THE ANCIENT MIRACLE
News in the mountains travels fast, by mysterious ways, and in
places where it seems impossible. Also it has marvelous powers of
mutation. What may start out far down on Little Beaver Dam as an
innocent prank, is liable to reach the Upper Sweet Water as a
full-fledged scandal.
So it was on Nameless that drowsy day in August.
Nance Allison was busy about her work in the scoured kitchen, with
Sonny Fair following her like a small-sized shadow.
In the dim regions beyond Mrs. Allison was in bed with a “sick
headache.” The balls of the carpet-rags had been sadly put away, all
finished and ready for the loom, but farther away from that desired
goal than ever. It seemed to Nance that that carpet was the last
straw, the ridiculous small pressure that had all but snapped the
thread of her control. Whenever she thought of Kate Cathrew she
thought not of her Pappy, not of Bud with his sagging shoulder, not
of her burned stacks and her field of growing corn, but of the bare
floors of her poor home.
There was a frown between her golden brows these days, a grim set to
her lips, and she spent many hours on her knees beside her bed
praying for guidance, for strength to keep to her narrow way. But
the “stirrings” that she felt inside her in the spring had become a
seething turmoil of passion, hard to hold.
“I’m like the patriarchs of old,” she thought to herself, “filled
with righteous wrath. If it wasn’t that I have the light of the New
Testament I’m afraid I’d go forth and slay my enemies, or try to.”
“What you whimpering about, Nance? Tell me, too,” said the child
hugging her knees and looking adoringly up with his soft brown eyes.
“My gracious! Was I whimpering, Sonny?” she asked aghast, “I must be
getting pretty far gone, as Brand says. Nance was thinking, that’s
all—thinking about bad things that make her heart ache.”
“Our enemies?” he asked quaintly.
She nodded.
“Yes—they’re ours, all right. Yours and Brand’s and mine.”
There was a vague comfort in this association, in the common cause
that seemed to bind her and hers to Brand and Sonny Fair.
Brand and Sonny Fair—her thoughts went off on the tangent which
those two names always started.
It was part of the trouble which made the frown habitual—the frown,
so alien to the sweet and open face of this girl.
Always there was under the surface of her mind the running
question—What was Brand Fair to Sonny? And always there lurked in
the dim background the word—Father. Was it true? Was the child his
son? And if it was true—where and who was the mother?
A deep and terrible ache seemed to take her very bones at this
thought—a misery which she could not understand.
She shook herself and sighed and tried to smile down at the boy, but
the effort was a failure.
“Nance,” he asked soberly, “don’t you love me any more?”
The girl dropped on her knees and gathered him to her breast in a
fierce gesture.
“Love you? Honey child, Nance loves every inch of your little body!
She loves you so well she’s scared to death Brand will come along
some day and want to take you away again!”
She sat back on her heels and smiled at him, this time successfully.
If there was one spot of light in the darkness of her troubles it
was the child. Always his pleading eyes, his shy caresses could
lighten the load.
And so it was that presently she fell to laughing in her old
light-hearted way, sitting back on her heels on the clean white
floor and rolling the child this way and that.
Screams of delight from Sonny punctuated the strokes of his bare
feet as he kicked in the hysterical ecstasy of Nance’s fingers
“creep-mous”-ing up his little ribs.
They did not see Bud standing in the door, so absorbed in their game
were they, until he moved and his shadow fell across them.
Nance turned her laughing face up to him—and stared with the
laughter set upon it.
The boy was white as milk, his eyes black with terrible portent.
“Bud,” she cried, “what’s up? What——”
“The rustlers were out last night,” he said slowly with a strange
hesitation—“I met Old Man Conlan going down to Cordova—a man was
shot—they think it is—the prospector—Smith.”
For a moment Nance sat still on her heels, her mouth open, the
sickly lines of laughter still around it.
Then she put out a hand that was beginning to shake—like an aged
hand with palsy.
“Smith?” she gasped, “that’s—Brand Fair! Oh—oh—dear Lord—_Brand
Fair_!”
