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Updated: June 2, 2025
Owen leaned toward Sanderson, his face working with passion. "I hate Dale," he said hoarsely. "I hate him worse than I hate any snake that I ever saw. I hadn't been here two days when he sneered at me and called me a freak. I'll kill him some day. Your coming has merely delayed the time. But before he dies I want to see him beaten at this game he's tryin' to work on Miss Bransford.
Then folding it, he shoved it back into the envelope and gravely drew out the other letter. It bore a later date and was in the same handwriting: MR. WILLIAM BRANSFORD, Tucson, Arizona. DEAR BROTHER WILL: I was so delighted to get your letter. And I am so eager to see you. It has been such a long, long time, hasn't it? Fifteen years, isn't it? And ten years since I even got a letter from you!
From an inner pocket of the latter's coat he drew a letter faded and soiled, as though it had been read much. There was another letter a more recent one, undoubtedly, for the paper was in much better condition. Sanderson looked at both envelopes, and finally selected the most soiled one. He hesitated an instant, and then withdrew the contents and read: MR. WILLIAM BRANSFORD, Tucson, Arizona.
He sat on one of the top rails of the corral fence, alternately watching the men of the outfit as they faded into the vast space toward Lazette, and Mary Bransford and Sanderson, as they stood on the porch, close together, likewise watching the men. "I'd say if anyone was to ask me that there is a brother who seems to have been forgotten," said Owen with a curious smile.
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.
I am sending you a telegraph money order for one thousand dollars, for from the tone of your letter it seems things are not going right with you. Hurry home, won't you? With love, Your sister, Sanderson finished reading the letter. He meditated silently, turning it over and over in his hands. The last letter was dated a month before. Evidently Bransford had not hurried.
"Yes, that project will require a large sum. H'm! It is er do you purpose to try to handle the project yourself, Mr. Bransford?" "Me an' Mary Bransford. I'll hire an engineer." Maison's cheeks reddened a trifle. He seemed to lose interest slightly. "Don't you think it is rather too big a thing for one man to handle aided by a woman?" He smiled blandly at Sanderson.
But the steady eyes and the cold, deliberate demeanor of Sanderson did much to help Dale regain his self-control which he did, while Mary Bransford, running forward, tried to throw her arms around Sanderson's neck. She was prevented from accomplishing this design by Sanderson who, while facing Dale, shoved the girl away from him, almost roughly.
He followed the banker, saw him enter the front door of the bank building, and a few minutes later he was sitting opposite Maison at a table in the banker's private room. Maison was short and pudgy, short of breath, with a pasty complexion. "Will Bransford, eh?" he said, looking sharply at Sanderson over the table. "H'm. You don't look much like your father."
"A thousand dollars ain't a hell of a lot but I've put men out of business for less!" Dale knew the man to whom he had written, and he had received a reply, telling him that the job would be done. And that was why, when Sanderson had calmly announced that he was Will Bransford, Dale had been unwilling to believe his statement.
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