Sanderson’s eyes glowed with a cold fire.  He worked his hands free, patted hers reassuringly, and gently pushed her away from Streak.

He swung down from the saddle and walked to Dale.  The big man had his back turned to Sanderson, and when Sanderson reached him he leaned over his shoulder and said gently: 

“Look here, Dale.”

The latter wheeled, recognizing Sanderson’s voice and snarling into the latter’s face.

“Well?” he demanded.

Sanderson grinned mildly.  “I reckon you’ve got to let Ben Nyland off, Dale—­he ain’t guilty.  Mebbe I ought to have stuck in my gab before, but I was figurin’ that mebbe you wouldn’t go to crowdin’ him so close.  Ben didn’t steal no steers; he run them into his corral by my orders.”

Dale guffawed loudly and stepped back to sneer at Sanderson.  But he had noted the steadiness of the latter’s eyes and the sneer faded.

“Bah!” he said.  “Your orders!  An’ who in hell are you?”

“I’m Bill Bransford,” said Sanderson quietly, and he grinned mirthlessly at Dale over the two or three feet of space that separated them.

CHAPTER V

WATER AND KISSES

For several seconds Dale did not speak.  A crimson stain appeared above the collar of his shirt and spread until it covered his face and neck, leaving his cheeks poisonously bloated and his eyes glaring.

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.

“There’s time for that after we’ve settled with Dale,” he told the girl gruffly.

Dale had recovered; he sneered.  “It’s easy enough to make a claim like that, but it’s another thing to prove it.  How in hell do we know you’re Bill Bransford?”

Sanderson’s smile was maddening.  “I ain’t aimin’ to prove nothin’—­to you!” he said.  But he reached into a pocket, drew out the two letters he had taken from the real Bransford’s pocket, and passed them back to Mary Bransford, still facing Dale.

He grinned at Dale’s face as the latter watched Mary while she read the letters, gathering from the scowl that swept over the other’s lips that Mary had accepted them as proof of his identity.

“You’ll find the most of that thousand you sent me in my slicker,” he told the girl.  And while Mary ran to Streak, unstrapped the slicker, tore it open, and secured the money, Sanderson watched Dale’s face, grinning mockingly.

“O Will—­Will!” cried the girl joyously behind Sanderson.

Sanderson’s smile grew.  “Seems to prove a heap, don’t it?” he said to Dale.  “I know a little about law myself.  I won’t be pressin’ no charge against Nyland.  Take your rope off him an’ turn him free.  An’ then mebbe you’ll be accommodatin’ enough to hit the breeze while the hittin’s good—­for me an’ Miss—­my sister’s sort of figurin’ on a reunion—­bein’ disunited for so long.”