as on her feet, her eyes blazing.

Dale did not retreat from her; he stood smiling at her, his face
wreathed in a huge grin. He was enjoying the girl.

Sanderson slipped along the wall of the house and opened the door. It
creaked loudly on its hinges with the movement, causing both Dale and
the girl to turn and face it.

Mary Bransford stood rigid as she saw Sanderson standing in the
doorway, a flush sweeping swiftly over her face. There was relief in
her eyes.

Astonishment and stark, naked fear were in Dale's eyes. He shrank back
a step, and looked swiftly at Sanderson's right hand, and when he saw
that it held a six-shooter he raised both his own hands, shoulder-high,
the palms toward Sanderson.

"So you know it means shootin', eh?" said Sanderson grimly as he
stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him, slamming it
shut with his left hand.

"Well, shootin' goes." There was the cold calm of decision in his
manner; his eyes were ablaze with the accumulated hate and rage that
had been aroused over what he had heard. The grin that he showed to
Dale drew his lips into two straight, stiff lines.

"I reckon you think you've earned your red shirt, Dale," he said, "for
tellin' tales out of school. Well, you'll get it. There's just one
thing will save your miserable hide. You got that seven thousand on
you?"

Dale hesitated, then nodded.

Sanderson spoke to Mary Bransford without removing his gaze from Dale:

"Get pen, ink, an' paper."

The girl moved quickly into another room, returning almost instantly
with the articles requested.

"Sit down an' write what I tell you to," directed Sanderson.

Dale dropped into a chair beside a center-table, took up the pen,
poised it over the paper, and looked at Sanderson.

"I am hereby returning to Deal Sanderson the seven thousand two hundred
dollars I stole from, him," directed Sanderson. "I am doing this of my
own accord--no one is forcin' me," went on Sanderson. "I want to add
that I hereby swear that the charge of drawin' a gun on Silverthorn was
a frame-up, me an' Silverthorn an' Maison bein' the guilty parties,"
finished Sanderson.

"Now," he added, when Dale had written as directed, "sign it."

Dale signed and stood up, his face aflame with rage.

"I'll take the money--now," said Sanderson.

Dale produced it from various pockets, laying it on the table. He said
nothing. Mary Bransford stood a little distance away, watching
silentl