Charles Alden Seltzer - Square Deal Sanderson

C >> Charles Alden Seltzer >> Square Deal Sanderson

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"They ain't nobody here," gruffly announced Nyland. "They've been
here, an' gone. Dale, most likely. The house looks like a twister had
struck it!"

Sanderson was inside before Nyland ceased speaking. He found the lamp,
lit it, and looked around the interior, noting the partially destroyed
lounge and the other wrecked furniture, strewn around the rooms. He
went out again and met Nyland on the porch.

One look at Sanderson told Nyland what was in the latter's mind, and he
said:

"He's at the Bar D, most likely. We'll get him!"

"I ain't takin' no chance of missin' him," Sanderson shot back at
Nyland as they mounted their horses; "you fan it to Okar an' I'll head
for his shack!"

Nyland's agreement to this plan was manifested by his actions. He said
nothing, but rode beside Sanderson for a mile or so, then he veered off
and rode at an angle which would take him to the neck of the basin,
while Sanderson, turning slightly northward, headed Streak for Dale's
ranch.

Halfway between the Double A and the neck of the basin, Nyland came
upon the sheriff and his posse. The posse halted Nyland, thinking he
might be Dale, but upon discovering the error allowed the man to
proceed--after he had told them that Sanderson was safe and was riding
toward the Bar D. Sanderson, Nyland said, was after Dale. He did not
say that he, too, wanted to see Dale.

"Dale!" mocked the sheriff, "Barney Owen hung him!"

"Dale's alive, an' in Okar--or somewhere!" Nyland flung back at them as
he raced toward town.

"I reckon we might as well go back," said the sheriff to his men. "The
clean-up has took place, an' it's all over--or Sanderson wouldn't be
back. We'll go back to Okar an' have a talk with Silverthorn. An'
mebbe, if Dale's around, we'll run into him."

The posse, led by the sheriff, returned to Okar. Within five minutes
after his arrival in town the sheriff was confronting Silverthorn in
the latter's office in the railroad station. The posse waited.

"It comes to this, Silverthorn," said the sheriff. "We ain't got any
evidence that you had a hand in killing those men at Devil's Hole. But
there ain't a man--an honest man--in town that ain't convinced that you
did have a hand in it. What I want to say to you is this:

"Sanderson and Nyland are running maverick around the country tonight.
Nyland has killed Maison and is hunting for Dale. Sanderson and his
men have cleaned up the bunch of guys that went out this morning to
wipe Sanderson out. And Sanderson is looking for Dale. And after he
gets Dale he'll come for you, for he's seeing red, for sure.

"I ain't interfering. This is one of the times when the law don't see
anything--and don't want to see anything. I won't touch Nyland for
killing Maison, and I won't lay a finger on Sanderson if he shoots the
gizzard out of you. There's a train out of here in fifteen minutes. I
give you your chance--take the train or take your chance with
Sanderson!"

"I'll take the train," declared Silverthorn.

Fifteen minutes later, white and scared, he was sitting in a coach,
cringing far back into one of the seats, cursing, for it seemed to him
that the train would never start.

CHAPTER XXXIV

A MAN GETS A SQUARE DEAL

Dale did not miss Ben Nyland by more than a few hundred yards as he
passed through the neck of the basin. But the men could not see each
other in the black shadows cast by the somber mountains that guarded
the entrance to the basin, and so they sped on, one headed away from
Okar and one toward it, each man nursing his bitter thoughts; one
intent on killing and the other riding to escape the death that, he
felt, was imminent.

Dale reached the Bar D and pulled the saddle and bridle from his horse.
He caught up a fresh animal, threw saddle and bridle on him, and then
ran into the house to get some things that he thought might be valuable
to him.

He came out again, and nervously paused on the threshold of the door to
listen.

A sound reached his ears--the heavy drumming of a horse's hoofs on the
hard sand in the vicinity of the ranchhouse; and Dale gulped down his
fear as he ran to his horse, threw himself into the saddle and raced
around a corner of the house.

