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“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?”