“How did you know I wasn’t a wolf with women?”

“Shucks,” said the other; “you’re bashful, and you don’t run to vanity.  Any fool could see that.”

“I ain’t been introduced to you—­regular,” said Sanderson, “but you seem to be a heap long on common sense, an’ I’d be glad to know you.  What did you say your name was?”

“Barney Owen.”

“What you doin’ at the Double A?  You ought be herd-ridin’ scholars in a district schoolhouse.”

“Missed my calling,” grinned the other.  “I got to know too much to teach school, but didn’t know enough to let John Barleycorn alone.  I’m a drifter, sort of.  Been roaming around the north country.  Struck the basin about three weeks ago.  Miss Bransford was needing men—­her father—­yours, too, of course—­having passed out rather sudden.  I was wanting work mighty had, and Miss Bransford took me on because I was big enough to do the work of half a dozen men.”

His face grew grave.  Sanderson understood.  Miss Bransford had hired Owen out of pity.  Sanderson did not answer.

The little man’s face worked strangely, and his eyes glowed.

“If you hadn’t come when you did, I would have earned my keep, and Alva Dale would be where he wouldn’t bother Miss Bransford any more,” he said.

Sanderson straightened.  “You’d have shot him, you mean?”

Owen did not speak, merely nodding his head.

Sanderson smiled.  “Then I’m sort of sorry come when I did.  But do you think shootin’ Dale would have ended it?”

“No; Dale has friends.”  Owen leaned toward Sanderson, his face working with passion.  “I hate Dale,” he said hoarsely.  “I hate him worse than I hate any snake that I ever saw.  I hadn’t been here two days when he sneered at me and called me a freak.  I’ll kill him—­some day.  Your coming has merely delayed the time.  But before he dies I want to see him beaten at this game he’s tryin’ to work on Miss Bransford.  And I’ll kill any man that tries to give Miss Bransford the worst of it.

“You’ve got a fight on your hands.  I know Dale and his gang, and they’ll make things mighty interesting for you and Miss Bransford.  But I’ll help you, if you say the word.  I’m not much for looks—­as you can see—­but I can sling a gun with any man I’ve ever met.

“I’d have tried to fight Dale alone—­for Miss Bransford’s sake—­but I realize that things are against me.  I haven’t the size, and I haven’t the nerve to take the initiative.  Besides, I drink.  I get riotously drunk.  I can’t help it.  I can’t depend on myself.  But I can help you, and I will.”

The man’s earnestness was genuine, and though Sanderson had little confidence in the other’s ability to take a large part in what was to come, he respected the spirit that had prompted the offer.  So he reached out and took the man’s hand.

“Any man that feels as strongly as you do can do a heap—­at anything,” he said.  “We’ll call it a deal.  But you’re under my orders.”