nance pushed buckskin hard and rode in early to the cabin and her mother’s counsel. she put the little horse away in the stable and fed him his quota of the precious hay, for buckskin was not turned out to graze. he, along with dan and mollie, was too necessary to the life of the homestead to take chances with.

they would miss him sorely should he go the way of the six steers.

she hurried up and pulled open the kitchen door.

“mammy,” she said excitedly to the gaunt woman shelling peas by the table, “i’ve found something in the cañon. i wonder—should i meddle?”

mrs. allison laid her wrinkled brown hands on the edge of the pan and looked at her daughter.

“it’s according,” she said soberly, “does it need meddlin’?”

“that’s what i don’t know. i found a collie dog—a savage dog for that breed—and a little child hiding in a cave. i couldn’t get near to them, but they act like they know what they’re doing—they had watched me from behind a rock and crawled to the cave in line with it when i turned. i only saw the child’s foot—but it was a thin little thing—and the old jeans pant-leg was weathered to rags. there wasn’t a sign of camp—nothing. what could it mean?”

the anxiety of a universally loving heart was in nance’s voice. “did i do right to come away—or should i have tried some more to see them? it couldn’t be done, though—the dog is on guard. he’ll have to be handled slowly, i’m sure of that.”

mrs. allison considered this odd information gravely.

“it means someone else besides the child and dog, that’s certain. they never got there by their lone selves.”

“but maybe they got lost from some one—and they may be hungry——” the girl half rose at that thought, her brows gathering in distress—“though whoever could be in blue stone cañon, and what for, i don’t know.”

the older woman shook her head.

“not one chance in a thousand of that. no—someone else is there, that’s sure. an’ i don’t believe i’d meddle.”

but nance rose determinedly.

“i’ve got to, mammy,” she said, “i’d never sleep another night if i didn’t. tomorrow i’ll go back bright and early.”

the mother regarded her with troubled eyes.

“let bud go, too—you never know—might be a trap or somethin’.”

“with such bait? no. that little leg was so thin—like its owner was wispy. i wish it was morning.”

all the rest of the day and the tranquil evening nance felt a thrill and stir within her, a trouble. she milked old whitefoot and her sleek black daughter, pearly, to the remembered sound of the fairy voices of the cañon, and when she sat to her nightly reading of the word beneath the coal-oil lamp on the table there intruded on the sacred page the gleaming fangs above that motionless small leg.

with grey dawn she was up and about her work that she might get an early start. bud was all for going with her, but she would not have it so.

“i’ll have trouble enough getting near,” she told him, “the best i can do. another stranger would make them wilder still.”

the boy caught her hand as she swung up on buckskin.

“be careful, sis,” he said, “look sharp on every side.”

he had never forgotten that stretched rope.

neither had nance, but she walked bravely in a faith which made her serenely bold.

“‘commit thy way unto the lord,’” she said smiling, “‘trust also in him.’ don’t you fret—nor let mammy, if you can help it. i’ll be back soon as i can.”

then she was gone down across the flats with buckskin on the lope, one hand feeling carefully for the package she had tied behind the saddle. this contained a goodly piece of boiled corn beef and two slices of her mother’s bread, fresh baked the day before. she was going armed with bribery.

the whole nameless valley between its great escarpments was fresh and cool with shadow, for the sun was not yet above mystery ridge and the rimrock that marked the way to the cañon.

the river itself talked to the boulders in its bed, and the little winds that drew up the myriad defiles were sweet with the fragrance of pines and that nameless scent of water which cannot be described. all these things were the joy of life to nance.

she loved them with a passion whose force she did not comprehend. they were what sweetened her hard and ceaseless toil, what made of each new day in her monotonous round something to be met with eager gladness, to be lived through joyfully, missing nothing of the promise of dawn, the fulfillment of noon, the blessing of twilight. they had stirred and delighted the nomad heart of her father before her, they had filled her own with contentment.

eager as she was to be in the cañon she did not miss the pale pageant of light above rimrock, or fail to watch the golden halo come along the crest of rainbow cliff.

but she soon crossed the river and entered the mouth of the great cut, leaving behind the miracle of burgeoning day, for here the shadows were still thick, like grey ghosts. she pushed on up for an hour or so, listening to the voices which were still talking, while the shadows thinned between the dusky walls.

at the point where she had left the pony the day before she dismounted and dropped his rein.

