A MAN IS AROUSED
The coming of the dawn and the comforting contact with other human
beings, brought Banker Maison relief from the terrifying fear that had
gripped him during the night. He became almost courageous after
breakfast, and began to think that perhaps he had yielded too readily
to Sanderson's demands.
As the hours passed and the memory of the night's horror grew more
distant, he began to feel indignant over the treatment accorded him by
Sanderson. Later the indignation grew to a deep and consuming rage,
and he entertained thoughts of his power and influence and of the
comparative unimportance of the grim-faced man who had robbed him.
Robbed him--that was it! Sanderson had robbed him!
The more Maison's thoughts dwelt upon the occurrence the deeper grew
his rage. He even condoned Dale's action in bringing the Nyland girl
to his rooms. Dale was his friend, and he would protect him!
Perhaps Maison did not reflect that his greed was attempting to justify
him; that back of his growing championship of Dale was his eagerness to
get possession of the Nyland property; and that behind his rage over
Sanderson's visit was the bitter thought that Sanderson had compelled
him to pay for the destroyed and stolen steers.
Maison did not consider that phase of the question. Or if he did
consider it he did not permit that consideration to influence his
actions. For within two hours after breakfast he had sent a messenger
for Silverthorn and Dale, and fifteen minutes later he was telling them
the story of the night's happenings.
Silverthorn's face grew purple with rage during the recital. At its
conclusion he got up, dark purpose glinting in his eyes.
"We've got to put Sanderson out of the way, and do it quickly!" he
declared. "And we've got to get that money back. Dale, you're a
deputy sheriff. Damn the law! This isn't a matter for court
action--that damned Graney wouldn't give us a warrant for Sanderson
now, no matter what we told him! We've got to take the law into our
own hands. We'll see if this man can come in here, rob a bank, and get
away without being punished!"
At the end of a fifteen-minute talk, Dale slipped out of the rear door
of the bank and sought the street. In the City Hotel he whispered to
several men, who sauntered out of the building singly, mounted their
horses, and rode toward the neck of the basin. In another saloon Dale
whispered to several other men, who followed the first ones.
Dale's search continued for some little time, and he kept a continuous
stream of riders heading toward the neck of the basin. And then, when
he had spoken to as many as he thought he needed, he mounted his own
horse and, rode away.
Sanderson and Mary Bransford had not yet settled the question regarding
the disposal of the money Sanderson had received from Banker Maison.
They sat on the edge of the porch, talking about it. From a window of
the bunkhouse Barney Owen watched them, a pleased smile on his face.
"It's yours," Sanderson told the girl. "An' we ain't trustin' _that_
to any bank. Look what they did with the seven thousand I've got in
the Lazette bank. They've tied it up so nobody will be able to touch
it until half the lawyers in the county have had a chance to gas about
it. An' by that time there won't be a two-bit piece left to argue
over. No, siree, you've got to keep that coin where you can put your
hands on it when you want it!"
"When _you_ want it," she smiled. "Do you know, Deal," she added
seriously, blushing as she looked at him, "that our romance has been so
much different from other romances that I've heard about. It has
seemed so--er--matter of fact."
He grinned. "All romances--real romances--are a heap matter of fact.
Love is the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. When a guy meets a
girl that he takes a shine to--an' the girl takes a shine to him--there
ain't anything goin' to keep them from makin' a go of it."
He reddened a little.
"That's what I thought when I saw you. Even when the Drifter was
tellin' me about you, I was sure of you."
"I think you have shown it in your actions," she laughed.
"But how about you?" he suggested; "did you have any thoughts on the
subject?"
"I--I think that even while I thought you were my brother, I realized
that my feeling for you was strange and unusual; though I laid it to
the fact that I had never had a brother, and therefore could not be
expected to know just how a sister should feel toward one. But it has
all been unusual, hasn't it?"
"If you mean me comin' here like I did, an' masqueradin', an' lettin'
you kiss me, an' fuss over me--why, mebbe that would be considered
unusual. But love ain't unusual; an' a man fightin' for the woman he
loves ain't unusual."
While he had been talking a change had come over him. His voice had
lost its note of gentle raillery, his lips had straightened into hard
lines, his eyes were glowing with the light she had seen in them more
than once--the cold glitter of hostility.
Startled, she took him by the shoulders and shook him.
"Why, what on earth has come over you, Deal?"
He grinned mirthlessly, got up, took a hitch in his cartridge belt, and
drew a full breath.
"The fightin' ain't over yet," he said. "There's a bunch of guys
comin' toward the Double A. Dale's gang, most likely--after the money
I took from Maison."
She was on her feet now, and looking out into the basin. Two or three
miles away, enveloped in huge dust cloud, were a number of riders.
They were coming fast, and headed directly for the Double A ranchhouse.
