Been roaming around the north country. Struck the
basin about three weeks ago. Miss Bransford was needing men--her
father--yours, too, of course--having passed out rather sudden. I was
wanting work mighty had, and Miss Bransford took me on because I was
big enough to do the work of half a dozen men."

His face grew grave. Sanderson understood. Miss Bransford had hired
Owen out of pity. Sanderson did not answer.

The little man's face worked strangely, and his eyes glowed.

"If you hadn't come when you did, I would have earned my keep, and Alva
Dale would be where he wouldn't bother Miss Bransford any more," he
said.

Sanderson straightened. "You'd have shot him, you mean?"

Owen did not speak, merely nodding his head.

Sanderson smiled. "Then I'm sort of sorry come when I did. But do you
think shootin' Dale would have ended it?"

"No; Dale has friends." Owen leaned toward Sanderson, his face working
with passion. "I hate Dale," he said hoarsely. "I hate him worse than
I hate any snake that I ever saw. I hadn't been here two days when he
sneered at me and called me a freak. I'll kill him--some day. Your
coming has merely delayed the time. But before he dies I want to see
him beaten at this game he's tryin' to work on Miss Bransford. And
I'll kill any man that tries to give Miss Bransford the worst of it.

"You've got a fight on your hands. I know Dale and his gang, and
they'll make things mighty interesting for you and Miss Bransford. But
I'll help you, if you say the word. I'm not much for looks--as you can
see--but I can sling a gun with any man I've ever met.

"I'd have tried to fight Dale alone--for Miss Bransford's sake--but I
realize that things are against me. I haven't the size, and I haven't
the nerve to take the initiative. Besides, I drink. I get riotously
drunk. I can't help it. I can't depend on myself. But I can help
you, and I will."

The man's earnestness was genuine, and though Sanderson had little
confidence in the other's ability to take a large part in what was to
come, he respected the spirit that had prompted the offer. So he
reached out and took the man's hand.

"Any man that feels as strongly as you do can do a heap--at anything,"
he said. "We'll call it a deal. But you're under my orders."

"Yes," returned Owen, gripping the hand held out to him.

"Will!" came Mary's voice from the kitchen, "supper is ready!"

Owen laughed lowly, dropped Sanderson's ha