minnie pine could get from one place to another more quickly and with less noise than any one at sky line.

when rod stone came in at dusk she came running to him in the shadows to whisper in his ear.

“the sun woman from the flats on nameless,” she said, “has thrown their words back in the faces of the master and the boss—and they have given her to sud to guard—in rainbow’s pot with big basford at the flange. it’s devil’s work.”

there was little or no expression on the half-breed’s placid face, but there was plenty of it in her low voice.

“good god!” said the boy, “are you sure, minnie?”

“i heard—and i saw,” she answered, “and my heart is heavy for the pretty one with the eagle’s eyes. she does not fear—but she does not know.”

rod stone put out an arm and hugged the girl gently.

“you’re a real woman, kid, if your skin is brown,” he said admiringly, “and after all, it’s heart that counts. now tell me about this.”

they stood close together in the shadows of the fir beside the corral and the girl talked swiftly, recounting with almost flawless accuracy what had taken place in the inner room.

the boy was silent but his lips were tightly compressed and his blue eyes shone with wrath.

“i came,” said minnie frankly, “to you, because you are the only man at sky line. the rest are skunks. josefa says you have the heart of a pomo chief.”

stone stood for a long time considering.

then he drew a deep breath and flung up his head.

the motion was full of portent, as if something in him which had long bowed down sprang aloft with vigor, like a young tree, bent to earth, released.

“you’re right,” he said, “it’s devil’s work and something must be done. i am the one to do it, too.”

he was silent for another space. then he turned to the girl.

“kid,” he said, “i’ve been thinking about you lately—about making a get-a-way down the pipe some night and striking across the desert for marston—we could find a parson there and drop over the line into mexico. arnold hasn’t much on me—perhaps less than on anyone at sky line—and we could make a new start——”

there was the soft sound of an indrawn breath and minnie pine’s hand went to her shapely throat.

stone went on.

“if i do this—if i hit down for cordova tonight—you know, of course, that it is very likely to be the end of me one way or another, in the general stir-up that will follow. i want you to know any way before i start—that i’d like that new beginning—with you.”

for a long moment there was no sound save the myriad voices of the conifers talking mysteriously with the winds of night.

then the pomo girl put her hands on the white man’s shoulders.

“a chief,” she said, “does what must be done—without fear—and a chief’s woman follows him—even to death. saddle two horses.”

at sheriff price selwood’s ranch an anxious circle watched the still form on the bed. the doctor from bement had not left his station for seven hours. outside cowboys, all armed, walked here and there, and on the deep veranda sat the prospector, smith, smoking innumerable cigarettes and waiting on destiny.

though he was filled with inner excitement his dark face gave no sign. he sat tilted back against the wall, his booted feet on the round of his chair, his hat pulled low over his eyes, and his keen vision sweeping the stretch of meadow that lay before the ranch house.

“it may be an hour—it may be ten—but something is going to happen soon,” the doctor had said at dusk, “he will either rally or sink. if he speaks he will be rational, i think.”

and on that chance the stranger waited to ask one question, namely: “what is the secret of sky line? where is the other end of the passage?”

for all the hours that price selwood had lain unconscious fourteen men under bossick had camped in a glade under the flaring skirts of mystery’s western end, ready to answer fair’s summons.

diamond waited in selwood’s stable, saddled and fit, and everything waited on the intrepid sheriff himself who had done such valiant work “to get the goods” on sky line.

a late round moon was rising above the distant rimrock of rainbow cliff, a great golden disc that promised full light, and all the little winds, born in the cañons of the deep heart hills, frolicked like elves among the trees.

fair’s thoughts were of the girl on nameless—of her long blue eyes with their steady light, of her smiling lips and the golden crown of her braided hair.

he drifted away, as lovers have done since time was, and it was the low-toned voice of the doctor which recalled him.

“mr. smith,” it said without a change of inflection, “come in carefully.”

he rose and, tossing away his cigarette, stepped softly across the sill.

in the faint light of the oil lamp on a stand sheriff selwood looked up into the face of his wife, bending above him.

“sally,” he said weakly.

then he turned his head and looked slowly around at the others.

