CHAPTER XII
DALE MOVES
A passionate hatred of Alva Dale was slowly gripping Sanderson. It hadbeen aroused on that first day of his meeting with the man, when he hadseen Dale standing in front of the stable, bullying Mary Bransford andPeggy Nyland and her brother. At that time, however, the emotionSanderson felt had been merely dislike--as Sanderson had alwaysdisliked men who attempted to bully others.
Sanderson's hatred of Dale was beginning to dominate him; it wasoverwhelming all other emotions. It dulled his sense of guilt for thepart he was playing in deceiving Mary Bransford; it made him feel in ameasure justified in continuing to deceive her.
For he divined that without his help Mary would lose the Double A.
Sanderson had always loved a fight, and the prospect of bringing defeatand confusion upon Dale was one that made his pulses leap with delight.
He got up on the morning following Dale's visit, tingling witheagerness. And yet there was no sign of emotion in his face when hesat with Mary Bransford at breakfast, and he did not even look at herwhen he left the house, mounted his horse, and rode up the gorge thatsplit the butte at the southern end of the range.
All morning he prowled over the table-land, paying a great deal ofattention to the depth of the gorge, estimating its capacity forholding water, scanning the far reaches of the big basin carefully, andnoting the location of the buildings dotting it.
Shortly after noon he rode back to the house and came upon Mary in thekitchen.
"I've put off askin' until now," he said while eating the food thatMary placed before him. "How much money did dad leave?"
"Not much," she said. "He was never very prosperous. It took a greatdeal to send me to school, and the thousand I sent you I saved myselfout of the allowance he gave me. I think there are three thousanddollars to father's credit at the bank in Okar."
"Where's Okar?"
She looked quickly at him. "Don't you remember Okar? That little townjust beyond the mouth of the basin? Why, you've been there a good manytimes, Will, on errands for father. There wasn't much to Okar when youwere here--just a few shanties and a store. Surely you remember!"
Sanderson flushed. "I reckon I do remember, now that you speak of it,"he lied. "But I don't think Okar has grown much."
"Okar has grown to be an important town--for this locality," Marysmiled. "You see, the railroad has made it grow. It is now quitelarge, and has a bank and a dozen or more stores. It is a depot forsupplies for a big section, and the railroad company has built largecorrals there. A man named Silverthorn--and Alva Dale--are the rulersof Okar, now."
"Who is Silverthorn?"
"He is connected with the railroad company--a promoter, or something ofthat character. He is trying to make a boom town of Okar. He hasbought a great deal of land in the basin."
"You know what he wants the land for?" Sanderson smiled at her.
"For speculation purposes, I suppose. If he could get water----"
"You've figured it out," said Sanderson. "But he won't get water. Thewater belongs to the Double A--to me an' to you. An' we're goin' tosell it ourselves."
"You mean--" began Mary.
"That we're going to build an irrigation dam--with all the fixin's.You and me."
The girl sat erect, her eyes luminous and eager. "Do you think we cando it?" she whispered.
"Do you think you could trust me with the three thousand you said dadleft? An' would you be willin' to mortgage the Double A--if we neededmore money?"
"Why," she declared, breathlessly, "the Double A is yours--to do withas you see fit. If you want to try--and you think there is a chance towin--why, why--go to it!"
"You're a brick!" grinned Sanderson. "We'll start the ball to rollin'right away."
Sanderson could not escape the vigorous hug she gave him, but he didmanage to evade her lips, and he went out of the house blushing andgrinning.
It was late in the afternoon when he got to Okar. Barney Owen was withhim. The two rode into town, dismounted at a hitching rail in front ofa building across the front of which was a sign:
THE OKAR HOTEL
Okar was flourishing--as Mary Bransford said. At its northwesterncorner the basin widened, spreading between the shoulders of twomountains and meeting a vast stretch of level land that seemed to beendless.
Okar lay at the foot of the mountain that lifted its bald knob at theeastern side of the basin's mouth. Two glittering lines of steel thatcame from out of the obscurity of distance eastward skirted Okar'sbuildings and passed westward into an obscurity equally distant.
The country around Okar was devoted to cattle. Sanderson's practicedeye told him that. The rich grassland that spread from Okar's confineswas the force that had brought the town into being, and the railroadwould make Okar permanent.
Okar did not look permanent, however. It was of the type of theaverage cow-town of the western plains--artificial and crude. Itsbuildings were of frame, hurriedly knocked together, representing thehaste of a people in whom the pioneer instinct was strong andcompelling--who cared nothing for appearances, but who fought mightilyfor wealth and progress.
Upon Okar was the stamp of newness, and in its atmosphere was theeagerness and the fervor of commercialism. Okar was the trade mart ofa section of country larger than some of the Old World states.
Fringing the hitching rails in front of its buildings were variousvehicles--the heavy wagons of Mexican freighters, the light buckboardof the cattleman, and the prairie schooner of the homesteader.Mingling with the vehicles were the cow-ponies of horsemen who hadridden into town on various errands; and in the company corrals weremany cattle awaiting shipment.
Sanderson stood beside his horse at the hitching rail for a look atOkar.
There was one street--wide and dust-windrowed, with two narrow boardwalks skirting it. The buildings--mostly of one story--did notinterest Sanderson, for he had seen their kind many times, and hisinterest centered upon the people.
"Different from Tombstone," he told Owen as the two entered the hotel."Tombstone is cattle--Okar is cattle and business. I sort of likecattle better."