The girl clung to Sanderson's arm in sudden terror until he gently
released himself, and taking her by the shoulders forced her through a
door and into the sitting-room.
"Hide that money in a safe place---where the devil himself couldn't
find it. Don't give it up, no matter what happens."
He walked to a window and looked out. Behind him he could hear Mary
running here and there; and at last when the riders were within half a
mile of the house, she came and stood behind Sanderson, panting,
resting her hands on his shoulders to peer over them at the coming
riders.
Sanderson turned and smiled at her. "We'll go out on the porch, now,
an' wait for them."
"Deal," she whispered excitedly; "why don't you go away? Get on
Streak--he'll outrun any horse in the county! Go! Get Williams and
the other boys. Deal!" She shook him frenziedly. "It isn't the money
they are after--it's you! They'll kill you, Deal! And there are so
many of them! Run--run!"
He grinned, patting her shoulder as he led her out upon the porch and
forced her into a chair.
When the men had come near enough for him to distinguish their faces,
and he saw that Dale was leading them, he walked to a slender porch
column and leaned against it, turning to smile at Mary.
"Maison decided he'd have to talk, looks like," he said. "Some men
just can't help it."
Rigid in her chair, the girl watched the riders swoop toward the
ranchhouse; Sanderson, lounging against the porch column, smiled
saturninely.
The riders headed directly toward the porch. Sanderson counted them as
they came to a halt within thirty feet of the edge of the porch. There
were twenty of them.
Dale, his face flushed, his eyes alight with triumph, dismounted and
stepped forward, halting at the edge of the porch and sweeping his hat
from his head with exaggerated courtesy.
"Delighted to see you, ma'am--an' your friend, Deal Sanderson. Mr.
Sanderson paid my friend Maison a visit last night, takin' away with
him ninety thousand dollars of the bank's money. Me an' my men has
come over to get the money--an' Mr. Sanderson. The Okar court allows
that it needs him. I've got a warrant for him."
Dale's grin was huge. He felt secure with his men behind him.
But if he expected Sanderson to be impressed he was disappointed. The
latter's face did not change color, nor did he shift his position in
the slightest manner. And his cold, amused grin disconcerted Dale.
His voice, when he spoke, was gentle and drawling:
"Was you thinkin' Miss Bransford is interested in warrants, Dale? Oh,
don't! There's an honest judge in Okar, an' he ain't helpin' Maison's
gang. Get back to Okar an' tell Maison that Sanderson ain't visitin'
Okar today."
"You ain't, eh!" Dale's voice snapped with rage. "Well, we ain't
carin' a damn whether you do or not! We've got you, right where we
want you. I've got a warrant, an' you'll come peaceable or we'll plant
you! There ain't only two horses in the corral--showing that your men
has gone. An' there ain't anything between you an' the coyotes!"
"Only you, Dale," said Sanderson. His voice was still gentle, still
drawling. But into it had come a note that made Dale's face turn pale
and caused the bodies of the men in the group to stiffen.
"Only you, Dale," Sanderson repeated. His right hand was at his hip,
resting lightly on the butt of the six-shooter that reposed in its
holster.
"I've always wanted to test the idea of whether a crook like you
thought more of what he was doin' than he did of his own life. This
gun leather of mine is kind of short at the top--if you'll notice. The
stock an' the hammer of the gun are where they can be touched without
interferin' with the leather. There ain't any trigger spring, because
I've been brought up to fan the hammer. There ain't any bottom to the
holster, an' it's hung by a little piece of leather so's it'll turn
easy in any direction.
"It can easy be turned on you. You get goin'. I'll have a chance to
bore one man before your crowd gets me. Likely it will be you. What
are you sayin'?"
Dale was saying nothing. His face changed color, he shifted his feet
uneasily, and looked back at his men. Some of them were grinning, and
it was plain to Dale that not one of them would act unless ordered to
do so.
And an order, given by him, would mean suicide, nothing less; for from
that country in which Sanderson had gained his reputation had come
stories of the man's remarkable ability with the weapon he had
described, and Dale had no longing to risk his life so recklessly.
There was a long, tense silence. Not a man in the group of riders
moved a finger. All were gazing, with a sort of dread fascination, at
the holster at Sanderson's right hip, and at the butt of the gun in it,
projecting far, the hammer in plain sight.
The situation could not last. Sanderson did not expect it to last.
Seemingly calm and unconcerned, he was in reality passionately alert
and watchful.
For he had no hope of escaping from this predicament. He had made a
mistake in sending his men away with Williams, and he knew the chances
against him were too great. He had known that all along--even when
talking and comforting Mary Bransford.
He knew that Dale had come to kill him; that Graney had not issued any
warrant for him, for Graney knew that Maison had acted of his own
volition--or at least had given the judge that impression.
But whether the warrant was a true one or not, Sanderson had decided
that he would not let himself be taken. He had determined that at the
first movement made by any man in the group he would kill Dale and take
his chance with the others.
