At ten o’clock the next morning Dale appeared at the Double A ranchhouse.  Apparently he was willing to forgive and forget, for he grinned at Owen, who was watching him from the door of the bunkhouse, and he politely doffed his hat to Mary Bransford, who met him at the door of the ranchhouse.

“Well, Miss Mary,” he said, “how does it feel to have a brother again?”

“It’s rather satisfying, Dale,” smiled the girl.  “Won’t you get off your horse?”

The girl’s lips were stiff with dread anticipation and dislike.  Dale’s manner did not mislead her; his forced geniality, his gruff heartiness, his huge smile, were all insincere, masking evil.  He seemed to her like a big, tawny, grinning beast, and her heart thumped with trepidation as she looked at him.

“How’s Nyland?” he asked, smiling hugely.  “That was a narrow squeak—­now, wasn’t it?  For I found that Ben Nyland didn’t brand them cattle at all—­it was another man, living down the basin.  That nester near Colby’s.  He done it.  But he sloped before we could get a rope on him.  Had a grudge against Nyland, I reckon.  Sorry it happened.”

Thus he attempted to smooth the matter over.  But he saw that Mary did not believe him, and his grin grew broader.

“Where’s brother Will this mornin’, Mary?” he said.

Sanderson appeared in the doorway behind Mary.

“You could see him if you was half lookin’,” he said slowly.

“So I could,” guffawed Dale.  “But if there’s a pretty girl around——­”

“You come here on business, Dale?” interrupted Sanderson.  “Because if you did,” he went on before Dale could answer, “I’d be glad to get it over.”

“Meanin’ that you don’t want me to be hangin’ around here no longer than is necessary, eh?” said Dale.

“You’ve said a heap,” drawled Sanderson.

“Well, it won’t take a long time,” Dale returned.  “It’s just this.  I’ve got word from Las Vegas that you’ve swore to an affidavit sayin’ that you’re Will Bransford.  That’s all right—­I ain’t got nothin’ to say about that.  But there’s a law about brands.

“Your dad registered his brand—­the Double A. But that don’t let you out.  Accordin’ to the law you’ve got to do your registerin’ same as though the brand had never been registered before.  Bein’ the only law around here—­me bein’ a deputy sheriff—­I’ve got to look out for that end of it.

“An’ so, if you’ll just sign this here blank, with your name and address, specifyin’ your brand, why, we’ll call it all settled.”

And he held out a legal-looking paper toward Sanderson.

Sanderson’s lips straightened, for as his eyes met Dale’s he saw the latter’s glint with a cold cunning.  For an instant Sanderson meditated, refusing to accept the paper, divining that Dale was concealing his real purpose; but glancing sidewise he caught a swift wink from Owen, who had drawn near and was standing beside a porch column.  And he saw Owen distinctly jerk his head toward the house.