For the first time in her life the bright sunlight faded out and
Nance Allison, who had fought so long and hard against tremendous
odds,—who had held her battle line and borne all things with the
courage of a strong man swayed back upon the floor.
Bud sprang forward to lift her up, but already the weakness was
passing and she put him aside, getting to her feet.
She forgot the child at her knee.
“His enemies——” she was muttering to herself, “and mine—they got
him—at last—just as they tried to get me—and Jehoshaphat rose and
went against his enemies—and the Lord was with him—I—I—Bud, give me
that gun.”
She took the rifle out of his hands with a savage motion and went
from the cabin, swaying like a drunkard.
At the corner of the stable she came face to face with Fair, who was
just coming up from the river on Diamond.
She stopped and stared at him like one in a daze.
“You?” she said presently. “You—Brand?”
The man saw at once that there was something gravely wrong and
dismounted quickly.
He came forward and laid a hand on hers where it grasped the weapon.
“Sure—my dear,” he said carefully, “don’t look so, Nance—I’m all
right. Let me have this,” and took the gun away.
He put his right arm gently around her and looked over her head at
her brother.
“Tell me,” his eyes commanded.
“I just told her what I heard this morning,” said Bud, “that a man
was shot by rustlers and that it was Smith—you. She said something
about one of the Bible men who went out and slew his enemies—and she
was starting for Sky Line, I think.”
There was no need to ask more, for Nance had covered her face with
her shaking hands and bending forward on Fair’s breast was weeping
terribly.
The man drew her close and held her, and the dark eyes that gazed
down at her shining head with its neat braids, were grave and very
tender.
At last he said quietly, “It was our friend, Sheriff Selwood, but he
is not dead. He’s at his ranch, but he cannot talk—and no one knows
who shot him. Sky Line drove down this morning—all regular and
humdrum. McKane says Selwood knows—that he tried to tell him who the
rustlers of Nameless are, but that he could not. When he comes round
there’ll be something doing in this neck of the woods, or I miss my
guess. Come, Nance—aren’t you going to invite me to dinner? I’ve got
four prime grey squirrels in my saddle-bags, and my canteen’s full
of honey—found a bee tree down the river.”
And with the gentle tact of deep understanding and something more,
Fair drew Nance back from the edge of tragedy to the safe ground of
the commonplace.
She straightened up, wiped her hands down across her cheeks and
looked at him with eyes in which the tears still glistened.
“I thought,” she said unsteadily, “that Kate Cathrew had had you
shot.”
“She’ll have to get up earlier than I do if she pulls that trick,”
he laughed, “I’ve been too long on guard.”
* * * * *
Two days later Nameless was ringing with the news of the raid and
Bossick was grim and silent.
When the Sky Line riders came back from their drive they rattled
into Cordova for the mail and stood on the porch.
“Still watchin’ your range?” queried Provine insolently as he swung
out of his saddle and without a word the rancher leaped for him. He
caught him by the neck and they both fell under Silvertip’s feet.
The horse sprang away and in a second the two men were trying to
kill each other with all the strength there was in them.
“You damned dirty thief!” gritted Bossick, “if the law won’t get you
I’ll take a hand!”
He was a heavy man, stocky and square, with tremendous thews, but
the other was the wiry type and younger, so that they were not so
unevenly matched, and it bade fair to be a lively affray.
But Big Basford, temper flaming as usual, pulled his gun from the
holster and flung it down in line.
“Roll over, Sud!” he shouted, “I’ll fix him!”
Provine endeavored to roll away from Bossick, but the rancher held
him, pounding him the while with all the fury of outraged right, and
the blue gun-muzzle in Basford’s hand traveled with their
convolutions, seeking a chance to kill his man.
The huge unkempt body leaned down from its saddle, the red eyes
glittered and that traveling muzzle stretched closer to the men on
the ground. It looked like certain death for Bossick, when there
came the sudden crack of a gun from the doorway, and the weapon
dropped from Basford’s broken hand. The horse he was riding screamed
and reared with a red ribbon spurting from its breast where the
glancing ball had seared it.
