t that the elder Bransford had permitted him to
read the letter.

That had been about a year before Mary had written the letter that
Sanderson had found in one of Will Bransford's pockets. The letter
told of the writer's longing to return home. The elder Bransford
declared that his heart had not softened toward the boy and that he
would not answer him. Leaving Dale, Bransford had dropped the letter,
and Dale had picked it up.

Dale still had the letter, and because of his pretended friendship for
the father he had been able to insinuate himself into Mary's good
graces. He had advised Mary to write to her brother, and he had seen
the letter from the younger Bransford in which the latter had told his
sister that he would return.

After reading Will Bransford's letter, and learning from Mary that she
was sending a thousand dollars to her brother, Dale wrote to a friend
in Tucson. Dale's letter accompanied Mary's to the latter town, and
the evil-visaged fellow who received it grinned widely in explaining
the circumstance to two of his friends.

"We'll git him, sure as shootin'," he said. "A thousand dollars ain't
a hell of a lot--but I've put men out of business for less!"

Dale knew the man to whom he had written, and he had received a reply,
telling him that the job would be done. And that was why, when
Sanderson had calmly announced that he was Will Bransford, Dale had
been unwilling to believe his statement.

Dale did not believe, now, that the man who had interfered to save
Nyland was Will Bransford. Dale rode slowly homeward, scowling,
inwardly fuming with rage, but unable to form any decided plan of
action.

It was several miles to the Bar D, Dale's ranch, and when he arrived
there he was in an ugly mood. He curtly dismissed the two men who had
accompanied him and went into the house. Opening the door of the room
he used as an office, he saw a medium-sized man of fifty sitting in a
big desk chair, smoking a cigar.

The man smiled at Dale's surprise, but did not offer to get up, merely
extending his right hand, which Dale grasped and shook heartily.

"Dave Silverthorn, or I'm a ghost!" ejaculated Dale, grinning. "How in
thunder did you get here?"

"Rode," smiled the other, showing a set of white, flashing teeth. "I
saw you pass the window. You looked rather glum, and couldn't see my
horse, I suppose. Something gone wrong?"

"Everything," grunted Dale; "that confounded young Bransford has sh