Charles Alden Seltzer - Square Deal Sanderson

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"Raw? It's rotten!" declared Williams. "There's plenty of the kind
of material we want in Lazette. To get it here would mean a fifty-mile
haul. I can get teams and wagons in Lazette," he added, an eager note
in his voice.

"Go to it," said Sanderson.

Williams smiled admiringly. "You're game, Mr. Man," he said; "it's a
pleasure to work for you!"

However, it was not courage that impelled Sanderson to accept the
hazard and expense of the fifty-mile haul. In his mind during the days
he had been trying to borrow money had been a picture of the defeat
that was ahead of him if he did not succeed; he could imagine the
malicious satisfaction with which his three enemies would discuss his
failure.

Inwardly, Sanderson was writhing with impatience and consumed with an
eagerness to get into personal contact with his enemies, the passion to
triumph had gripped his soul, and a contempt for the sort of law in
which Okar dealt had grown upon him until the contemplation of it had
aroused in him a savage humor.

Okar's law was not law at all; it was a convenience under which his
three enemies could assail the property rights of others.

Outwardly, Sanderson was a smiling optimist. To Mary Bransford he
confided that all was going well.

Neither had broached the subject of Sanderson's impersonation since the
night of Dale's visit. It was a matter which certain thoughts made
embarrassing for Mary, and Sanderson was satisfied to keep silent.

But on the day that Williams left the Double A for Lazette, Mary's
curiosity could not be denied. She had conquered that constraint which
had resulted from the revelation of Sanderson's identity, and had asked
him to ride to the top of the gorge, telling him she wanted him to
explain the proposed system of irrigation.

"It is desperately hard to get any information out of Williams," she
told Sanderson; "he simply won't talk about the work."

"Meanin' that he'll talk rapid enough about other things, eh?"
Sanderson returned. He looked slyly at Mary.

"What other things are there for him to talk about?"

"A man could find a heap of things to talk about--to a woman. He might
talk about himself--or the woman," suggested Sanderson, grinning.

She gave him a knowing look. "Oh," she said, reddening. "Yes," she
added, smiling faintly, "now that you speak of it, I remember he did
talk quite a little. He is a very interesting man."

"Good-looking too," said Sanderson; "an' smart. He saw the prospects
of this thing right off."

"Didn't you see them?" she questioned quickly.

"Oh, that," he said, flushing. "If the Drifter hadn't told me mebbe I
wouldn't have seen."

"You have always been around cattle, I suppose?" she asked.

"Raised with them," smiled Sanderson.

Thus she directed the conversation to the subject about which she had
wanted to inquire--his past life. Her questions were clever; they were
suggestions to which he could do nothing except to return direct
replies. And she got out of him much of his history, discovering that
he had sound moral views, and a philosophy of which the salient
principle was the scriptural injunction: "Do unto others as ye would
that others should do unto you."

Upon that principle he had founded his character. His reputation had
grown out of an adamantine adherence to it. Looking at him now she
felt the strength of him, his intense devotion to his ideals; the
earnestness of him.

Curiously, she had felt those things during the time she had thought of
him as her brother, and had been conscious of the lure of him. It gave
her a queer thrill to stand beside him now, knowing that she had kissed
him; that he had had an opportunity to take advantage of the situation,
and had not done so.

He had acted the gentleman; he was a gentleman. That was why she was
able to talk with him now. If he had not treated her as he had treated
her his presence at the Double A would have been intolerable.

There was deep respect for women in Sanderson, she knew. Also, despite
his bold, frank glances--which was merely the manhood of him
challenging her and taking note of her charms--there was a hesitating
bashfulness about the man, as though he was not quite certain of the
impression he was creating in her mind.

That knowledge pleased Mary; it convinced her of his entire worthiness;
it gave her power over him--and that power thrilled her.

As her brother, he had been an interesting figure, though his manner
had repelled her. And she had been conscious of a subtle pleasure that
was not all sisterly when she had been near him. She knew, now, that
the sensation had been instinctive, and she wondered if she could have
felt toward her brother as she felt toward this man.

However, this new situation had removed the diffidence that had
affected her; their relations were less matter of fact and more
romantic, and she felt toward him as any woman feels who knows an
admirer pursues her--breathless with the wonder of it, but holding
aloof, tantalizing, whimsical, and uncertain of herself.

She looked at him challengingly, mockery in her eyes.