“you wait here, old nuisance,” she said darkly, rubbing his restless ears, “for i may have sudden need of you. if you see me come flying out with a streak of tawny fur behind me, don’t you dare break when i jump. so long.”

she took the bread and meat from the saddle and started on foot. it was not so far to the swirling pool and the cave behind the rock, and long before the sunlight had crept half way down the ragged stone wall at the western side of the cañon she had reached them. she went carefully, picking her way, eyes scanning each turn and boulder. at the pool’s edge she stood a long time, watching, listening, but there was nothing to be seen or heard.

she went to the mouth of the cave and peering in cautiously, called softly. she waited, but there was no answering growl, no whirlwind rush as she had half expected. the shallow cave was empty, save for some ashes of a dead fire and blankets. she circled the rock and began hunting for tracks in the white sand of the cañon bed—and presently she found them—small tracks of childish feet, set close beside the padded narrow prints of a dog—and they were going up the cañon, deeper into its fastnesses. she trailed them easily for a distance, then lost them in the foaming shallows of a riffle, and search as she would she could not find where they came out. there was a flat lip of rock on the other side, to be sure, but beyond that was sand again, and it lay clear, unruffled. above the riffle was a long deep pool, swift and flowing, and she stood for a time contemplating it.

it hardly seemed possible that the two outcasts could have swum it, and yet—where were their tracks if they had not?

she circled the pool and went on, trailing carefully, but the bed beyond was composed of shale, blue and sharp—hard going for a child’s bare feet, she thought compassionately—and gave no sign of a crossing. for another hour she went on, scanning the walls, the fallen stones, the stream itself and every nook or corner where anything might hide. she was far in blue stone cañon by this time and wondered at the endurance which could have brought a child so far. or had some one come and taken it away? that was possible, of course, and yet—a grown up person would have left marks in the soft sand assuredly. she would—but at this point in her train of thought, she came around a sharp jut in the wall—and face to face with her quarry, or at least with part of it.

startled, the dog she had seen the day before was crouched in the narrow way that led around the jut, his body half turned, one foot raised, tail lowered, and the face he turned back across his shoulder was the most vicious thing nance had ever seen. he was crouched to spring, and the fury of his snarls, audible above the sound of the stream, made that odd clutch close her throat which always accompanies sudden horror.

nance allison was a brave woman, but she was scared then.

she stood rooted to the spot and could not tear her eyes from the dog’s pale flaming orbs to look at the little creature which she knew was running with a flurry of rags and naked arms up along the cañon wall.

for a long moment they eyed each other, then, without other warning than a flicker of those flaming eyes, the collie sprang.

he came high, sailing up and forward, his forepaws spread, his head thrust out and downward, his jaws gaping.

in the second that followed instinct acted in nance, not reason. instead of recoiling, she surged forward to meet the onslaught, her right arm raised before her like a horizontal bar.

the faded denim sleeve was down and buttoned at the wrist, where the gauntlet of her cheap leather glove made a cuff.

into that gaping mouth went the arm, jamming hard, while she flung her left arm around the ruffed white throat like a clamp.

if she was surprised at her own instinctive and prompt action, the collie was more so. down on the sand went girl and dog, a rolling, tumbling bundle. in the half second which served to make the dog the victim instead of the attacking force, his outlook on the situation was completely changed. he had charged in a fury of rage. now he fought frantically, but it was to free his mouth from the choking bar that filled it, to get his head out of the vice which held it. but nance found herself in a dilemma, too. she was afraid to let go. as she rolled over in the struggle she cast desperate eyes up along the wall where she had seen the eerie small figure running in its rags. true enough, it was there, stopped, facing her, bent forward, its little hands clasped in a curiously old fashion of distress.

“little boy!” she called, “come here! come and talk to your dog—come quick! i won’t hurt you. come and call him—please come!”

for a moment she lay panting, looking into the dilated eyes so near her face.

“old chap,” she said softly, “what’s all the fuss? i’m your friend if you only knew it. nice doggie——”

she glanced at the child again, who had not moved.

“come on, sonny,” she called coaxingly, “come on—please.”

slowly the child came forward, hesitant, afraid, his small face pale with fright.

he sidled near and put out a dirty hand to the dog’s right ear. the little hand closed—pulled—and nance felt the dog’s body twitch in an effort to obey. she knew at once that that was the way they travelled together—the child holding to his ear. slowly she relaxed her grip, let go the backward pressure. the collie jerked free and backed off shaking his head, and nance sat up, folding her feet beneath her.

then she smiled at the two waifs of blue stone cañon.

“that isn’t a nice way to treat folks who come to see you, is it, sonny?” she asked, “to set your dog on them?”

“i didn’t set him on,” said the child in a high treble, “he set himself on you.”

“i guess you’re right,” answered the girl, “but don’t let go of him again. go over there and pick up that package and bring it to me.”

she pointed to the package of bread and meat which had been flung wide in the recent trouble, and the child obeyed, dragging the collie along, who went unwillingly, his distrustful and baffled eyes turned back across his shoulder to keep her in sight.

the child, too, was wary, reaching far out, stretching his small body to the utmost between her hand and his hold on the dog’s ear.

quickly nance unrolled the cloth. she counted on the aroma which now arose on the clear air.

“i’m hungry,” she said nonchalantly, “are you?”

the boy nodded.

“and your dog, too?”

“i ’spect so,” he answered gravely.

she broke the food into sections and handed a portion over.

the dirty little hand reached eagerly this time.