“hello, doc,” he whispered, then—“they didn’t get me—after all! smith—smith——” a sudden light leaped into the dazed eyes, “i saw—them drive bossick’s—bossick’s steers into the face of—rainbow cliff a mile west—of sky line——”

“that’s plenty,” said fair quickly, “you mustn’t talk, selwood—mind the doctor—i’m leaving now.”

and with a gentle touch on the sick man’s shoulder he was gone.

he ran to the stable and got diamond.

five of selwood’s riders were throwing saddles on horses.

in less time than seemed possible the six men were riding for the rendezvous on nameless.

all along the flowing river there was the seeming of portent, a strange sense of impending tragedy, for many riders were abroad in the quiet night.

one of these was bud allison, his young face set and awful, his pappy’s old rifle grasped in a steady hand, pushing big dan to an unaccustomed limit of speed toward sheriff selwood’s ranch.

the boy was praying that he might find brand there—and the old gun was destined for action.

but within the narrow margin of a mile fair was passing toward the north as he went south—and thus bud missed him with the news of nance’s disappearance. had they met, the happenings of that night might have had a different ending, for fair would have stormed the citadel of sky line like a fury, forgetting all things in his fear for the woman he loved—the ends of justice which he sought to serve, bossick’s steers and everything else.

and in the shadow of rainbow cliff rod stone and minnie pine waited patiently for the ranch to settle down that they might slip away.

it was a dark night, soft and soundless, with all things waiting in a mysterious hush.

at the camp on the skirts of mystery, fair found bossick ready.

“selwood’s conscious,” he told him quickly, “and his first thought was of his race for life. he said ‘they didn’t get me after all,’ and ‘i saw them driving bossick’s steers into the face of rainbow cliff a mile from sky line.’ that’s the secret he discovered and for which they tried to kill him.

“there’s some sort of opening in the rock face which connects with the subterranean passage that leads to blue stone cañon, the desert range beyond, and finally to marston on the railroad. that, gentlemen, is the secret of your disappearing cattle. selwood said they always vanished at the same time kate cathrew drove her stock down to cordova and out to the station—do you see?

“the drive, coming down to the river, obliterated all tracks of those going up. now that we know i think we’ve got the sky line rustlers dead to rights. there are twenty-one of us.

“we’ll divide you; you, bossick, going with your party up to rainbow cliff, and i striking up through the mysterious passage. this trip will take a long hard grill, for it is far up blue stone to the south, and none of us know the length of the underground way.

“however, it must lead to some pocket not far from the cliff itself and on the inside. a gun-shot will locate us when we are ready for each other. lord knows what we’ll find, or what the outcome will be. let’s go.”

and so it was that some time later brand fair with his posse passed close along the upper edge of nance allison’s ruined field and thought tenderly of the blue-eyed girl with her dogged courage and her simple faith, little dreaming that she was not safe in her bed in the cabin.

the hours of the night wore on.

far down in the open reaches poor dan was loping gallantly with open mouth and laboring lungs while the boy on his back drove him relentlessly on in a desperate attempt to overtake fair, whom the sentries at selwood’s ranch had described as on the way to mystery ridge.

crossing diagonally down, rod stone, safe away from sky line at last, made for cordova with minnie pine behind him.

bossick, having the shortest journey of all, sat in a clump of pines with his men around him, and waited in strained silence for a distant shot.

it was well after midnight when two things took place at almost the same moment—brand fair rode in behind the clump of willows that were always blowing out from the cañon’s wall with his men in single file behind him—and rod stone got off his horse at cordova. he handed his rein to the pomo girl and went swiftly up the steps, opening the door upon the lighted room where a group of men were playing. they were mostly from the upper country, though one or two were cordovans. among them were the bearded man who had sat on mckane’s porch that day in spring and watched cattle kate come riding in on bluefire, and the young cowboy with whom he had spoken concerning them.

stone, a sky line man, received cold glances from the faces raised at his entrance. all nameless knew and disapproved of sky line. but the boy was made of courageous stuff and he tackled the issue promptly.

“men,” he said sharply, “i’m from sky line, as you all know, and you may class me now as a traitor to my outfit. perhaps i am. that’s neither here nor there. i don’t give a damn whether i am or not. i’d have stood true in all cases but one. that one has happened. there’s a good girl—a bible girl, like i used to know back in the middle west—shut up in a secret spot with sud provine—and i’ve got to have help to save her and that quick. she’s a fighter, i think, and is strong—but—you all know provine. i don’t know what i’m stirring up and i don’t care. will you come?”

every chair at the dirty canvas-covered table but one shot back and outward as the players rose.

“where’s this here spot—an’ who’s th’ girl?” said the cowboy. “lead us to ’em.”

“in rainbow cliff—and the allison girl from the homestead on the river.”

“th’ hell you say! ain’t that poor kid had enough trouble?”

but mckane the trader spoke from where he sat, frowning.

“ain’t you all taking a lot for granted?” he asked, “and mussing in kate cathrew’s business?”

the bearded man turned on him.

“damn kate cathrew’s business! she can’t give a decent girl to that slimy rep-tile provine and get by with it in this man’s country—not by a damn sight! get your horses, boys!”

as the players surged out, mckane, obeying some apprehensive instinct which pulled at his heart like a cold hand, rose and followed.

“wait till i get mine!” he shouted as he ran.