"So you came here because the Drifter told you there would be
trouble--and a woman. How perfectly delightful!"

He sensed her mood and responded to it.

"It's sure delightful. But it ain't unusual. I've always heard that
trouble will be lurkin' around where there's a woman."

"But you would not say that a woman is not worth the trouble she
causes?" she countered.

"A man is willin' to take her--trouble an' all," he responded, looking
straight at her.

"Yes--if he can get her!" she shot back at him.

"Mostly every woman gets married to a man. I've got as good a chance
as any other man."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're talkin' to me about it," he grinned. "If you wasn't
considerin' me you wouldn't argue with me about it; you'd turn me down
cold an' forget it."

"I suppose when a man is big and romantic-looking----"

"Oh, shucks, ma'am; you'll be havin' me gettin' a swelled head."

"He thinks that all he has to do is to look his best."

"I expect I've looked my worst since I've been here. I ain't had a
chance to do any moonin' at you."

"I don't like men that 'moon,'" she declared.

"That's the reason I didn't do it," he said.

She laughed. "Now, tell me," she asked, "how you got your name,
'Deal.' It had something to do with cards, I suppose?"

"With weight," he said, looking soberly at her. "When I was born my
dad looked at me sort of nonplussed. I was that big. 'There's a deal
of him,' he told my mother. An' the name stuck. That ain't a lot
mysterious."

"It was a convenient name to attach the 'Square' to," she said.

"I've earned it," he said earnestly. "An' I've had a mighty hard time
provin' my right to wear it. There's men that will tempt you out of
pure deviltry, an' others that will try to shoot such a fancy out of
your system. But I didn't wear the 'Square' because I wanted to--folks
hung it onto me without me askin'. That's one reason I left Tombstone;
I'd got tired of posin' as an angel."

He saw her face grow thoughtful and a haunting expression come into her
eyes.

"You haven't told me how he looked," she said.

Sanderson lied. He couldn't tell her of the dissipation he had seen in
her brother's face, nor of the evilness that had been stamped there.
He drew a glowing picture of the man he had buried, and told her that
had he lived her brother would have done her credit.

But Sanderson suffered no remorse over the lie. For he saw her eyes
glow with pride, and he knew that the picture he had drawn would be the
ideal of her memory for the future.

CHAPTER XVII

THE TRAIL HERD

Kent Williams went to Lazette, and Sanderson spent the interval during
his departure and return in visiting the cattlemen and settlers in the
basin. The result of these visits was a sheaf of contracts for water,
the charge based on acreage, that reposed in Sanderson's pockets.
According to the terms of the contracts signed by the residents of the
basin, Sanderson was to furnish water within one year.

The length of time, Sanderson decided, would tell the story of his
success or failure. If he failed he would lose nothing, because of
having the contracts with the settlers, and if he won the contracts
would be valid.

Sanderson was determined to win. When after an absence of a week
Williams returned, to announce that he had made arrangements for the
material necessary to make a "regular" start, and that he had hired men
and teams to transport the material, Sanderson's determination became
grim. For Williams told him that he had "gone the limit," which meant
that every cent to Sanderson's credit in the Lazette bank had been
pledged to pay for the material the engineer had ordered.

"We're going to rush things from now on," Williams told Sanderson.
"Next week we'll need ten thousand dollars, at least."

Sanderson went into the house and had a long talk with Mary Bransford.
Coming out, he went to the corral, saddled Streak, and rode to Okar.

Shortly he was sitting at a desk opposite a little man who was the
resident buyer for an eastern live-stock company.

"The Double A has three thousand head of cattle," Sanderson told the
little man. "They've had good grass and plenty of water. They're fat,
an' are good beef cattle. Thirty-three dollars is the market price.
What will you give for them, delivered to your corral here?"

The resident buyer looked uncomfortable. "I've had orders not to buy
any more cattle for a time."

"Whose orders?" demanded Sanderson.

The resident buyer's face flushed and he looked more uncomfortable.

"My firm's orders!" he snapped.

Sanderson laughed grimly; he saw guilt in the resident buyer's eyes.

"Silverthorn's orders," he said shortly. At the other's emphatic
negative Sanderson laughed again. "Maison's, then. Sure--Maison's,"
he added, as the other's flush deepened.

Sanderson got up. "Don't take it so hard," he advised the resident
buyer. "I ain't goin' to bite you. What I'm wonderin' is, did Maison
give you that order personally, or did you get it from your boss."