He had hardly vanished into the gloom of the night when another rider
burst into view.

The second rider was Sanderson. He did not halt Streak at the door of
the Bar D ranchhouse, for from a distance he had seen a man throw
himself upon a horse and dash away, and he knew of no man in the basin,
except Dale, who would find it necessary to run from his home in that
fashion.

So he kept Streak in the dead run he had been in when approaching the
house, and when he reached the corner around which Dale had vanished,
he saw his man, two or three hundred yards ahead, flashing across a
level toward the far side of the big basin.

He knew that Dale thought his pursuer was Nyland, and that thought gave
Sanderson a grim joy. In Sanderson's mind was a picture of Dale's
face--of the stark, naked astonishment that would be on it when he
discovered that it was Sanderson and not Nyland who had caught him.

For Sanderson would catch him--he was convinced of that.

The conviction became strengthened when, after half an hour's run,
Streak had pulled up on Dale. Sanderson could see that Dale's horse
was running erratically; that it faltered on the slight rises that they
came to now and then. And when Sanderson discovered that Dale's horse
was failing, he urged Streak to a faster pace. In an hour the space
between the two riders had become less. They were climbing the long,
gradual slope that led upward out of the basin when Dale's horse
stumbled and fell, throwing Dale out of the saddle.

There was something horribly final in the manner of Dale's falling, for
he tumbled heavily and lay perfectly quiet afterward. His horse, after
rising, stumbled on a few steps and fell again.

Sanderson, fully alive to the danger of haste, rode slowly toward the
fallen man. He was taking no chances, for Dale might be shamming in an
effort to shoot Sanderson as he came forward.

But Dale was not shamming. Dismounting and drawing his pistol,
Sanderson went forward. Dale did not move, and when at last Sanderson
stood over the fallen man he saw that his eyes were closed and that a
great gash had been cut in his forehead near the right temple.

Sanderson saw that the man was badly hurt, but to make sure of him he
drew Dale's pistol from its sheath and searched his clothing for other
weapons--finding another pistol in a pocket, and a knife in a belt.
These he threw into some brush near by, and then he bent over the man.

Dale was unconscious, and despite all Sanderson could do, he remained
so.

Sanderson examined the wound in his temple, and discovered that it was
deep and ragged--such a wound as a jagged stone might make.

It was midnight when Sanderson ceased his efforts and decided that Dale
would die. He pitied the man, but he felt no pang of regret, for Dale
had brought his death upon himself. Sanderson wondered, standing
there, looking down at Dale, whether he would have killed the man. He
decided that he would have killed him.

"But that ain't no reason why I should let him die after he's had an
accident," he told himself. "I'll get him to Okar--to the doctor.
Then, after the doc patches him up--if he can--an' I still think he
needs killing I'll do it."

So he brought Dale's horse near. The animal had had a long rest, and
had regained his strength.

Sanderson bent to Dale and lifted his shoulders, so that he might get
an arm under him, to carry him to his horse. But at the first movement
Dale groaned and opened his eyes, looking directly into Sanderson's.

"Don't!" he said, "for God's sake, don't! You'll break me apart! It's
my back--it's broke. I've felt you workin' around me for hours. But
it won't do any good--I'm done. I can feel myself goin'."

Sanderson laid him down again and knelt beside him.

"You're Sanderson," said Dale, after a time. "I thought it was Nyland
chasin' me for a while. Then I heard you talkin' to your horse an' I
knew it was you. Why don't you kill me?"

"I reckon the Lord is doin' that," said Sanderson.

"Yes--He is. Well, the Lord ain't ever done anything for me."

He was silent for a moment. Then:

"I want to tell you somethin', Sanderson. I've tried to hate you, but
I ain't never succeeded. I've admired you. I've cussed myself for
doin' it, but I couldn't help it. An' because I couldn't hate you, I
tried my best to do things that would make you hate me.

