ks
as though we are stumped, eh?"

Dale frowned. Then he got up, went to a drawer in the desk before
which Silverthorn sat, and drew out a letter--the letter young
Bransford had written to his father about a year before.

"We've still got a chance," he told Silverthorn. And then he told the
latter of his suspicions about Sanderson.

Silverthorn's eyes gleamed. "That's possible," he said, "but how are
you going to prove it?"

"There's a way," returned Dale. He went to the door, and shouted the
names of two men, standing in the doorway until they came--the two men
who had accompanied him that morning. He spoke to them, briefly:

"You're ridin' straight to Tucson as fast as your cayuses can take you.
You ought to make it in a week. I'll give you that long. Find Gary
Miller. Tell him I sent you, an' find out what he knows about young
Bill Bransford. Then hit the breeze back. If it takes you more than
two weeks I'll knock your damned heads off!"

CHAPTER IX

THE LITTLE MAN TALKS

Mary Bransford spent the first day of Sanderson's absence in the
isolation of the parlor, with the shades drawn, crying. Her brother
had bitterly disappointed her.

He had sent word by one of the men that he was going to Las Vegas to
look up the title to the property. She thought he might at least have
brought her the message personally.

Mary told herself that she had not been unduly demonstrative, as
Sanderson had intimated by his actions. She had merely been glad to
see him, as any sister would be glad to see a brother whom she had not
seen for many years; and she assured herself that if he loved her as
she loved him he would not have resented her display of affection.

That affection, though, troubled Mary. To be sure, she had never had a
brother about, to fuss over, and therefore she could not tell just how
deeply she should be expected to love the one whom Providence had given
her; but she was certain that she did not love him too much.

For Sanderson was worthy of the full measure of any sister's love.
Big, handsome, vigorous, with a way about him that any woman must
admire, Mary felt he deserved all the affection she could bestow.

Her wonder and perplexity came over a contemplation of the quality of
that love. Was it right that she should thrill so delightfully
whenever he came near her? And was it entirely proper for her to feel
that queer tingle of delight over the strangeness of it all?

And did th