e other man, "about yourself. You are
Sanderson--Deal Sanderson--nicknamed Square Deal Sanderson. I saw you
one day in Tombstone; you were pointed out to me, and the minute I laid
my eyes on you the day Dale tried to hang Nyland, I knew you."

Sanderson smiled. "Why didn't you tell Mary?"

The little man's face grew grave. "Because I didn't want to queer your
game. You saved Nyland--an innocent man. Knowing your reputation for
fairness, I was convinced that you didn't come here to deceive anybody."

"But I did deceive somebody," said Sanderson. "Not you, accordin' to
what you've been tellin' me, but Mary Bransford. She thinks I am her
brother, an' I've let her go on thinkin' it."

"Why?" asked the little man.

Sanderson gravely appraised the other. "There ain't no use of holdin'
out anything on you," he said. His lips straightened and his eyes
bored into the little man's. There was a light in his own that made
the little man stiffen. And Sanderson's voice was cold and earnest.

"I'm puttin' you wise to why I've not told her," he went on. "But if
you ever open your yap far enough to whisper a word of it to her I'm
wringin' your neck, _pronto_! That goes!"

He told Owen the story from the beginning--about the Drifter, his
letter to the elder Bransford, how he had killed the two men who had
murdered Will Bransford, and how, on the impulse of the moment, he had
impersonated Mary's brother.

"What are you figuring to do now?" questioned the little man when
Sanderson finished.

"I'm tellin' her right now," declared Sanderson. "She'll salivate me,
most likely, for me lettin' her kiss me an' fuss over me. But I ain't
carin' a heap. I ain't never been no hand at deceivin' no one--I ain't
foxy enough. There's been times since I've been here when I've been
scared to open my mouth for fear my damned heart would jump out. I
reckon she'll just naturally kill me when she finds it out, but I don't
seem to care a heap whether she does or not."

The little man narrowed his eyes at Sanderson.

"You're deeply in love with her, I suppose?"

Sanderson flushed; then his gaze grew steady and cold. "Up till now
you've minded your own business," he said. "If you'll keep on mindin'
it, we'll----"

"Of course," grinned Owen. "You couldn't help loving her--I love her,
too. You say you're going to tell her. Don't do it. Why should you?
Don't you see that if you told her that her brother had been murdered
she'