"I've deviled Mary Bransford because I thought it would stir you up. I
don't care anything for her--it's Peggy Nyland that I like. Mebbe I'd
have done the square thing to her--if I'd been let alone--an' if she'd
have liked me. Peggy's better, ain't she? When I saw her after--after
I saw Maison layin' there, choked to----"

"So you saw Maison--dead, you say?"

"Ben Nyland guzzled him," Dale's lips wreathed in a cynical smile.
"Ben thought Maison had brought Peggy to his rooms. You knowed Maison
was dead?"

Sanderson nodded.

"Then you must have been to Okar." He groaned. "Where's Ben Nyland?"

"In Okar. He's lookin' for you." Sanderson leaned closer to the man
and spoke sharply to him. "Look here, Dale; you were at the Double A.
What has become of Mary Bransford?"

"She went away with Barney Owen--to Okar. Nobody hurt her," he said,
as he saw Sanderson's eyes glow. "She's all right--she's with her
brother."

He saw Sanderson's eyes; they were filled with an expression of
incredulity; and a late moon, just showing its rim above the edge of
the mesa above them, flooded the slope with a brilliancy that made it
possible for Dale to see another expression in Sanderson's eyes--an
expression which told him that Sanderson thought his mind was wandering.

He laughed, weakly.

"You think I'm loco, eh? Well, I ain't. Barney Owen ain't Barney Owen
at all--he's Will Bransford. I found that out yesterday," he
continued, soberly, as Sanderson looked quickly at him. "I had some
men down to Tombstone way, lookin' him up.

"When old Bransford showed me the letter that you took away from me, I
knew Will Bransford was in Tombstone; an' when Mary sent that thousand
to him I set a friend of mine--Gary Miller--onto him. Gary an' two of
his friends salivated young Bransford, but he turned up, later, minus
the money, in Tombstone. Another friend of mine sent me word--an' a
description of him. Barney Owen is Bransford.

"Just what happened to Gary Miller an' his two friends has bothered me
a heap," went on Dale.

"They was to come this way, to help me in this deal. But they never
showed up."

Sanderson smiled, and Dale's eyes gleamed.

"You know what's become of him!" he charged. "That's where you got
that thousand you give to Mary Bransford--an' the papers, showin' that
young Bransford was due here. Ain't it?"

"I ain't sayin'," said Sanderson.

"Well," declared Dale, "Barney Owen is Will Bransford. The night
Morley got him drunk we went the limit with Owen, an' he talked enough
to make me suspicious. That's why I sent to Tombstone to find out how
he looked. We had the evidence to show the court at Las Vegas. We was
goin' to prove you wasn't young Bransford, an' then we was goin' to put
Owen out of the--"

Dale gasped, caught his breath, and stiffened.

Sanderson stayed with him until the dawn, sitting, quietly beside him
until the end. Then Sanderson got up, threw the body on Dale's horse,
mounted his own, and set out across the basin toward Okar.

CHAPTER XXXV

A DEAL IN LOVE

A few days later Mary Bransford, Sanderson, and Barney Owen were
sitting on the porch of the Double A ranchhouse, near where they had
sat on the day Mary and Owen and the Dale men had seen Sanderson riding
along the edge of the mesa in his pursuit of Williams and the others.

Mary and Sanderson were sitting rather close together at one end of the
porch; Barney Owen was sitting near them, on the porch edge, his elbows
resting on his knees.

There had been a silence between the three for some time, but at last
Sanderson broke it. He smiled at Mary.

"We'll build that dam--an' the irrigation plant now, mebbe," he said.
"But it's goin' to be a big job. Williams says it will take a year, or
more."

"There will be difficulties, too, I suppose," said Mary.

"Sure."

"But difficulties do not worry you," she went on, giving him a glowing
look.

He blushed. "We promised each other not to refer to that again," he
protested. "You are breaking your promise."

