l was in the grip of a mighty rage against Dale and the others;
he longed to come into personal contact with them--to feel them writhe
and squirm in his clutch. And had he been the free agent he had always
been until his coming to the Double A he would have gone straight to
Okar, thus yielding to the blood lust that swelled his veins.

But he could not permit his inclinations to ruin the girl he had
promised to protect. He could kill Dale, Silverthorn, and Maison quite
easily. But he would have no defense for the deed, and the law would
force him to desert Mary Bransford.

For an entire day following the return of himself and his men from the
scene of the stampede Sanderson fought a terrific mental battle. He
said nothing to Mary Bransford, after giving her the few bare facts
that described the destruction of the herd. But the girl watched him
anxiously, suspecting something of the grim thoughts that tortured him,
and at dinner she spoke to him.

"Deal," she said, "don't be rash. Those men have done a lawless thing,
but they still have the power to invoke the law against you."

"I ain't goin' to be lawless--yet," he grinned.

But Sanderson was yielding to an impulse that had assailed him. His
manner betrayed him to Owen, at least, who spoke to Mary about it.

"He's framing up something--or he's got it framed up and is ready to
act," he told the girl. "He has got that calm during the past few
hours that I feel like I'm in the presence of an iceberg when I'm near
him."

Whatever was on Sanderson's mind he kept to himself. But late that
night, when the ranchhouse was dark, and a look through one of the
windows of the bunkhouse showed Sanderson there were only two men
awake--and they playing cards sleepily--he threw saddle and bridle on
Streak and rode away into the inky darkness of the basin.

Shortly after dusk on the same night Silverthorn, Dale, and Maison were
sitting at a table in Maison's private office in the bank building.
They, too, were playing cards.

But their thoughts were not on the cards. Elation filled their hearts.

Dale was dealing, but it was plain that he took no interest in the
game. At last, with a gesture of disgust, he threw the cards face up
on the table and smiled at the others.

"What's the use?" he said. "I keep thinking of what happened at
Devil's Hole. We ought to have been sure that we finished the job, an'
we would have been sure if we hadn't known that that damned