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Silverthorn was sitting at his desk scowling, his face pale with big, heavy lines in it showing the strain of his interview with Sanderson. "Bransford's been here!" guessed Dale, looking at Silverthorn. Silverthorn nodded, cursing. "You don't need to feel conceited," laughed Dale; "he's been to see me, too."
At the moment when this happened, Silverthorn, who, while waiting for another train to arrive, had come back to the house in search of Ida, passed on into a little orchard on a slope, just beyond, which overlooked a bend in the road: from there he saw Ida give Vibbard the lilac spray. At first he scarcely knew his old friend, and the sight struck him with a jealous pang he had never felt before.
Somehow the tragedy of the lives my own had touched so nearly for the last few days had become an essential part of me. "John Silverthorn Brainard," I read, the name identical with the one I had just seen as the early signature of the man who claimed a husband's rights over Mrs. Packard.
Dale said I did, Silverthorn said I did, and you say I did. But I don't remember. Silverthorn said I signed a receipt for some money from the Okar bank three thousand, odd. I don't remember. Oh, but I'm " "Calling yourself names won't get you back to where you was before you made a fool of yourself," Sanderson told him, pityingly.
"I have thought of the water situation in the basin. It is my opinion that it might be worked out successfully. "Why not organize a company say a company composed of influential and powerful men like Silverthorn and Dale and er myself. We could issue stock, you know.
The grin did not make his face attractive, for it reflected something of the cold, bitter humor and savage passion that had gripped his soul. At noon the next day Sanderson, looking out of the window of his cell; heard a sound at the door. He turned, to see Silverthorn standing in the corridor. Silverthorn smiled blandly at him. "Over it, I see," he said. "They used you rather roughly, eh?
Opening the door of the room he used as an office, he saw a medium-sized man of fifty sitting in a big desk chair, smoking a cigar. The man smiled at Dale's surprise, but did not offer to get up, merely extending his right hand, which Dale grasped and shook heartily. "Dave Silverthorn, or I'm a ghost!" ejaculated Dale, grinning. "How in thunder did you get here?"
"I want to add that I hereby swear that the charge of drawin' a gun on Silverthorn was a frame-up, me an' Silverthorn an' Maison bein' the guilty parties," finished Sanderson. "Now," he added, when Dale had written as directed, "sign it." Dale signed and stood up, his face aflame with rage. "I'll take the money now," said Sanderson. Dale produced it from various pockets, laying it on the table.
Sanderson had intended to use the four thousand on the Double A irrigation project. The sum, together with the three thousand he meant to draw from the Okar bank, would have been enough to make a decent start. Sanderson had some bitter thoughts as he sat on the edge of the cot, all of them centering around Dale, Silverthorn, Maison, Owen, Mary Bransford, and himself.
He was so sulky that he had to resort to thus putting me in the third person, although he was not addressing these words to Silverthorn. Then he gave his thick frame a slight shake, as if to get rid of the disagreeable feelings I had excited, and turned toward his friend.
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