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Updated: June 2, 2025
The signature he put on this paper is a dead ringer for the one on the registry blank you gave Dale. "Dale saw Owen sign that. That's why he knew you are not Will Bransford. Understand? Maison will swear you signed the withdrawal slip and got the money. We'll prove that you are not Bransford, and you'll go to the Las Vegas pen for twenty years! Now, let's talk business!" Sanderson turned.
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.
Fork it over, or I'll bore you an' take it from your clothes!" Dale's face whitened; for a moment he sat rigid, staring, his eyes boring into Sanderson's. Then he reached into a pocket, drew out a dirty envelope, and threw it at Sanderson's feet. "You're a damned smart boy, ain't you, Bransford?" he sneered. "But I'm out to get you remember that!" "And you remember this, Dale!"
Owen signed a bank receipt for the money old Bransford had in the bank. Owen got it and gave it to me. He was so drunk he didn't know what he was doing, but he could imitate your brother's writing, all right." "You've got the money?" gasped the girl. Again Dale laughed, mockingly. "Yep," he said, "I've got it. Three thousand two hundred.
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.
"Look here!" he suddenly said. But Sanderson did not turn. Silverthorn rattled a paper. "Here's a withdrawal slip on the Okar bank, calling for three thousand two hundred dollars, signed by Will Bransford. Barney Owen drew the money last night and blew it in gambling and drinking. He says he's been signing Bransford's name forging it at your orders.
"When I spoke to you the first time, out there by the stable, I was certain of you, though I dreaded to have you speak for fear you would say otherwise. And if it hadn't been you, I believe I should have died." "An' if you'd find out, now, that I ain't Will Bransford," said Sanderson slowly, "what then?"
For the twentieth time since his arrival at the ranch, Sanderson had an impulse to ride away and leave Mary Bransford to fight the thing out herself. But, as before, he fought down the impulse.
Sanderson and Mary Bransford had not yet settled the question regarding the disposal of the money Sanderson had received from Banker Maison. They sat on the edge of the porch, talking about it. From a window of the bunkhouse Barney Owen watched them, a pleased smile on his face. "It's yours," Sanderson told the girl. "An' we ain't trustin' that to any bank.
Again his conscience pricked him, but the stern urge of necessity drove him on until he discovered an envelope addressed to the elder Bransford, in his own handwriting, and close to it a letter from Will Bransford to Mary Bransford. Sanderson looked long at the Bransford letter, considering the situation.
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