“I’m sorry to hurt the horse,” said Smith the prospector, watching
the group with narrow dark eyes above the steady barrel, “but I’m
not so particular with assassins. We’ll see fair play.”
And they did see fair play, a tense and silent gathering the Sky
Line men sitting their horses on the one side, McKane, Smith, the
bearded man from the Upper Country who had witnessed another fight
on the same spot, and several more, on the other.
It was stone-hard fair play without quarter, and when it was over
Bossick rose, a bloody and disheveled figure, and glared at the
riders.
“Take him home,” he said, “to your rustlers’ nest, you —— —— ——!”
“That’s fighting talk, Bossick,” said Caldwell in a thin voice, “but
this ain’t th’ time or place.”
“You’re damn right, it ain’t!” said Bossick, “not when there’s even
numbers and no odds for you! You’ll wait for dark and one man
alone—like Price Selwood was.”
Sud Provine, getting dizzily to his feet, shot a lightning glance at
the speaker. His pulped face lost a shade of color. No one spoke and
Bossick went on.
“When Selwood comes round I’m layin’ there’s goin’ to be such a
stir-up as this country never saw—and don’t you forget it!”
“Comes round?” said Caldwell, as if the words were jerked from him
against his will.
“Yes—comes round so he can talk—can tell what he knows of the
rustlers of Nameless and who was the dirty skunk that shot him in
the back. There’s a good coil rope inside this store that’s going to
make history for the Deep Heart cattle country.”
“Hell!” said Caldwell, and laughed in a high thin treble as he
pulled his horse around, “you’re amusin’, Bossick.”
“Yes,” snapped Bossick balefully, “your whole bunch seems quite
hilarious. Now, get out of Cordova.”
Without another word being passed on either side the Sky Line men
rode out in a compact bunch, Provine and Basford nursing their
hurts, the rest silent.
Bossick turned to the stranger.
“I want to thank you, Mister,” he said, “for being here.”
“It was a very great pleasure,” said Brand Fair, alias Smith. “I
thought perhaps I’d forgotten how to shoot.”
With that he mounted Diamond and rode away, but two hours later he
was waiting for Bossick on his home trail, where he intercepted him.
“Mr. Bossick,” he said, “I think you’re solid, so I take this
liberty. I want to tell you that Sheriff Selwood and myself have
picketed Sky Line for some weeks, alternately—so it _was_ a Cathrew
man who shot him, beyond question. Now let’s talk.”
A little later Bossick knew all that Brand and the sheriff knew
concerning the hidden passage that opened into Blue Stone, and he
was softly profane with amazement.
“There’s Old Man Conlan,” he told Fair, “and Jermyn and Reston
farther up, who can be depended on. We’ll go to them at once.”
“I didn’t trust McKane,” said Fair, “do you?”
“In one way he’s all right—in another, no. He’s crazy over Cattle
Kate Cathrew and would certainly serve her if possible. It’s best he
doesn’t know any more than he does. You were wise to come out here
to talk.”
Fair laughed.
“I’ve set a guard around the sheriff’s house,” he said, “put six of
his cowboys on double shift. I knew they would find out that he is
still alive and might try to finish the job—so he would never
talk—Sky Line, I mean. And now, Mr. Bossick, I think we’d better go
talk to Jermyn and the rest. I’m only sorry Selwood isn’t able to be
with us.”
* * * * *
“This is a pretty bunch to bring back to me, Caldwell,” said Kate
Cathrew, tapping her foot with a whip, “one man disabled and another
pounded into jelly. Who’s this damn stranger who’s so handy with his
gun?”
“Name’s Smith,” said the foreman sulkily, “and I’d better tell you
right now, that Selwood isn’t dead. He’s alive and they’re waiting
for him to come round so he can—talk.”
Cattle Kate’s face flamed red.
“_Not dead?_ Bring Provine here!”
But she would not wait as was her wont when summoning her men. She
whirled and strode along the veranda to meet Provine who came in no
good grace.
