“I just can’t help it!” she declared.  “I feel so good over your victory.  Why, it really wasn’t your affair at all, and yet you came here, fought our fight for us; and then, when it is all over, you wish us to say nothing about it!  That isn’t fair!”

He grinned.  “Was you fair?” he charged.

“You told me the other day that you knew, the day after I ordered Dale away from the Double A—­after tellin’ you that I wasn’t what I claimed to be—­that Barney Owen wasn’t Barney Owen at all, but your brother.

“An’ you let me go on, not tellin’ me.  An’ he didn’t do a heap of talkin’.  I ain’t mentioned it until now, but I’ve wondered why?  Barney knew from the first day that I wasn’t what I pretended to be.  Why didn’t you tell me, Barney?”

Mary was blushing, and Barney’s face was red.  His eyes met Mary’s and both pairs were lowered, guiltily.

Barney turned to Sanderson.

“Look at me!” he said.  “Do I look like a man who could fight Dale, Silverthorn, and Maison—­and the gang they had—­with any hope of victory?  When I got here—­after escaping Gary Miller and the others—­I was all in—­sick and weak.  It didn’t take me long to see how things were.  But I knew I couldn’t do anything.

“I was waiting, though, for Gary Miller and his friends to come, to claim the Double A. I would have killed them.  But they didn’t come.  You came.

“At first I was not sure what to think of you.  But I saw sympathy in your eyes when you looked at Mary, and when you told Dale that you were Will Bransford, I decided to keep silent.  You looked capable, and when I saw that you were willing to fight for Mary, why—­why—­I just let you go.  I—­I was afraid that if I’d tell you who I was you’d throw up the whole deal.  And so I didn’t say anything.”

Sanderson grinned.  “That’s the reason you was so willin’ to sign all the papers that wanted Will Bransford’s signature.  I sure was a boxhead for not tumblin’ to that.”

He laughed, meeting Mary’s gaze and holding it.

“Talkin’ of throwin’ up the deal,” he said.  “That couldn’t be.  Dale an’ Silverthorn an’ Maison an’ their gang of cutthroats couldn’t make me give it up.  There’s only one person could make me do that.  She’d only have to say that she don’t think as much of me as I think she ought to.  And, then——­”

“She’ll keep pretty silent about that, I think,” interrupted Owen, grinning at the girl’s crimson face.

“I wouldn’t be takin’ your word for it,” grinned Sanderson, “it wouldn’t be reliable.”

“Why—­” began Mary, and looked at Owen.

“Sure,” he laughed, “I’ll go and take a walk.  There are times when three can’t explain a thing as well as two.”

There was a silence following Owen’s departure.

Then Mary looked shyly at Sanderson, who was watching her with a smile.

“Does it need any explaining?” she began.  “Can’t you see that——­”