The buyer shifted uneasily in his chair, and did not look at Sanderson.

"Well," said the latter, "it don't make a heap of difference.
Good-bye," he said, as he went out. "If you get to feelin' mighty
small an' mean you can remember that you're only one of the pack of
coyotes that's makin' this town a disgrace to a dog kennel."

Sanderson returned to the Double A and found Mary in the house.

"No go," he informed her. "Maison an' Silverthorn an' Dale have
anticipated that move. We don't sell any cattle in Okar."

The girl's disappointment was deep.

"I suppose we may as well give up," she said.

Sanderson lifted her face to his.

"If you're goin' to talk that way I ain't goin' to love you like I
thought I was," he grinned. "An' I'm sure wantin' to."

"I don't want to give up," she said.

"Meanin'?"

"Meaning that I'd like to have you beat those men. Oh, the miserable
schemers! They will go to any length to defeat you."

He laughed lowly and vibrantly. "Well, they'll certainly have to
travel _some_," he said. "About as fast as the man will have to travel
that takes you away from me."

"Is victory that dear to you?" she asked.

"I won't take one without the other," he told her his eyes glowing.
"If I don't beat Silverthorn and the others, an' keep the Double A for
you, why I----"

"You'll win!" she said.

"You are hopin' I will?" he grinned. "Well," he added, as she averted
her eyes, "there'll come a time when we'll talk real serious about
that. I'm goin' to tell the range boss to get ready for a drive to Las
Vegas."

"That is a hundred and seventy-five miles!" gasped the girl.

"I've followed a trail herd two thousand," grinned Sanderson.

"You mean that you will go yourself--with the outfit?"

"Sure."

Sanderson went out, mounted Streak, and found the range boss--Eli
Carter. Carter and the men were ordered to round up all the Double A
cattle and get ready to drive them to Las Vegas. Sanderson told Carter
he would accompany the outfit.

Cutting across the basin toward the ranchhouse, he saw another horseman
riding fast to intercept him, and he swerved Streak and headed toward
the other.

The rider was Williams, and when Sanderson got close enough to see his
face he noted that the engineer was pale and excited.

CHAPTER XVIII

CHECKED BY THE SYSTEM

The engineer waved a yellow paper at Sanderson and shouted:

"I just got this. I made a hit with the Okar agent last week, and he
sent a man over with it. That's a damned scoundrelly bunch that's
working against you! Do you know what they've done?"

Sanderson said nothing, and the engineer resumed, explosively:

"They've tied up your money at the Lazette bank! My material men won't
send a pound of stuff to me until they get the cash! We're
stopped--dead still!"

He passed a telegram to Sanderson, who read:

Bank here refuses to honor Sanderson's check. Claim money belongs to
Bransford estate. Legal tangle. Must have cash or won't send material.

THE BRANDER COMPANY.

A flicker of Sanderson's eyelids was all the emotion he betrayed to
Williams. The latter looked at him admiringly.

"By George," he said, "you take it like a major! In your shoes I'd get
off my nag and claw up the scenery!"

Sanderson smiled. After telling the engineer to do as much as he could
without the material, he rode on.

He had betrayed no emotion in the presence of Williams, but he was
seething with passion.

Late the next afternoon he joined Carter and the outfit. The men had
made good use of their time, and when Sanderson arrived, the entire
herd of cattle was massed on a broad level near the river. They were
milling impatiently, for the round-up had just been completed, and they
were nervous over the unusual activity.

The cowboys, bronzed, lean, and capable, were guarding the herd, riding
slowly around the fringe of tossing horns, tired, dusty, but singing
their quaint songs.

Carter had sent the cook back to the ranchhouse during the afternoon to
obtain supplies; and now the chuck wagon, with bulging sides, was
standing near a fire at which the cook himself was preparing supper.

Carter grinned as Sanderson rode up.

"All ready!" he declared. "We sure did hump ourselves!"

Around the camp fire that night Sanderson was moody and taciturn. He
had stretched out on his blanket and lay listening to the men until one
by one they dropped off to sleep.

Sanderson's thoughts were bitter. He felt the constricting influence
of his enemies; he was like the herd of cattle that his men had rounded
up that day, for little by little Silverthorn, Dale, and Maison were
cutting down his area of freedom and of action, were hampering him on
all sides, and driving him to a point where he would discover
resistance to be practically useless.