“I’ve a notion to kill you on the spot!” she cried furiously, “you
fool bungler! Of all the crazy, wild, impossible things! Why didn’t
you _get_ that man? The one person in the world who knew of The
Flange and Rainbow’s Pot behind! You let him get away!”
“Done my best,” said the man evilly, “an’ to hell with those who
don’t like it.”
Quick as a flash the woman raised her whip and struck him.
With a roar he returned the blow, and Big Basford who had followed,
leaped for him, clawing with his good hand, but Caldwell knocked
Provine down instead.
“Take him away,” said Kate Cathrew coldly, her hand at her cheek,
“Lawrence Arnold will be here soon. I’ll let him deal with this.”
* * * * *
It was night again and the stars were hung like lanterns in the sky.
The little wind was coming up the river, the little soft wind that
Nance Allison loved.
Once more she sat in the doorway with Brand Fair beside her. There
was no light on the table this time, so that she could not see his
face with its quiet dark eyes, its thick hair above and the straight
line of his lips with their gentle smile. But the feel of his arm
against her own as he held the sleeping child, set up that nameless
longing in her, the glowing glory of unknown joy which had become of
late a sadness.
She was filled with vague sorrows and premonitions, as if, having
found the priceless possession of this man’s companionship, she was
about to lose it.
It was not death wholly that she feared, but a more subtle thing, an
inhibition of the spirit, a gulf that seemed to lie all shadowy
between them—a dark, mysterious gulf wherein the imperious face of
Kate Cathrew swirled amid the shadows.
But presently Fair spoke and she shook off her forebodings.
“Nance,” he said softly, so low that his deep voice was scarce more
than a whisper, “I have wanted to tell you more of my life and
Sonny’s for a long time, but somehow it seemed too bad to add
another’s burdens to those which you already bear, even though
vicariously. However, the time seems nearly ripe for me to reap the
reward, one way or another, of those years of effort and hardship
which I have spent running Kate Cathrew to earth. What this reward
will be I don’t know, of course. No one can foretell. The men of Sky
Line are a hard bunch, criminals and worse. They’ll never be dug out
of that nest of theirs without a fight and a hard one. Somebody’s
going to be killed, that’s certain!”
He heard the girl catch her breath in a little gasp, and shifting
Sonny, he put his arm around her.
“However it does come out, there’s one thing I want to tell you, a
package I want to give you for safekeeping. Will you listen, Nance?”
The big girl nodded dumbly. Her heart was throbbing painfully, the
breath labored in her lungs. A trembling set up along her muscles,
and the stars seemed to dance on the black velvet of the sky.
She was more conscious of that arm on her shoulder than she had ever
been of anything in all her life. Its magnetic touch thrilled her to
her fingertips.
Gently Fair leaned down until his face was against her cheek,
tightened his clasp.
“I have been all over this land of ours,” he said presently, “and in
some several others. I have met many women—of many classes. I have
been no saint and no great sinner. But always in my secret heart
there has been a place all swept and garnished—and empty, Nance.
“That place—a holy spot, a shrine, if you will—most men would know
what I mean—has been waiting—empty—all my life—because I never found
the woman who fitted it. For its light there was no face to shine
on, for its cool spaces no eyes to look down, for its marble floors
no white feet to adore. Can you see what I mean, Nance, dear? It was
the inner core of my heart, the veritable altar of my soul without a
priestess.
“Since the day in Blue Stone Cañon when I first beheld you rocking
the child in your lap—this secret place has been gloriously full.
Nance—Nance—I have been like a worshipper without, laying my
forehead to the sill. All the things I have dreamed of I find in
you—the strength, the sweetness, the courage. You are beautiful as
few women in this world are beautiful—and you are too good for any
man. But I—have dared to love you.”
He ceased and turned his lips against her cheek.
For Nance Allison the stars were singing together at the dawn of
creation, the glory of the spheres had appeared before her.
“Answer me, girl,” said Brand Fair tremulously, “tell me what’s in
your heart.”
“I—I——” said Nance, “I—think it is the light from the open gates of
Paradise—the smile of God Himself—because I am so happy!”
“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?