CONCERNING A WOMAN
Day was breaking when Sanderson rode in to the Double A corral and
dismounted. Several of the men of the outfit were astir, and he called
to one of them, and told the man to care for his horse. He grinned
around at them all, and then went into the house.
Mary Bransford was not yet up. The door that Sanderson had gone out of
the night before was still unlocked. He opened it and entered, passing
through the sitting-room and halting in the kitchen. He had noted that
the door to Mary's room was closed.
Sanderson's dominant emotion was that of grim satisfaction. He had
compelled Maison to disgorge the money without jeopardizing his own
liberty. Judge Graney's word would suffice to prove his case should
Maison proceed against him.
But Sanderson had little fear that Maison would attempt reprisal. If
he had judged the man correctly, Maison would not talk, even to
Silverthorn.
Sanderson cared very little if he did talk. He had reached the point
where the killing of his enemies would come easy to him. They had
chosen lawlessness, and he could wage that kind of warfare as well as
they. He had shown them that he could.
He disclosed the visible proof of his ability. One by one he drew the
packages of currency from various pockets, tossing them at random on
the kitchen table. He was standing at the table, counting the bills in
one of the packages, when he heard a sound behind him. He wheeled, to
confront Mary Bransford.
She was dressed, but her face was as yet unwashed, and her hair
uncombed. She stood in the doorway between the dining-room and the
kitchen, looking at Sanderson in sleepy-eyed bewilderment.
"I saw you riding in," she said. "Where on earth have you been at this
hour? You came from the direction of Okar."
"Business," he grinned.
"Business! Why, what kind of business could take you to Okar during
the night?"
"If you could get the sleep out of your eyes," he suggested, "mebbe you
could see. It's the kind of business that all the world is interested
in--gettin' the money."
And then she saw the packages of bills. She rubbed her eyes as though
in doubt of the accuracy of her vision; they grew wide and bright with
astonishment and wonder, and she gave a little, breathless gasp as she
ran forward to the table and looked down at the mound of wealth.
And then, convinced that her senses had not played her a trick, her
face whitened, she drew a long breath, and turned to Sanderson,
grasping the lapels of his coat and holding them tightly.
"Sanderson," she said in an awed voice, "what have you done? Where did
you get that money?"
He told her, and her eyes dilated. "What a reckless thing to do!" she
said. "They might have killed you!"
"Maison was havin' thoughts the other way round," he grinned. "He was
mighty glad I didn't make him pay for the men he killed."
"They'll be after you--they'll kill you for that!" she told him.
"Shucks," he laughed. He showed her the document written and signed by
Maison, and attested by Judge Graney:
This is to certify that I have tonight paid to Deal Sanderson the sum
of ninety thousand dollars for three thousand head of cattle received
to my full satisfaction.
"There ain't no comeback to that!" exulted Sanderson. "Now we'll start
buildin' that dam. Mebbe, though," he added, grinning at her, "if you
knew where a mighty hungry man could find a good cook that would be
willin' to rustle some grub, there'd be----"
She laughed. "Right away!" she said, and went outside to perform her
ablutions.
Sanderson, while she was outside, counted out ten thousand dollars and
put it into a pocket. Then he piled the remainder of the money neatly
on the table. When Mary came in, her face glowing, her hair freshly
combed, he stood and looked at her with admiration in his eyes, and a
great longing in his heart.
"I've dreamed of seein' you that way," he said.
"As your cook?" she demanded, reddening.
"A man's grub would taste a heap better if his wife did the cookin',"
he said, his face sober.
"Why--why--" she said; "do you mean----"
"I wouldn't be finicky if--if my wife was doin' my cookin'," he
declared, his own face crimson. "I wouldn't kick if she gave me the
same kind of grub every mornin'--if it was she I've wanted."
"Why, Sanderson! Is this----"
"It's a proposal, ma'am. I can't say what I want to say--what I've
figured on sayin' to you. I don't seem to be able to find the words I
wanted to use. But you'll understand, ma'am."
"That you want a cook more than you want a--a wife? Oh, Sanderson!"
she mocked.
She knew that it was bashfulness that had caused him to mention the
cooking; that he had introduced the subject merely for the purpose of
making an oblique start; but she could not resist the temptation to
taunt him.
She looked furtively at him to see how deeply she had hurt him, but was
surprised to see him grinning widely.
"Women ain't so wise as they pretend to be," he said. "There's grub,
an' grub. An' what kind of grub is it that a man in love wants most?"
She caught his meaning, now, and blushed rosy red, drooping her eyes
from his.
"That wasn't fair, Sanderson," she said lowly. "Besides, a man can't
live on kisses."
"I know a man who can," he smiled, his eyes eager and glowing, now that
he saw she was not going to repel him; "that is," he added lowly, "if
he could find a cook that would give them to him whenever he wanted
them. But it would take a lot of them, an' they'd have to be given
with the cook's consent. Do you think you could----"
He paused and looked at her, for her eyes were shining and her lips
were pursed in a way that left no doubt of the invitation.
"Why, Mary!" he said, as he caught her in his arms.
For a time the money lay on the table unnoticed and forgotten, and
there was an eloquent silence in the kitchen.
A little later, Barney Owen, passing close to the kitchen
window--having seen the men caring for Sanderson's horse, and learning
from them that Sanderson had come in early after having apparently been
out all night--heard Sanderson's voice issuing from the kitchen:
"There's a difference in kisses; them that you gave me when you thought
I was your brother wasn't half so thrillin' as----"
Owen stiffened and stood rigid, his face whitening.
And then again he heard Sanderson's voice:
"There's a judge in Okar--Judge Graney. An' if you'd consider gettin'
married today, ma'am, why----"
"Why, Sanderson!" came Mary's voice in mild reproof.
"Well, then," sounded Sanderson's voice, full of resignation this time;
"have it your way; I don't want to hurry you."
"Hurry me? Oh, no!" laughed the girl in gentle mockery. Whereat they
both laughed. The sound of it must have pleased Owen, for he, too,
laughed as he left the window and went toward the bunkhouse.
An hour later Sanderson emerged from the house, threw saddle and bridle
on Streak, and rode out into the basin to a camp where he found Kent
Williams and his men. He gave the engineer the package of bills he had
taken from the table.
"Here is ten thousand dollars," he said. "You take your men, ride over
to Lazette, get your supplies, an' hustle them right back here. It
ain't likely there'll be any more trouble, but we ain't takin' any
chances. My men ain't got any more cattle to bother with, an' they'll
go with you an' your men to Lazette, an' come back with the wagons to
see that they ain't interfered with. Start as soon as you can get
ready."
"Within an hour the engineer, his men, and the men of the Double A
outfit were on the move. Barney Owen did not go. He sat on one of the
top rails of the corral fence, alternately watching the men of the
outfit as they faded into the vast space toward Lazette, and Mary
Bransford and Sanderson, as they stood on the porch, close together,
likewise watching the men.
"I'd say--if anyone was to ask me--that there is a brother who seems to
have been forgotten," said Owen with a curious smile.