“feed him some,” she said, indicating the dog, but already the child was dividing as best he could without releasing his hold.

the dog grabbed the fragrant meat and bolted it, watching her the while. quickly she tossed him a bit of her own. he snapped that up also and she fancied the expression of the pale eyes changed. she remembered now the extraordinary lightness of the great furry body, as if there was little beneath the splendid tawny coat save bones and spirit. plenty of the latter, she reflected, smiling. whew! but wasn’t he a fighter? but trained to the last degree—though he regarded her as a foe, still at the touch of the small hand for which he had fought he stood obedient. pretending to eat herself, she managed to give the greater part of the food to the two before her, and they devoured it to the ultimate crumb.

“where you live?” she asked the child at last off-handedly, but he did not answer. he was picking the crumbs he had dropped from the front of his bleached blue shirt—the pitiful excuse for a shirt, without sleeves, if one excepted the strings that hung from the shoulders, without buttons and all but falling from the scrawny little body underneath. as she watched him nance’s heart ached for his poverty, for his woe-begone appearance. she was filled with a cautious excitement. the collie had sat down beside the boy, who had loosed his hold by now. it seemed that hostilities were relaxed, though she took no chances.

“i live down on the flats by the river,” she said presently. “i get lots of fish from these pools. they’re awfully good, too.”

the child nodded.

“i know,” he said, “we do, too.”

“who catches ’em?” asked nance. “not you?”

he shook his head.

“no. brand does.”

“who’s brand?” she followed quickly, but once more the child shook his unkempt head.

“just brand,” he said.

nance saw that further questioning would not do, therefore, she fell back on the wiles of woman, the blandishments of sex.

she rocked on her heels, holding her ankles in her hands and smiled with the winsome sweetness which so few in the world knew she possessed.

“i like little boys,” she said, “and i haven’t any. but i’ve got a pony. name’s buckskin.”

“brand’s got one, too,” said the child, “only diamond ain’t a pony—he’s a horse. he’s a big horse. brand has got to swing me pretty high to get me up. when we ride——”

but again some inner warning stopped him, some stern habit closed his mouth.

nance held out a hand.

“if you’ll come sit in my lap a little while,” she coaxed, “i’ll tell you all about the place where i live. will you?”

the little fellow twisted in shy indecision.

“don’t like me??” nance asked aggrievedly. “i like you——” she smiled again and reached the hand a little nearer.

diffidently the child took it—edged up—hesitated.

she was wise enough to not insist, even to relax her pull a bit.

true to the law of the contrary which rules the world of childhood, he sidled closer—leaned against her shoulder—and the girl gently folded him in her arms.

at the feel of the thin little body, all bones and skin under the dilapidated garments, the protective thrill of potential motherhood went through her and tears swam suddenly in her eyes.

a neglected pair, or one smitten by dire poverty, she thought pitifully—this lone little chap hiding among the rocks and guarded so well by the skeleton dog. the dog, by the way, had risen belligerently to his feet at the child’s advance, and his eyes were gleaming again at this unlooked-for familiarity with a total stranger.

“call him, sonny,” she said, and the child obeyed.

and so it was that after a while blue stone cañon saw the miracle of friendship grow like a magic flower in its pale light, for the girl talked low and sweetly to the child in her lap—and strangest of all, the savage collie sat gravely on his plumy tail beside the two, accepting the turn of fate.

when nance made ready to go away at noon she knew that brand was coming at night, that these two had always ridden on diamond, and that they would ride again some day, while dirk, the collie, would run beside them. she knew that brand was always gone in daylight, and that the cave by the rock below was home.

but that was all she did know, or could find out, except that the child’s name was sonny and that he was seven.

perhaps it was due to the fact that she had inadvertently called him that, that she owed the success of the hour.

be that as it may, the yearning pity which she felt made nance use the last and greatest of feminine wiles to win him to her.

“i’m going away now,” she said smiling into the grave brown eyes in the little face, “but if you’ll kiss me—and won’t tell brand a thing about me, i’ll come again tomorrow—and i’ll bring you some more goodies. how about it?”

the promise, the kiss—these completed the downfall of the lonely waif, and nance’s heart ached anew at the pathetic grip of the weazened arms about her neck.

from the far bend she looked back—and this time it was to see the two strange denizens of blue stone cañon watching her in the habitual repression and silence of their unnatural lives, but withal so hungrily that the mist swam in her eyes again.

“what’d you find, nance?” bud queried when she rode in at home.

“i found a mystery i’m going to unravel,” she answered grimly, “or my name’s not nance allison—and i made love to a half-starved little kid—and got all chewed up by a dog—and i heard of a man who’s going to get a piece of my mind some day—now, mark me!”

“land sake!” said mrs. allison in the doorway, “what are they—campers?”

“no—and it looks mighty mysterious to me, mammy. as soon’s bud puts buckskin away i’ll tell you all about it.”