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Updated: June 2, 2025


"That country's goin' to blossom!" declared the Drifter. "An' the guy which gets in on the ground floor is goin' to make a clean-up! They's a range there the Double A which is right in the middle of things. A guy named Bransford owns her an' Bransford's on his last legs. He's due to pass out pronto, or I'm a gopher! He's got a daughter there Mary which is a pippin, an' no mistake!

"What can I do for you?" he questioned. "You can listen while I talk," said Sanderson. "I'm Will Bransford, of the Double A. I have heard from several sources that you an' Alva Dale are after the title to the Double A. You want the water-rights. You can't have them. An' the title to the Double A stays with me. Understand that? I am goin' to hold on to the property.

But I am not going to stay in Bransford and be a party to your downfall. My word alone would prove your guilt. I don't know where I am going, but I intend hiding out until this thing blows over. But before I go, Carson, I want an interview with your criminal friends to tell 'em what a set of dirty, crooks they are."

That had been about a year before Mary had written the letter that Sanderson had found in one of Will Bransford's pockets. The letter told of the writer's longing to return home. The elder Bransford declared that his heart had not softened toward the boy and that he would not answer him. Leaving Dale, Bransford had dropped the letter, and Dale had picked it up.

Sanderson remembered what Owen had told him concerning his appetite for strong liquor, he remembered, too, that Owen was in possession of a secret which, if divulged, would deliver Mary Bransford into the hands of her enemies. Sanderson's blood rioted with rage and disgust. He crossed the barroom and stood behind Owen. The latter did not see him.

"Rode," smiled the other, showing a set of white, flashing teeth. "I saw you pass the window. You looked rather glum, and couldn't see my horse, I suppose. Something gone wrong?" "Everything," grunted Dale; "that confounded young Bransford has showed up!" The smile left the other's face. His eyes glowed and the corners of his mouth took on a cruel droop. "He has, eh?" he said, slowly.

At Sanderson's nod, Owen went on: "If you were to let it be known that you are not Will Bransford, Dale would get the property as sure as shooting. I know his plan. I overheard him and a man named Dave Silverthorn talking it over one night when I was prowling around Dale's house. The window of Dale's office was wide open, and I was crouching outside.

Sanderson was leading them, though close behind came several of the Double A men, their faces set and grim; and then one of Williams' men, a young fellow who had admired Mary Bransford from afar; then some more of the Double A men, and Williams and the remainder of his band of engineers. There was no word spoken.

He would have stayed here long enough to get a clear title to the Double A, and then he would have turned it over to us for a consideration. It rather looks as though we are stumped, eh?" Dale frowned. Then he got up, went to a drawer in the desk before which Silverthorn sat, and drew out a letter the letter young Bransford had written to his father about a year before.

Whatever the motive, he had come, and since he had looked down into William Bransford's face, he had become conscious of a mighty satisfaction. The two men who had trailed Bransford had been cold-blooded murderers, and he had avenged Bransford completely. That could not have happened if he had not yielded to the impulse to go to the Double A. He was glad he had decided to go.

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