and--shucks!" He laughed. "Well,
I ain't seen it--if that's any consolation to you. If you'd had it
when you come here I'd sure seen it."

"Who brought me here?"

"Dale and his first deputy--the guy you poked in the stummick, over in
the Okar Hotel. They tell me you fi't like hell! What's Dale got
ag'in' you? Be sure was some het up about you."

Sanderson did not answer. He turned his back to the jailer and walked
to the cot, again sitting on its edge. He heard the jailer sniff
contemptuously, but he paid no attention to him.

Prominent in Sanderson's thoughts was the realization that Dale had
taken his money. He knew that was the last of it--Dale would not admit
taking it. Sanderson had intended to use the four thousand on the
Double A irrigation project. The sum, together with the three thousand
he meant to draw from the Okar bank, would have been enough to make a
decent start.

Sanderson had some bitter thoughts as he sat on the edge of the cot,
all of them centering around Dale, Silverthorn, Maison, Owen, Mary
Bransford, and himself. He realized that he had been defeated in the
first clash with the forces opposed to him, that Owen had turned
traitor, that Mary Bransford's position now was more precarious than it
had been before his coming, and that he had to deal with resourceful,
desperate, and unscrupulous men.

And yet, sitting there at the edge of the cot, Sanderson grinned. The
grin did not make his face attractive, for it reflected something of
the cold, bitter humor and savage passion that had gripped his soul.

At noon the next day Sanderson, looking out of the window of his cell;
heard a sound at the door. He turned, to see Silverthorn standing in
the corridor.

Silverthorn smiled blandly at him.

"Over it, I see," he said. "They used you rather roughly, eh? Well,
they tell me you made them step some."

Sanderson deliberately turned his back and continued to look out of the
window.

"On your dignity, eh?" sneered Silverthorn. "Well, let me tell you
something. We've heard a lot about you--from Dal Colton and Barney
Owen. Morley--one of our men--got Owen soused last night, as per
orders, and Owen spilled his knowledge of you all over the town. It's
pretty well known, now, that you are Deal Sanderson, from down
Tombstone way.

"I don't know what your game was, but I think it's pretty well queered
by now. I suppose you had some idea of impersonating Bransford, hoping
to g