“I’ll attend to him,” said Maison.

“That’s the reason we didn’t go through Devil’s Hole to see what had become of Sanderson,” resumed Dale.  “We was afraid of running into the sheriff, and him, being the kind of a fool he is, would likely have wanted to know what had happened.  I thought it better to sneak off without letting him see us than to do any explaining.”

Silverthorn looked at his watch.  “Morley and the others ought to be here pretty soon,” he said.

“They’re late as it is,” grumbled Dale.  “I ought to have gone myself.”

They resumed their card-playing.  An hour or so later there came a knock on the door of the bank—­a back door—­and Dale opened it to admit Morley—­the big man who had drawn a pistol on Sanderson when he had tried to take Barney Owen out of the City Hotel barroom.

Morley was alone.  He stepped inside without invitation and grinned at the others.

“There’s no sign of Sanderson.  Someone had been there an’ planted the guys we salivated—­an’ the guy which went down in the run.  We seen his horse layin’ there, cut to ribbons.  It’s likely Sanderson went into the sand ahead of the herd—­they was crowdin’ him pretty close when we seen them runnin’.”

“You say them guys was planted?” said Dale.  “Then Sanderson got out of it.  He would—­if anyone could, for he was riding like a devil on a cyclone when I saw him.  He’s got back, and took his men to Devil’s Hole.”

Maison laughed.  “We’ll say he got out of it.  What of it?  He’s broke.  And if the damned court would get a move on with that evidence we’ve sent over to prove that he isn’t a Bransford, we’d have the Double A inside of a week!”

Dale got up, grinning and looking at his watch.

“Well, gentlemen, I’m hitting the breeze to the Bar D for some sleep.  See you tomorrow.”

Dale went out and mounted his horse.  But he did not go straight home, as he had declared he would.  After striking the neck of the basin he swerved his horse and rode northeastward toward Ben Nyland’s cabin.

For he had heard that day in Okar that Ben Nyland had taken a train eastward that morning, to return on the afternoon of the day following.  And during the time Dale had been talking with Maison; and Silverthorn, and playing cards with them, he thought often of Peggy Nyland.

Silverthorn and Morley did not remain long in Maison’s private room in the bank building.

Morley had promised to play cards with some of his men in the City Hotel barroom, and he joined them there, while Silverthorn went to his rooms in the upper story of the station.

After the departure of the others, Maison sat for a long time at the table in the private room, making figures on paper.

Maison had exacted from the world all the luxuries he thought his pampered body desired.  His financial career would not have borne investigation, but Maison’s operations had been so smooth and subtle that he had left no point at which an enemy could begin an investigation.