The eager gladness of the child, the vociferous welcome of the Collie, gave her a feeling of guilt that she had stayed away so long, and she made glowing holiday with her cookies, her songs and her laughter, so that the hours flew on magic wings—and Brand came home before they were even beginning to look for him.
He came upon them silently, as he had done before, and Nance sprang up in confusion.
“How do you always get here so quietly?” she asked, “I never heard a sound.”
“Look at Diamond,” he replied smilingly, “we always follow the water. A stream leaves no tell-tale tracks. Even Sonny can swim like a fish.”
Nance sobered quickly.
A disturbing thought of Bud’s remark about rustlers came into her mind—and she thought of those ninety steers of Bossick’s driven into Nameless and whisked out of the country. Of course ninety head of cattle couldn’t go down the big river indefinitely—but she didn’t like the suggestion.
“No,” she said, “it don’t. That’s what the rustlers seem to think.”
She looked him square in the eyes, and was satisfied.
There was no consciousness in those smiling depths, not the faintest flicker of a shadow. Whatever mystery might attach to him, this man felt nothing personal in her speech.
And so she sat down again with Sonny in her lap and Brand sat down opposite, and they fell to talking there in the whispering silence, while the late sun gilded the high blade of the rimrock and the cool shadows deepened in the gorge. It was strange fairy-land to Nance, and all the inner country of her spirit shone and sparkled under a fire of stars. She had never felt so before—never known the half-tremulous excitement which filled her now.