He had thought in the beginning that he could devise some way to escape
the meshes of the net that was being thrown around him, but he was
beginning to realize that he had underestimated the power and the
resources of his enemies.

Maison and Silverthorn he knew were mere tentacles of the capital they
represented; it was their business to reach out, searching for victims,
in order to draw them in and drain from them the last vestige of wealth.

And Sanderson had no doubt that they did that work impersonally and
without feeling, not caring, and perhaps not understanding the tortures
of a system--of a soulless organization seeking only financial gain.

Dale, however, was intensely human and individualistic. He was not as
subtle nor as smooth as his confederates. And money was not the only
incentive which would drive him to commit crime. He was a gross
sensualist, unprincipled and ruthless, and Sanderson's hatred of him
was beginning to overshadow every other consideration.

Sanderson went to sleep with his bitter thoughts, which were tempered
with a memory of the gentle girl at whom the evil agencies of his
enemies were directed. They were eager to get possession of Mary
Bransford's property, but their real fight would be, and was, against
him.

But it was Mary Bransford that he was fighting for, and if he could get
the herd of cattle to Las Vegas and dispose of them, he would be
provided with money enough to defeat his enemies. But money he must
have.

At breakfast the next morning Carter selected the outfit for the drive.
He named half a dozen men, who were variously known as Buck, Andy, Bud,
Soapy, Sogun, and the Kid. These men were experienced trail-herd men,
and Carter had confidence in them.

Their faces, as they prepared for the trip, revealed their joy and
pride over their selection, while the others, disappointment in their
eyes, plainly envied their fellow-companions.

But Sanderson lightened their disappointment by entrusting them with a
new responsibility.

"You fellows go back to the Double A an' hang around," he told them.
"I don't care whether you do a lick of work or not. Stick close to the
house an' keep an eye on Mary Bransford. If Dale, or any of his gang,
come nosin' around, bore them, plenty! If any harm comes to Mary
Bransford while I'm gone, I'll salivate you guys!"

Shortly after breakfast the herd was on the move. The cowboys started
them westward slowly, for trail cattle do not travel fast, urging them
on with voice and quirt until the line stretched out into a sinuously
weaving band a mile long.

They reached the edge of the big level after a time, and filed through
a narrow pass that led upward to a table-land. Again, after a time,
they took a descending trail, which brought them down upon a big plain
of grassland that extended many miles in all directions. Fringing the
plain on the north was a range of hills that swept back to the
mountains that guarded the neck of the big basin at Okar.

There was timber on the hills, and the sky line was ragged with
boulders. And so Sanderson and his men, glancing northward many times
during the morning, did not see a rider who made his way through the
hills.

During the previous afternoon the rider had sat on his horse in the dim
haze of distance, watching the Double A outfit round up its cattle; and
during the night he had stood on guard, watching the men around the
camp fire.

He had seen most of the Double A men return toward the ranchhouse after
the trail crew had been selected; he had followed the progress of the
herd during the morning.

At noon he halted in a screen of timber and grinned felinely.

"They're off, for certain," he said aloud.

Late that afternoon the man was in Okar, talking with Dale and
Silverthorn and Maison.

"What you've been expectin' has happened," he told them. "Sanderson,
Carter, an' six men are on the move with a trail herd. They're headed
straight on for Las Vegas."

Silverthorn rubbed the palms of his hands together, Maison smirked, and
Dale's eyes glowed with satisfaction.

Dale got up and looked at the man who had brought the information.

"All right, Morley," he said with a grin. "Get going; we'll meet up
with Sanderson at Devil's Hole."

CHAPTER XIX

A QUESTION OF BRANDS

Trailing a herd of cattle through a strange wild country is no
sinecure. There was not a man in the Double A outfit who expected an
easy time in trailing the herd to Las Vegas, for it was a rough, grim
country, and the men were experienced.

Wild cattle are not tractable; they have an irritating habit of
obstinately insisting on finding their own trail, and of persisting in
vagaries that are the despair of their escort.

The Double A herd was no exception. On a broad level they behaved
fairly well, though always requiring the attention of the men; but in
the broken sections of country through which they passed,
heart-breaking effort was required of the men to keep them headed in
the right direction.

The men of the outfit had little sleep during the first two days of the
drive. Nights found them hot, tired, and dusty, but with no prospect
of an uninterrupted sleep. Still there was no complaint.

On the third night, the herd having been driven about forty miles, the
men began to show the effects of their sleepless vigil.

