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Updated: June 22, 2025
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!"
As though he expected to find something there he looked toward a little timber grove to the right of the house, far back toward the rimming hills. At the edge of the grove he saw a horse, saddled and bridled. A quick change came over Nyland. The blood left his face, and his eyes took on an expression of cold cunning. Dismounting, he hitched his horse to one of the rails of the corral fence.
Now that the incident was closed, and Nyland saved, he wanted to make his confession, be forgiven, and received into Mary's good graces. He followed the girl into the house, but as he halted for an instant on the threshold, just before entering, he looked hack, to see the little, anemic man standing near the house, looking at him with an odd smile.
And when he reached the corral fence near the Double A ranchhouse, and his rider dismounted and ran forward, the horse heaved a sigh of relief and stood, bracing his legs to keep from falling, his breath coming in terrific heaves. An instant after his arrival Ben Nyland was in side the Double A ranchhouse, pistol in hand.
You are Sanderson Deal Sanderson nicknamed Square Deal Sanderson. I saw you one day in Tombstone; you were pointed out to me, and the minute I laid my eyes on you the day Dale tried to hang Nyland, I knew you." Sanderson smiled. "Why didn't you tell Mary?" The little man's face grew grave. "Because I didn't want to queer your game. You saved Nyland an innocent man.
Sanderson wanted to talk; he wanted to tell Mary Bransford that he was not her brother; that he had assumed the rôle merely for the purpose of defeating Dale's aim. His sole purpose had been to help Mary Bransford out of a difficult situation; he had acted on impulse an impulse resulting from the pleading look she had given him, together with the knowledge that she had wanted to save Nyland.
"Just the same," smiled Silverthorn, silkily, "we'll get the Double A. Look here " And the two bent their heads together over Dale's desk. A passionate hatred of Alva Dale was slowly gripping Sanderson. It had been aroused on that first day of his meeting with the man, when he had seen Dale standing in front of the stable, bullying Mary Bransford and Peggy Nyland and her brother.
"What's up now?" he demanded. "Hell!" muttered Dale. He told Maison the whole story with some reservations. "I was sparkin' her like I've been doin' for a long time. We had a tiff over over somethin' an' I pushed her. She fell over, hittin' her head." "You damned fool!" snapped Maison. Dale was not Sanderson, and Maison felt the authority of his position. "This is Peggy Nyland, isn't it?
On the other hand, the vegetation is richer, for the oak, lime, and hazel do well, and the flora, both wild and cultivated, is much more extensive than in the central and northern districts. Several kinds of fruit are grown, and Nyland apples are famous for their flavour, while very fair pears, plums, and cherries can be bought cheaply in the markets.
When his eyes grew accustomed to the glare he saw Peggy Nyland sitting up in bed, looking at him. She did not say anything, but continued to look at him. There was wonder in her eyes, and Dale saw it. It was wonder over Dale's visit over his coming to Okar. Ben must have missed him, for Dale was alive! Dale could not have heard what had happened. "You're better, eh?" said Dale.
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