emaining days of Sanderson's absence she succeeded in convincing
herself that Sanderson's attitude toward her was the usual attitude of
brothers toward sisters, and that she had nothing of which to complain.

On the seventh day Sanderson and Owen returned.

Mary saw them ride in and she ran to the door and waved a hand to them.
Owen flourished his hat at her, but Sanderson only grinned.

When Sanderson came in Mary did not attempt to kiss him, but she wanted
to when he seized her hand and squeezed it warmly. For it seemed to
her that he was troubled over something.

She watched him narrowly for signs that would tell her of the nature of
the trouble, but when he went to bed she had learned nothing.

At breakfast the next morning she asked him what he had discovered at
Las Vegas. He looked straight at her.

"There is no record of your birth," he said.

She paled. "Then Dale has grounds for his suspicion," she said in a
weak voice.

"Because your birth was not recorded is no sign you are not a
Bransford," he said. "I'll tell you this," he added gruffly: "as a
sister you suit me from the ground up; an' I'll stick to you until hell
freezes over!"

Not until that instant did she realize that she had entertained a fear
that Sanderson would believe as Dale believed, and in an excess of joy
over the discovery that he did believe in her she got up, ran around
the table, seized Sanderson by the shoulders and laid her cheek against
his.

"You're a dear," she said, "and I don't care whether you like it or
not, I am going to kiss you!"

"Just once," he said, blushing.

She kissed him, and then leaned back, looking at him reprovingly.

"You haven't returned a kiss I have given you!" she said. "And I want
you to!"

"All right," he agreed, and this time the warmth of his response made
her draw a long, deep breath.

Sanderson made his escape as soon as he decently could, and walked to a
corner of the pasture fence where he stood, one arm resting on the top
rail, his gaze on the basin.

At the court in Las Vegas he had discovered that Bransford had made a
will, bequeathing the ranch to his son. The document had been recorded
only a few months before Bransford died, showing that he had at last
forgiven the boy.

Sanderson had intended to take possession of the ranch, in an effort to
forestall any scheme Dale might have, and while in Las Vegas he had
applied to the court for permission to have the title transferr