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Updated: June 22, 2025
Sanderson's application had earned him the reputation of being "reliable" and "trustworthy" two terms that, in the lexicon of the cow-country, were descriptive of virtues not at all common. In Sanderson's case they were deserved more, to them might have been added another, "straight."
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.
Always when he felt ugliest Sanderson's drawl became more pronounced. His daughter, hearing now the slow, gentle voice, ran quickly round the counter and slipped an arm into that of her father. "This hyer is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Weaver," he was saying. "It's been quite some time since I've seen you all in my house before, makin' you'self at home so pleasantly. It's ce'tainly an honor, seh."
Sanderson's smile was a tribute to the vigilance of his men. Evidently the Dale man, fearing Sanderson's inaction might mean that he was seeking a new position from where he could pick off more of his enemies, had shifted his own position so no part of his body was exposed to Sanderson. He had wriggled around too far, and the shot from Sanderson's man had been the result.
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.
Sanderson was closing up the space that separated him from the two men, and by that medium he knew they were not traveling rapidly, for the brown horse was loping slowly. Thus he knew that the first man was not yet aware that he was being followed. But some time later to Sanderson's ears was borne the faint, muffled report of a firearm, and he smiled solemnly.
Four men seized Colton, and he struggled helplessly in their grasp as he was dragged away, his face working malignantly as he looked back at Dale. "Double-crossed!" he yelled; "you damned, grinnin' coyote!" A crowd had gathered; Sanderson shouldered his way toward Dale and faced him. Sanderson's face was white with rage, but his voice was cold and steady as he stood before Dale.
Sanderson grinned at them and continued his interrupted walk down the street. Sanderson's grin grew wider as he walked, for he knew of several men who had harbored such evil intentions against him, and they But Dale was a stronger antagonist, and he had power and authority behind him. Still, his spirit undaunted, Sanderson's grin grew wider, though perhaps more grim.
I may as well here state, parenthetically, that, under Sanderson's skilful hands and assiduous care, all the wounded, myself included, did marvellously well; and though some of the poor fellows, on arrival, had to be removed to the hospital, every one of them eventually recovered.
"Do you think I came here after you?" he sneered. "I've come to see the Squire." All the selfishness and cowardice latent in Sanderson's character were reflected in his face, at that moment, destroying its natural symmetry, disfiguring it with tell-tale lines, and showing him at his par value a weak, contemptible libertine, brought to bay.
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