so.”
At the cabin she told Sonny to go into her room and stay until she came for him.
“I feel guilty,” she thought, “for I can trust the sheriff, but Brand asked me to keep him hidden. I’ve got to be true to my promise.”