Owen grinned. "Cattle are too slow for some of Okar's men," he said."There's men here that figure on making a killing everyday--financially. Gamblers winning big stakes, supply dealers chargingtwenty times the value of their stuff; a banker wanting enormousinterest on his money; the railroad company gobbling everything insight--and Silverthorn and Dale framing up to take all the land and thewater-rights. See that short, fat man playing cards with the littleone at that table?"
He indicated a table near the rear of the barroom, visible through anarchway that opened from the room in which a clerk with a thin, narrowface and an alert eye presided at a rough desk.
"That's Maison--Tom Maison, Okar's banker. They tell me he'd skin hisgrandmother if he thought he could make a dollar out of the deal."Owen grinned. "He's the man you're figuring to borrow money from--tobuild your dam."
"I'll talk with him tomorrow," said Sanderson.
In their room Sanderson removed some of the stains of travel. Then,telling Owen he would see him at dusk, he went out into the street.
Okar was buzzing with life and humming with activity when Sandersonstarted down the board walk. In Okar was typified the spirit of theWest that was to be--the intense hustle and movement that were to makethe town as large and as powerful as many of its sister cities.
Threading his way through the crowd on the board walk, Sandersoncollided with a man. He grinned, not looking at the other, apologized,and was proceeding on his way, when he chanced to look toward thedoorway of the building he was passing.
Alva Dale was standing just inside the doorway, watching him, and asSanderson's gaze met his Dale grinned sneeringly.
Sanderson's lips twitched with contempt. His own smile matched Dale'sin the quality of its hostility.
Sanderson was about to pass on when someone struck him heavily betweenthe shoulders. He
staggered and lurched against the rough board frontof the building going almost to his knees.
When he could steady himself he wheeled, his hand at his hip. Standingnear him, grinning maliciously, was the man with whom he had collided.
In the man's right hand was a pistol.
"Bump into me, will you--you locoed shorthorn!" sneered the man asSanderson turned. He cursed profanely, incoherently. But he did notshoot.
The weapon in his hand began to sag curiously, the fingers holding itslowly slipping from the stock. And the man's face--thin andseamed--became chalklike beneath the tan upon it. His eyes, furtiveand wolfish, bulged with astonishment and recognition, and his mouthopened vacuously.
"Deal Sanderson!" he said, weakly. "Good Lord! I didn't git a goodlook at yon! I'm in the wrong pew, Deal, an' I sure don't want none ofyour game!"
"Dal Colton," said Sanderson. His voice was cold and even as hewatched the other sheathe his gun. "Didn't know me, eh? But you wasfigurin' on pluggin' me."
He walked close to the man and stuck his face close to the other, hislips in a straight line. He knew Colton to be one of the mostconscienceless "killers" in the section of the country near Tombstone.
"Who was you lookin' for, then?" demanded Sanderson.
"Not you--that's a cinch!" grinned the other, fidgeting nervously underSanderson's gaze. He whispered to Sanderson, for in the latter's eyeshe saw signs of a cold resolve to sift the matter to the bottom:
"Look here, Square; I sure don't want none of your game. Things hasbeen goin' sorta offish for me for a while, an' so when I meets a guy awhile ago who tells me to 'git' a guy named Will Bransford--pointin'you out to me when your back was turned--I takes him up. I wasn'tfigurin'----"
"Who told you to get Bransford?" demanded Sanderson.
"A guy named Dale," whispered Colton.
Sanderson turned swiftly. He saw Dale still standing in the doorway.Dale was grinning coldly, and Sanderson knew he suspected what had beenwhispered by Colton. But before Sanderson could move, Dale's voice wasraised loudly and authoritatively:
"Arrest that man--quick!"
A man behind Sanderson lunged forward, twisting Sanderson around withthe impetus of the movement. Off his balance, Sanderson saw three orfour other men dive toward Colton. He saw Colton reach for the weaponhe had previously sheathed; saw the weapon knocked from his hand.
Four men seized Colton, and he struggled helplessly in their grasp ashe was dragged away, his face working malignantly as he looked back atDale.
"Double-crossed!" he yelled; "you damned, grinnin' coyote!"
A crowd had gathered; Sanderson shouldered his way toward Dale andfaced him. Sanderson's face was white with rage, but his voice wascold and steady as he stood before Dale.
"So that's the way you work, is it, Dale? I'll give you what you wasgoin' to pay Colton, if you'll pull your gun right now!"
Dale's smile was maddeningly insolent.
"Bah!" he said, "I'm an officer of the law. There are a dozen of mymen right behind you! Pull your gun! I'd like nothing better than tohave an excuse to perforate you! Sanderson, eh?" he laughed. "Well,I've heard of you. Square Deal, eh? And here you are, masqueradin' asWill Bransford! That's goin' to be quite an interestin' situation atthe Double A when things get to goin', eh?"
He laughed again, raucously, and turned his back to Sanderson,disappearing into the store.
Sanderson glanced behind him. Several men were watching him, theirfaces set and determined. Sanderson grinned at them and continued hisinterrupted walk down the street.
But something had been added to his hatred of Alva Dale--the knowledgethat Dale would not scruple to murder him on any pretext. Sanderson'sgrin grew wider as he walked, for he knew of several men who hadharbored such evil intentions against him, and they----
But Dale was a stronger antagonist, and he had power and authoritybehind him. Still, his spirit undaunted, Sanderson's grin grew wider,though perhaps more grim. It was entirely worth while, now, thedeceiving of the woman he had hoped to protect; it wasn't her fight,but his. And he would make the fight a good one.