SQUARE DEAL SANDERSON
by
CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER
Author ofThe Boss of the Lazy Y, "Beau" Rand, "Drag" Harlan, The Ranchman, etc.
Frontispiece by J. Allen St. John
Grosset & DunlapPublishers --- New York
Published, March, 1922
[Frontispiece: Out of the valley went Streak, running with long, smoothleaps.]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I The North Trail II A Man's Curiosity III "Square" Deal Sanderson IV In Which a Man Is Sympathetic V Water and Kisses VI Sanderson Lies VII Kisses--A Man Refuses Them VIII The Plotters IX The Little Man Talks X Plain Talk XI The Ultimatum XII Dale Moves XIII A Plot that Worked XIV The Voice of the Coyote XV Dale Pays a Visit XVI The Hand of the Enemy XVII The Trail Herd XVIII Checked by the System XIX A Question of Brands XX Devil's Hole XXI A Man Borrows Money XXII A Man from the Abyss XXIII The Gunman XXIV Concerning a Woman XXV A Man Is Aroused XXVI A Man Is Hanged XXVII The Ambush XXVIII Nyland Meets a Killer XXIX Nyland's Vengeance XXX The Law Takes a Hand XXXI The Fugitive XXXII Winning a Fight XXXIII A Man Leaves Okar XXXIV A Man Gets a Square Deal XXXV A Deal in Love
Square Deal Sanderson
CHAPTER I
THE NORTH RAID
An hour before, Deal Sanderson had opened his eyes. He had beencomfortably wrapped in his blanket; his head had been resting on a saddleseat. His sleep over, he had discovered that the saddle seat felt hardto his cheek. In changing his position he had awakened. His face towardthe east, he had seen a gray streak widening on the horizon--a herald ofthe dawn.
Sanderson found what seemed to be a softer spot on the saddle, snuggledhimself in the blanket, and went to sleep again. Of course he had notneglected to take one sweeping glance around the camp while awake, andthat one glance had convinced him that the camp was in order.
The fire had long since gone out--there was a heap of white ashes to markthe spot where it had been. His big brown horse--Streak--unencumbered byrope or leather, was industriously cropping the dew-laden blades of somebunch-grass within a dozen yards of him; and the mighty desolation of theplace was as complete as it had seemed when he had pitched his camp thenight before.
Sanderson reveled in the luxury of complete idleness. He grinned at thewidening streak of dawn as he closed his eyes. There would be novitriolic-voiced cook to bawl commands at him _this_ morning. And nosour-faced range boss to issue curt orders.
In an hour or so--perhaps in two hours--Sanderson would crawl out of hisblanket, get his own breakfast, and ride northeastward. He was a freeagent now, and would be until he rode in to the Double A to assume hisnew duties.
Judging by the light, Sanderson had slept a full hour when he againawakened. He stretched, yawned, and grinned at the brown horse.
"You're still a-goin' it, Streak, eh?" he said, aloud. "I'd say you'vegot a medium appetite. There's times when I envy you quite considerable."
Reluctantly Sanderson sat up and looked around. He had pitched his campat the edge of a thicket of alder and aspen near a narrow stream of waterin a big arroyo. Fifty feet from the camp rose the sloping north wall ofthe arroyo, with some dwarf spruce trees fringing its edge. Sandersonhad taken a look at the section of country visible from the arroyo edgebefore pitching his camp. There were featureless sand hills and a widestretch of desert.
Sanderson started to get to his feet. Then he sat down again, stiffeningslowly, his right hand slipping quickly to the butt of the pistol at hisright hip. His chin went forward, his lips straightened, and his eyesgleamed with cold alertness.
A horseman had appeared from somewhere in the vast space beyond thearroyo edge. Sanderson saw the outlines of animal and rider as theyappeared for an instant, partly screened from him by the trees andundergrowth on the arroyo edge. Then horse and rider vanished, goingnorthward, away from the arroyo, silently, swiftly.
Schooled to caution by his long experience in a section of country whereviolence and sudden death were not even noteworthy incidents of life, andwhere a man's safety depended entirely upon his own vigilance and wisdom,Sanderson got up carefully, making no noise, slipped around the thicketof alder, crouched behind a convenient rock, huge and jagged, and waited.
Perhaps the incident was closed. The rider might be innocent of any evilintentions; he might by this time be riding straight away from thearroyo. That was for Sanderson to determine.
The rider of the horse--a black one--had seemed to be riding stealthily,leaning forward over the black horse's mane as though desirous ofconcealing his movements as much as possible. From whom?
It had seemed that he feared Sanderson would see him; that he hadmisjudged his distance from the gully--thinking he was far enough away toescape observation, and yet not quite certain, crouching in the saddle tobe on the safe side in case he was nearer than he had thought.
Sanderson waited--for only a few minutes actually, but the time seemedlonger. Then, just when he was mentally debating an impulse to climb tothe top of the gully, to see if the rider was in sight, he heard a soundas of a heavy body crashing through some underbrush, and saw two ridersskirting the edge of the arroyo near him.
They halted their horses back of the spruce trees near the arroyo edge.The rank undergrowth in the timber prevented them seeing Sanderson'shorse--which was further concealed by the thicket of alder. The men,however, did not look into the arroyo. Their attention and interestappeared to be centered upon the actions of the first horseman. Sittingerect in their saddles, they shaded their eyes with their hands and gazednorthward.
After a short look, one of the men laughed, unpleasantly.
"Sneakin'--he is," said the one who laughed. "Knows we're campin' on histrail, an' reckons on givin' us the slip. I never thought Bill would goback on his friends thataway. We'll make him sweat, damn him!"
The other cursed, also. "Hoggin' it, he is," he said. "I ain't nevertrusted him. He won't divvy, eh? Well, he won't need it where he'sgoin'."
Both laughed. Then one said, coldly: "Well, I reckon we won't takechances on losin' him again--like we did last night. We'll get him rightnow!"
They urged their horses away from the edge of the gully. Sanderson couldhear the clatter of hoofs, receding. He had heard, plainly, all theconversation between the two.
There was a grin of slight relief on Sanderson's face. The men were notaiming at him, but at the first rider. It was clear that all wereconcerned in a personal quarrel which was no concern of Sanderson's. Itwas also apparent to Sanderson that the two men who had halted at theedge of the arroyo were not of the type that contributed to the peace andorder of the country.
Plainly, they were of the lower strata of riffraff which had drifted intothe West to exact its toll from a people who could not claim theprotection of a law that was remote and impotent.
Sanderson suspected that the first rider had been concerned in somelawless transaction with the other two, and that the first rider haddecamped with the entire spoils. That much was indicated by the words ofthe two. Dire punishment for the first man was imminent.
Sanderson had no sympathy for the first rider. He felt, though, a slightcuriosity over the probable outcome of the affair, and so, workingrapidly, he broke camp, threw saddle and bridle on the white horse,strapped his slicker to the cantle of the saddle, and rode the brownhorse up the slope of the arroyo, taking the direction in which the threemen had disappeared.