"I just can't help it!" she declared. "I feel so good over your
victory. Why, it really wasn't your affair at all, and yet you came
here, fought our fight for us; and then, when it is all over, you wish
us to say nothing about it! That isn't fair!"

He grinned. "Was you fair?" he charged.

"You told me the other day that you knew, the day after I ordered Dale
away from the Double A--after tellin' you that I wasn't what I claimed
to be--that Barney Owen wasn't Barney Owen at all, but your brother.

"An' you let me go on, not tellin' me. An' he didn't do a heap of
talkin'. I ain't mentioned it until now, but I've wondered why?
Barney knew from the first day that I wasn't what I pretended to be.
Why didn't you tell me, Barney?"

Mary was blushing, and Barney's face was red. His eyes met Mary's and
both pairs were lowered, guiltily.

Barney turned to Sanderson.

"Look at me!" he said. "Do I look like a man who could fight Dale,
Silverthorn, and Maison--and the gang they had--with any hope of
victory? When I got here--after escaping Gary Miller and the others--I
was all in--sick and weak. It didn't take me long to see how things
were. But I knew I couldn't do anything.

"I was waiting, though, for Gary Miller and his friends to come, to
claim the Double A. I would have killed them. But they didn't come.
You came.

"At first I was not sure what to think of you. But I saw sympathy in
your eyes when you looked at Mary, and when you told Dale that you were
Will Bransford, I decided to keep silent. You looked capable, and when
I saw that you were willing to fight for Mary, why--why--I just let you
go. I--I was afraid that if I'd tell you who I was you'd throw up the
whole deal. And so I didn't say anything."

Sanderson grinned. "That's the reason you was so willin' to sign all
the papers that wanted Will Bransford's signature. I sure was a
boxhead for not tumblin' to that."

He laughed, meeting Mary's gaze and holding it.

"Talkin' of throwin' up the deal," he said. "That couldn't be. Dale
an' Silverthorn an' Maison an' their gang of cutthroats couldn't make
me give it up. There's only one person could make me do that. She'd
only have to say that she don't think as much of me as I think she
ought to. And, then----"

"She'll keep pretty silent about that, I think," interrupted Owen,
grinning at the girl's crimson face.

"I wouldn't be takin' your word for it," grinned Sanderson, "it
wouldn't be reliable."

"Why--" began Mary, and looked at Owen.

"Sure," he laughed, "I'll go and take a walk. There are times when
three can't explain a thing as well as two."

There was a silence following Owen's departure.

Then Mary looked shyly at Sanderson, who was watching her with a smile.

"Does it need any explaining?" she began. "Can't you see that----"

"Shucks, little girl," he said gently, as he leaned toward her, "words
ain't--well, words ain't so awful important, are they?"

Apparently words were not important. For within the next few minutes
there were few spoken. And progress was made without them. And then:

"I believe I never was so happy as when I saw you, that morning, coming
in to Okar with Dale's body, and you said you had not killed him. And
if Barney--Will, had killed him that day--if he had really hanged him,
and Dale had died from it--I should have kept seeing Dale as he was
hanging there all my life."

"It was Dale's day," said Sanderson.

"And Okar's!" declared the girl. "The town has taken on a new spirit
since those men have left. And the whole basin has changed. Men are
more interested and eager. There is an atmosphere of fellowship that
was absent before. And, oh, Deal, how happy I am!"

"You ain't got anything on me!" grinned Sanderson.

And presently, looking toward the rim of the mesa, they saw Williams
and his men coming toward them from Lazette, with many wagons, loaded
with supplies and material for the new dam, forecasting a new day and a
new prosperity for the Double A--and themselves.

"That's for a new deal," said Sanderson, watching the wagons and men.

"Wrong," she laughed, happily, "it is all for a 'Square' Deal!"

"All?" he returned, grinning at her.

"All," she repeated, snuggling close to him.

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