CHAPTER IV
IH WHICH A MAN IS SYMPATHETIC
It was shortly after noon when Sanderson, urging Streak to the crest ofan isolated excrescence of earth surrounded by a level of sage andcactus, saw within several hundred yards of him a collection ofbuildings scattered on a broad plain that extended back several hundredyards farther until it merged into the rock-faced wall of a butte thatloomed upward many feet.
Sanderson halted Streak on the hilltop to glance around. Thebuildings, evidently, belonged to the Double A ranch, and the countrywas all the Drifter had claimed for it.
The big stretch of plain--in fact, the entire basin--could be madefertile by the judicious use of water. Sanderson was not an engineer,but he had sufficient natural knowledge of land to enable him todistinguish good land from bad. Besides, near Phoenix he had inspecteda gigantic irrigation project, and had talked long with the engineer incharge, and he had learned many things that would not have interestedthe average cowpuncher.
There was a break in the wall of the butte south of the group ofbuildings, and out of the break Sanderson could see water tumbling andsplashing from one rock ledge to another until it rushed down, formingquite a large stream as it struck the level and swirled hurriedlybetween two sloping banks near the buildings.
From where Sanderson sat on Streak he could look far back into thebreak in the butte. The break made a sort of gorge, which widened asit receded, and Sanderson suspected the presence of another basinbeyond the butte--in fact, the Drifter had told him of the presence ofanother basin.
"She'd make some lake, if she was bottled up!" was Sanderson's mentalcomment after a long examination.
His gaze became centered upon the buildings and the level surroundingthem.
The buildings were ordinary, but the country was rugged and picturesque.
Some foothills--which Sanderson had seen from the far side of the basinthat morning--rose from the level toward the south, their pine-cladslopes sweeping sharply upward--a series of gigantic land waves thatseemed to leap upward and upward toward the higher peaks of somemountains behind them.
Northward, fringing the edge of the plain that began at the foothillsand stretched many miles, were other mountains; eastward the butteextended far, receding, irregular, its jagged walls forming a barrier;southwestward stretched the basin, in a gentle slope that was morenoticeable to Sanderson now than it had been while he had been ridingduring the morning.
The land around the buildings was fertile, for here was water whichcould be utilized. The land over which Sanderson had been riding allmorning, though, was not so fertile; it needed the water that thestream splashing out of the gorge could give it, with proper humanmanipulation.
All morning Sanderson's thoughts had dwelt upon the serious lack ofwater in the basin. Now his thoughts grew definitely troubled.
"There's goin' to be hell here--if this thing ain't handled right. TheDouble A has got lots of water. The other fellows will be wantin' it.They've got to have it."
Sanderson finished his inspection of the place. Then he spoke toStreak, and the big brown horse descended the slope of the hill, struckthe level, and cantered slowly toward the ranch buildings near theriver.
Sanderson urged the brown horse toward the largest building of thegroup, and as he rode he straightened in the saddle, rearranged hisneckerchief and brushed some of the dust from his clothing--for at thisminute his thoughts went to the girl--whom he now knew he had come tosee.
Sanderson no longer tried to delude himself. A strange reluctanceoppressed him, and a mighty embarrassment seized him; his face grewcrimson beneath the coat of tan upon it, and his lungs swelled with adread eagerness that had gripped him.
"I reckon I'm a damn fool!" he told himself as he forced Streak onward;"I'm comin' here, not knowin' why, but still a-comin'." He grinned,mirthlessly, but went forward.
Heading toward the ranchhouse, he passed a huge building--the stable.Swinging wide around one of its corners, he was about to ride onwardtoward the ranchhouse, when out of the corners of his eyes he saw somemen and horses grouped in front of the stable.
He pulled Streak up with a jerk, swung the animal's head around andfaced the group. There were five horses, saddled and bridled, standingin front of the stable. Sanderson's eyes noted that in one swiftglance. But it was upon a man that Sanderson's gaze centered as Streakcame to a halt.
The man dominated. There were other men standing in front of thestable--and two women. But the man upon whom Sanderson's gaze restedwas the compelling figure.
He was big--rugged, muscular, massive. He saw Sanderson at about theinstant Sanderson saw him, and he faced the latter, his chin thrusting,his lips pouting, his eyes gleaming with cold belligerence. He wore agray woolen shirt, open at the throat, revealing a strong, wide chest.
He was a tawny giant, exuding a force and virility and a compellingmagnetism that gripped one instantly. It affected Sanderson; the sightof the man caused Sanderson's eyes to glow with reluctant admiration.
And yet Sanderson disliked the man; he know instantly that this wasAlva Dale, concerning whom the Drifter had spoken; and the glow diedout of Sanderson's eyes and was replaced by the steady gleam ofpremeditated and deliberate hostility.
For an instant there was no word spoken; the glances of the two menmet, crossed, and neither man's eyes wavered.
Then the big man spoke, gruffly, shortly, coldly: "What do you want?"
Sanderson smiled faintly. "You runnin' things here?" he said, slowly.
"Hell!" snarled the other, and stepped forward.
