“It won’t, Mr. Fair,” she replied.
The man sighed and frowned.
“God knows,” he said, “I hope not. But let’s get on—it’s getting pretty late.”
Fair rode to the cave by the pool in silence. There he dismounted and brought from the blankets such poor bits of garments as belonged to the child, rolled them in a bundle and fastened them on Nance’s saddle.
“I’m sorry they are so ragged,” he apologized.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Nance, “Mammy has stuff that can be made over. We’ll fix him up.”
Fair mounted again and rode with her to the mouth of Blue Stone. There he halted and lifted Sonny to Buckskin’s rump.
The little fellow whimpered a bit and clung to his neck, while the man patted his bony little shoulder.
“There—there, kid,” he said, “don’t you love Miss Allison?”
“Yes,” wailed Sonny at last; “but—but—I just love you, Brand!”