y eyes is
any good. I've seen him look at her--oh, man! If she was any relation
to me I'd climb Dale's frame sure as shootin'!"

There had been more--the Drifter told a complete story. And Sanderson
had assimilated it without letting the other know he had been affected.

Nor had he mentioned to Burroughs--his employer--a word concerning the
real reason for his desire to make a change. Not until he had written
to Bransford, and received a reply, did he acquaint Burroughs with his
decision to leave. As a matter of fact, Sanderson had delayed his
leave-taking for more than a month after receiving Bransford's letter,
being reluctant, now that his opportunity had come, to sever those
relations that, he now realized, had been decidedly pleasant.

"I'm sure next to what's eatin' you," Burroughs told him on the day
Sanderson asked for his "time." "You're yearnin' for a change. It's a
thing that gets hold of a man's soul--if he's got one. They ain't no
fightin' it. I'm sure appreciatin' what you've done for me, an' if you
decide to come back any time, you'll find me a-welcomin' you with open
arms, as the sayin' is. You've got a bunch of coin comin'--three
thousand. I'm addin' a thousand to that--makin' her good measure.
That'll help you to start something."

Sanderson started northeastward without any illusions. A product of
the Far Southwest, where the ability to live depended upon those
natural, protective instincts and impulses which civilization frowns
upon, Sanderson was grimly confident of his accomplishments--which were
to draw a gun as quickly as any other man had ever drawn one, to shoot
as fast and as accurately as the next man--or a little faster and more
accurately; to be alert and self-contained, to talk as little as
possible; to listen well, and to deal fairly with his fellow-men.

That philosophy had served Sanderson well. It had made him feared and
respected throughout Arizona; it had earned him the sobriquet
"Square"--a title which he valued.

Sanderson could not have told, however, just what motive had impelled
him to decide to go to the Double A. No doubt the Drifter's story
regarding the trouble that was soon to assail Mary Bransford had had
its effect, but he preferred to think he had merely grown tired of life
at the Pig-Pen--Burrough's ranch--and that the Drifter's story, coming
at the instant when the yearning for a change had seized upon him, had
decided him.

He had persisted in th