"Because if you are," resumed Sanderson, his voice bringing the big manto a halt, "you're the man I'm wantin' to do my gassin' to. If youain't runnin' things, why, I reckon you ain't in the deal at all."
"Well, I'm runnin' things," sneered the other. "Tell me what you'rewantin' or pull your freight out of here, _pronto_!"
"I'm sure some disturbed over my mistake," grinned Sanderson. "Youcouldn't be anybody but Bransford, or you wouldn't shoot off your gabthat reckless. If you're Bransford, I'm apologizin' to you for talkin'back to you. But if you ain't Bransford, get off your hind legs an'talk like a man!"
The big man stiffened, and his eyes glittered malignantly. He movedhis feet slightly apart and let his body fall into a crouch. He heldthat position, though, not moving a finger, when he saw a saturninesmile wreathe Sanderson's lips, noted the slight motion with whichSanderson edged Streak around a little, caught the slow, graduallifting of Sanderson's shoulder--the right; which presaged the drawingof the heavy pistol that swung at Sanderson's right hip.
Both men held their positions for some seconds; and the slow, heavybreathing of the big man indicated his knowledge of the violence thatimpended--the violence that, plainly, Sanderson would not retreat from.
Then the big man's body began to relax, and a tinge of color came intohis face. He grinned, malevolently, with forced lightness.
"Hell," he said; "you're damned particular! I'm runnin' things here,but I ain't Bransford!"
"I was reckonin' you wasn't," said Sanderson, mockingly. He nowignored the big man, and fixed his gaze on one of the women--the one hefelt must be Mary Bransford.
He had found time, while talking with the big man, to look twice at thetwo women--and he had discovered they were not women at all, but girls.More, he had discovered that one of them looked as he had pictured hermany times during the days since he had heard of her from the Drifter.
She was standing slightly aside from the men--and from the other girl.She was pale, her eyes were big and fright-laden, and since Sanderson'scomings she had been looking at him with an intense, wondering andwistful gaze, her hands clasped over her breast, the fingers workingstiffly.
Sanderson colored as he looked at her; he was wondering what she wouldsay to him if she knew that he had come to the Double A purposely tosee her, and that seeing her he was afflicted with a dismayedembarrassment that threatened to render him speechless.
For she more than fulfilled the promise of what he had expected of her.She was slightly above medium height, though not tall--a lissome,graceful girl with direct, frank eyes.
That was all Sanderson noted. Her hair, he saw, of course--it was doneup in bulging knots and folds--and was brown, and abundant, and it madehim gulp in admiration of it; but he could not have told what herfeatures were like--except that they were what he expected them to be.
"I reckon you're Mary Bransford, ma'am?" he said to her.
The girl took a step toward him, unclasping her hands.
"Yes," she said rapidly, "It can't be that you--that you----"
The big man stepped between the girl and Sanderson, pushing the girlaside and standing before Sanderson. But he spoke to the girl.
"Look here," he said shortly; "I don't know what you two are goin' topalaver about, but whatever it is it's goin' to wait until what we setabout to do is done." He looked at Sanderson. "Stranger, we ain't gotno objections to you doin' all the lookin' you want to do. But keepyour trap shut. Now, Miss Bransford," he continued, turning to thegirl, "we'll get this trial over with. You say them steers which mean' my boys brought over an' put into your corral is Double Asteers--that you're sure the brand is yours--an' the earmarks?"
"Ye-es," returned the girl slowly and hesitatingly.
While talking with Sanderson she had unclasped her hands, and now sheclasped them again, twining the fingers with a quick, nervous motion.Again her eyes grew wide with fright, and Sanderson saw her looking atthe other girl--he saw the other girl stiffen and stand straight, herlips curving scornfully as she returned Miss Bransford's gaze.
Sanderson's lips straightened. And now for the first time he gravelyinspected the faces in the group near him.
Two men--cowboys--who stood near the big man, were evidently the "boys"referred to by the latter. Their faces were set and expressionless.Between them stood a rugged, well-built man of about twenty-two orthree. His hands were tied behind him, a rope was around his neck, thefree end coiled in the hands of one of the two men.
The young man's face was sullen, but his head was held very erect, andhis eyes were steady and unwavering as he watched the big man.
The girl at whom Miss Bransford was looking stood near the young man.Sanderson saw her turn from Miss Bransford and look at the young manpiteously, her lips quivering suspiciously.
There was another man in the group--an under-sized fellow, pale,emaciated, with big, troubled, and perplexed eyes. Sanderson saw thathis hands were clenched, and that his thin lips were pressed so tightlytogether that they were blue and bloodless.
This man stood slightly apart from the others, as though he had no partin what was going on; though Sanderson could tell from his manner thathe was laboring under an intense strain.
Miss Bransford and the big man were the opposing forces in what wastranspiring--Sanderson knew that from Miss Bransford's manner ofanswering the big man's question. Her "yes" had been utteredreluctantly. Her testimony was damaging--she knew it, and hersympathies were with the young man with the rope around his neck.
