He took a second drink from the bottle, and a third.  In the act of pouring a fourth he heard a sound at the back door, and with a gulp of terror he remembered that he had again forgotten to lock it.

Sanderson undoubtedly was returning!

Again Maison’s body became clammy with a cold sweat.  He stood in the room near the sideboard, tremblingly listening.  For again there was a step on the stairs.

When he saw the door begin to open his knees knocked together, but there entered, not the dread apparition he expected, but Alva Dale, with the limp form of a woman in his arms!

The sudden breaking of the tension, and astonishment over what he saw, made Maison’s voice hoarse.

“What’s up now?” he demanded.

“Hell!” muttered Dale.  He told Maison the whole story—­with some reservations.

“I was sparkin’ her—­like I’ve been doin’ for a long time.  We had a tiff over—­over somethin’—­an’ I pushed her.  She fell over, hittin’ her head.”

“You damned fool!” snapped Maison.  Dale was not Sanderson, and Maison felt the authority of his position.  “This is Peggy Nyland, isn’t it?  She’s the girl Silverthorn was telling me about—­that you’re sweet on.  You damned fool.  Can’t you let the women alone when we’re in a deal like this!  You’ll ruin the whole thing!  Get her out of here!”

Dale eyed the other sullenly, his face bloating with rage.

“Look here, Maison; you quit your infernal yappin’.  She stays here.  I thought at first I’d killed her an’ I was goin’ to plant her.  But she’s been groanin’ a little while I’ve been comin’ here, an’ there’s a chance for her.  Go get the doctor.”

“What about her brother?” demanded Maison.  “He’s a shark with a gun, they tell me, an’ a tiger when he’s aroused.  If he finds out about this he’ll kill both of us.”

Dale grinned saturninely.  “I’ll take care of the brother,” he said.  “You get the doc—­an’ be damned quick about it!”

Maison went out, and in five minutes returned with the doctor.  The latter worked for more than an hour with Peggy, and at last succeeded in reviving her.

But though Peggy opened her eyes, there was no light of reason in them—­only the vacuous, unseeing stare of a dulled and apathetic brain.

“She’s got an awful whack,” said the doctor.  “It’s cracked her skull.  It’ll be weeks before she gets over it—­if she ever does.  I’ll come and see her tomorrow.”

The doctor came the next day—­in the morning.  He found the patient no better.  A woman, hired by Dale, was caring for the girl.

Also, in the morning, Dale paid a visit.  His visit was to Dal Colton, the man Dale had employed to kill Sanderson, and who had so signally failed.

The scene of the meeting between Dale and Colton was in the rear room of the City Hotel.

“Look here,” said Dale.  “This deal can’t be no whizzer like you run in on Sanderson.  He’s got to be dropped, or things are goin’ to happen to all of us.  His name’s Nyland—­Ben Nyland.  You know him?”