Dale knew it--he saw the cold resolution in Sanderson's eyes. Dale
drew a deep breath, and the men in the group behind him watched him
narrowly.
But just when it seemed that decisive action in one direction or
another must he taken, there came an interruption.
Behind Sanderson--from one of the windows of the ranchhouse--came a
hoarse curse.
Sanderson saw Dale's eyes dilate; he saw the faces of the men in the
group of riders change color; he saw their hands go slowly upward.
Dale, too, raised his hands.
Glancing swiftly over his shoulder, Sanderson saw Barney Owen at one of
the windows. He was inside the house, his arms were resting on the
window-sill. He was kneeling, and in his hands was a rifle, the muzzle
covering Dale and the men who had come with him.
Owen's face was chalk white and working with demoniac passion. His
eyes were wild, and blazing with a wanton malignancy that awed every
man who looked at him--Sanderson included. His teeth were bared in a
horrible snarl; the man was like some wild animal--worse, the savage,
primitive passions of him were unleashed and rampant, directed by a
reasoning intelligence. His voice was hoarse and rasping, coming in
jerks:
"Get out of the way, Sanderson! Stand aside! I'll take care of these
whelps! Get your hands up, Dale! Higher--higher! You damned,
sneaking vulture! Come here to make trouble, eh? You and your bunch
of curs! I'll take care of you! Move--one of you! Move a finger!
You won't! Then go! Go! I'll count three! The man that isn't going
when I finish counting gets his quick! One--two----"
"Wait!! Already on the move, the men halted at the sound of his voice.
The violence of the passion that gripped him gave him a new thought.
"You don't go!" he jeered at them. "You stay here. Sanderson, you
take their guns! Grab them yourself!"
Sanderson drew his own weapon and moved rapidly among the men. He got
Dale's gun first and threw it in the sand at the edge of the porch.
Then he disarmed the others, one after another, throwing the weapons
near where he had thrown Dale's.
He heard Owen tell Mary Bransford to get them, and he saw Mary
gathering them up and taking them into the house.
Sanderson made his search of the men thorough, for he had caught the
spirit of the thing. At last, when the guns were all collected, Owen
issued another order:
"Now turn your backs--every last man of you! And stay that way! The
man that turns his head will never do it again!
"Sanderson, you go after Williams and the others. They've only been
gone about an hour, and they won't travel fast. Get them! Bring them
back here. Then we'll take the whole bunch over to Okar and see what
Judge Graney has to say about that warrant!"
Sanderson looked at Mary Bransford, a huge grin on his face. She
smiled stiffly at him in return, and nodded her head.
Seemingly, it was the only way out of a bad predicament. Certainly
they could not commit wholesale murder, and it was equally certain that
if Dale was permitted to go, he and his men would return. Or they
might retire to a distance, surround the house and thus achieve their
aim.
Sanderson, however, was not satisfied, for he knew that a sudden,
concerted rush by the men--even though they were unarmed--would result
disastrously to Owen--and to Mary--if she decided to remain.
Telling the little man to keep a watchful eye on the men, he went among
them, ordering those that were mounted from their horses. When they
were all standing, he began to uncoil the ropes that were hanging from
the saddles.
He worked fast, and looking up once he saw Owen's eyes glowing with
approval--while Mary smiled broadly at him. They knew what he meant to
do.
Dale and his men knew also, for their faces grew sullen. Sanderson,
however, would tolerate no resistance. Rope in hand, he faced Dale.
The latter's face grew white with impotent fury as he looked at the
rope in Sanderson's hands; but the significant Hardness that flashed
into Sanderson's eyes convinced him of the futility of resistance, and
he held his hands outward.
Sanderson tied them. Very little of the rope was required in the
process, and after Dale was secured, Sanderson threw a loop around the
hands of a man who stood beside Dale, linking him with the latter.
Several others followed. Sanderson used half a dozen ropes, and when
he had finished, all the Dale men--with their leader on an extreme end,
were lashed together.
There were hard words spoken by the men; but they brought only grins to
Sanderson's face, to Owen's, and to Mary's.
"They won't bother you a heap, now," declared Sanderson as he stepped
toward the porch and spoke to Owen. "Keep an eye on them, though, an'
don't let them go to movin' around much."
Sanderson stepped up on the porch and spoke lowly to Mary, asking her
to go with him after Williams--for he had had that thought in mind ever
since Owen had issued the order for him to ride after the engineer.
But Mary refused, telling Sanderson that by accompanying him she would
only hamper him.
Reluctantly, then, though swiftly, Sanderson ran to the corral, threw
saddle and bridle on Streak, and returned to the porch. He halted
there for a word with Owen and Mary, then raced northeastward,
following a faint trail that Williams and the others had taken, which
led for a time over the plains, then upward to the mesa which rimmed
the basin.