Sanderson knew nothing of the motives that were actuating the people ofthis little drama, but he was entirely conscious of the visible forcesthat were at work.
Plainly, the big man had accused the captive of stealing cattle; he hadbrought the supposed culprit to face the owner of the stolen stock; hehad constituted himself judge and jury, and was determined to hang theyoung man.
The two men with the big man were noncommittal. The pale, undersizedman was a mere onlooker whose sympathies were with the accused. MissBransford would have been quite willing to have this young man escapepunishment, but she could not deny that the cattle in question belongedto her.
Sanderson was in doubt about the other young woman, though obviouslyshe was closely related to him--a wife, or sister--perhaps a sweetheart.
Sanderson studied the young man's face, comparing it with the bigman's, and his lips stiffened. He backed Streak slightly and swungcrosswise in the saddle, intense interest seizing him.
The big man grinned, first at Miss Bransford, and then at the othergirl.
"I reckon that settles it," he said. "There don't seem to be nothin'more to it. Miss Bransford says the cattle is hers, an' we found themin Ben Nyland's corral. There ain't-----"
"Alva Dale, you are a sneak and a liar!"
This was the girl. She had stepped forward until she was within ashort pace from the big man. She stood erect, rigid, her handsclenched at her sides; her chin lifted, her eyes flashing with defiantpassion.
Dale smirked at her.
"Peggy Nyland," he said, "you're handin' it to me pretty strong, ain'tyou? You'd fight for your brother's life, of course. But I representthe law here, an' I've got to do my duty. You won't deny that we foundthem steers in your brother's corral?"
"No, I can't deny that!" declared the girl passionately. "You foundthem there. They were there. But Ben did not put them there. Shall Itell you who did? It was you! I heard a noise in the corral duringthe night--last night! But I--thought it was just our own cattle. AndI did not go out to see.
"Oh, how I wish I had! But Ben didn't put the Double A cattle in thecorral, for Ben was in the house all the time. He went to bed when Idid, and I saw him, sleeping in his bunk, when the noise awakened me!"
The girl stepped closer to Dale, her voice vibrating with scorn andloathing.
"If you didn't put the steers in our corral, you know who did, AlvaDale," she went on. "And you know why they were put there! You didn'tdo it because you wanted Ben's land--as I've heard you have said; youdid it to get Ben out of the way so that you could punish me!
"If I had told Ben how you have hounded me--how you have insulted me,Ben would have killed you long ago. Oh, I ought to have told him, butI was afraid--afraid to bring more trouble to Ben!"
Dale laughed sneeringly as he watched the young man writhe futilely inthe hands of his captors.
"Sounds reasonable--an' dramatic," he said. "It'd do some good, mebbe,if they was any soft-headed ninnies around that would believe it. Butthe law ain't soft-headed. We found them steers in Ben Nyland'scorral--some of them marked with Ben's brand--the Star--blottin' outthe Double A. An' Miss Bransford admits the steers are hers. Theyain't nothin' more to be said."
"Yes, there is, Dale," said Miss Bransford. "It is quite evident therehas been a mistake made. I am willing to believe Peggy Nyland when shesays Ben was asleep in the cabin all night--with her. At any rate, Idon't want any hanging over a few cattle. I want you to let Ben Nylandgo."
Dale wheeled and faced Miss Bransford. His face reddened angrily, buthe managed to smile.
"It's too late, Miss Bransford. The evidence is all in. There's gotto be rules to govern such cases as this. Because you own the steersis no sign you've got a right to defeat the aims of justice. I'd likemighty well to accommodate you, but I've got my duty to consider, an' Ican't let him off. Ben Nyland has got to hang, an' that's all there isto it!"
There came a passionate outcry from Peggy Nyland; and then she had herarms around her brother's neck, sobbing that she would never let him behanged.
Miss Bransford's eyes were blazing with rage and scorn as theychallenged Dale's. She walked close to him and said something in a lowtone to him, at which he answered, though less gruffly than before,that it was "no use."
Miss Bransford looked around appealingly; first at the pale, anemiclittle man with big eyes, who shifted his feet and lookeduncomfortable; then her gaze went to Sanderson who, resting his leftelbow on the pommel of the saddle, was watching her with squinting,quizzical eyes.
There was an appeal in Miss Bransford's glance that made the blood leapto Sanderson's face. Her eyes were shining with an eloquent yearningthat would have caused him to kill Dale--if he had thought killing theman would have been the means of saving Ben Nyland.
And then Mary Bransford was at his side, her hands grasping his,holding them tightly as her ga
ze sought his and held it.
"Won't you please do something?" she pleaded. "Oh, if it only couldbe! That's a mystery to you, perhaps, but when I spoke to you before Iwas going to ask you if--if-- But then, of course you couldn't be--oryou would have spoken before."
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 hisback turned to Sanderson, and when Sanderson reached him he leaned overhis shoulder and said gently:
"Look here, Dale."
The latter wheeled, recognizing Sanderson's voice and snarling into thelatter'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 hehad 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 grinnedmirthlessly at Dale over the two or three feet of space that separatedthem.
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