They had bedded the herd down on a level between some hills, near a
rocky ford over which the waters of a little stream trickled.

Buck and Andy were on their ponies, slowly circling the herd, singing
to the cattle, talking to them, using all their art and persuasion to
induce the herd to cease the restless "milling" that had begun with the
effort to halt for the night.

Around the camp fire, which had been built at the cook's orders, were
Sanderson, Carter, Bud, Sogun, Soapy, and the Kid. Carter stood at a
little distance from the fire, watching the herd.

"That's a damned nervous bunch we've got, boys," he called to the other
men. "I don't know when I've seen a flightier lot. It wouldn't take
much to start 'em!"

"We'll have our troubles gettin' them through Devil's Hole," declared
Soapy. Soapy, so called because of his aversion to the valuable toilet
preparation so necessary to cleanliness, had a bland, ingenuous face
and perplexed, inquiring eyes. He was a capable man, however, despite
his pet aversion, and there was concern in his voice when he spoke.

"That's why I wasn't in no hurry to push them too far tonight,"
declared Carter. "I don't want to get anywhere near Devil's Hole in
the darkness, an' I want that place quite some miles away when I camp.
I seen a herd stride that quicksand on a run once, an' they wasn't
enough of them left to make a good stew.

"If my judgment ain't wrong, an' we can keep them steppin' pretty
lively in the mornin', we'll get to Devil's Hole just about noon
tomorrow. Then we can ease them through, an' the rest ain't worth
talkin' about."

"Devil's Hole is the only trail?" inquired Sanderson.

Carter nodded. The others confirmed the nod. But Carter's desire for
an early start the next morning was denied. Bud and Sogun were on
guard duty on the morning shift, with the other men at breakfast, when
a dozen horsemen appeared from the morning haze westward and headed
directly for the camp fire.

"Visitors," announced Soapy, who was first to see the riders.

The Double A men got to their feet to receive the strangers. Sanderson
stepped out from the group slightly, and the horsemen came to a halt
near him. A big man, plainly the leader of the strangers, dismounted
and approached Sanderson.

The man radiated authority. There was a belligerent gleam in his eyes
as he looked Sanderson over, an inspection that caused Sanderson's face
to redden, so insolent was it. Behind him the big man's companions
watched, their faces expressionless, their eyes alert.

"Who's runnin' this outfit?" demanded the man.

"You're talkin' at the boss," said Sanderson.

"I'm the sheriff of Colfax County," said the other, shortly. "There's
been a complaint made about you. Bill Lester, of the Bar X, says
you've been pickin' up his cattle, crossin' his range, yesterday."

This incident had happened before, both to Sanderson and to Carter.
They had insisted on the right of inspection themselves, when strange
herds had been driven through their ranges.

"We want to look your stock over," said the sheriff.

The request was reasonable, and Sanderson smiled.

"That's goin' to hold us up a spell," he returned; "an' we was figurin'
on makin' Devil's Hole before dark. Hop in an' do your inspectin'."

The big man motioned to his followers and the latter spurred to the
herd, the other being the last to leave the camp fire.

For two hours the strangers threaded and weaved their horses through
the mass of cattle, while Sanderson and his men, impatient to begin the
morning drive, rode around the outskirts and watched them.

"They're takin' a mighty good look," commented Carter at the end of the
two hours.

Sanderson's face was set in a frown; he saw that the men were working
very slowly, and were conferring together longer than seemed necessary.

At the end of three hours Carter spoke to Sanderson, his voice hoarse
with rage:

"They're holdin' us up purposely. I'll be damned if I'm goin' to stand
for it!"

"Easy there!" cautioned Sanderson. "I've never seen a sheriff that was
long on speed. They'll be showin' their hand pretty soon."

Half an hour later the sheriff spurred his horse out of the press and
approached Sanderson. His face was grave. His men rode up also, and
halted their horses near him. The Double A men had advanced and stood
behind Sanderson and Carter.

"There's somethin' wrong here!" he declared, scowling at Sanderson.
"It ain't the first time this dodge has been worked. A man gets up a
brand that's mighty like the brand on the range he's goin' to drive
through, an' he picks up cattle an' claims they're his. You claim your
brand is the Double A." He dismounted and with a branch of chaparral
drew a design in the sand.

"This is the way you make your brand," he said, and he pointed out the
Double A brand:

[Illustration: Double A and Bar X brands.]

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