“Sonny, old-timer,” said Fair, “here’s where you take a back seat for once,” and he rolled the child, still sleeping like the healthy little animal he was, over on the floor.
When the man arose to go some aeons later he gave Nance the package which he had taken from a pocket.
“Keep it, Sweetheart,” he said, “and open it if—anything happens to me. It contains information vital to Sonny’s life and future—the address of the New York lawyer who knows all my affairs and his, and also copies of the proof he holds which can send Cattle Kate and Arnold and all their lot behind the bars for life. Take it straight to Sheriff Selwood if you have to act for me, and if he is alive and conscious. If not, Bossick will do in his stead. He’s a good man. There’s a picture in that package. Nance—the face of Sonny’s mother. But I’m not figuring that you’ll have any call to open it—not by a long shot. This is all by way of wise precaution, you know. Now give me one more kiss.”
Brand Fair rode away and the girl he left upon the cabin’s step was too far adrift on the seas of happiness to realize that he had not told her the one thing vital—who was Sonny’s father?
CHAPTER XVII
THE FACE IN THE PACKAGE
At last Nance Allison knew the meaning of the great light that seemed to glow upon all the world of the Deep Heart hills.
Instinct awoke in her and she beheld the face of love.
The knowledge set her trembling to her soul’s foundation, sent her to her knees beside her big bed that she might return to that high Tribunal which arbited her ways such a deep devotion of thanksgiving as she had never made before.
Abasement seized her.
What was she in her loneliness and poverty, that such a man as Brand Fair might find her worthy?