CHAPTER XIII
A PLOT THAT WORKED
Sanderson left the board walk and cut through a yard to the railroad.He followed the rails until he reached the station. To his questionthe station agent informed him that Dave Silverthorn might be found inhis office on the second floor of the building.
Sanderson went up. A sign on a glass door bore Silverthorn's name.Sanderson entered without knocking.
Silverthorn was seated at a desk in a far corner of the room. Helooked up as Sanderson opened the door, and said shortly:
"Well--what is it?"
Sanderson crossed the room and halted beside the desk. For an instantneither man spoke. Sanderson saw a man of medium height with a ratherwell-rounded stomach, sloping shoulders, and a sleek, well-fedappearance. His cheeks were full and florid, his lips large and loose;his eyes cold, calculating, and hard.
Silverthorn saw a lean-faced, broad-shouldered young man with a strongchin, a firm mouth, and an eye that fixed him with a steady, unwaveringinterest.
By the gleam in Sanderson's eyes Silverthorn divined that he was in thepresence of a strong, opposing force, and he drew a slow, deep breath.
"Well?" he said, again.
"You're Dave Silverthorn?"
The other nodded. "What can I do for you?" he questioned.
"You can listen while I talk," said Sanderson.
"I'm Will Bransford, of the Double A. I have heard from severalsources that you an' Alva Dale are after the title to the Double A.You want the water-rights. You can't have them. An' the title to theDouble A stays with me. Understand that? I am goin' to hold on to theproperty.
"I've heard you can juggle the law--that's your business. But youcan't juggle the law enough to horn in on the Double A. If you do, I'mcomin' for you with a law of my own!" He tapped his gun bolstersignificantly.
"That's all," he concluded. "Are you sure you understand?"
"Perfectly," answered Silverthorn. He was smiling mirthlessly, hisface blotched and bloated with mingled fear and rage. "But I'll haveyou understand this: I am not afraid of your threats. You can't bullyme. The S. and M. Railroad has dealt with your kind on more than oneoccasion. There is an opportunity here to develop a large section ofland, and my company means to do it. We mean to be fair, however.We'll buy your title to the Double A. How much do you want for it?"
Sanderson grinned. "The Double A is not for sale. I wouldn't sell itto you for a million! You cheap crooks think that all you have to dois to take anything you want. I just stopped in to tell you that I'mwise to your game, an' that the kind of law I represent ain't clutteredup with angles an' technical processes. She runs straight to a squaredeal all around. That's all, Mr. Silverthorn."
He turned and went out, closing the door behind him.
He had not intended to have his talk with Tom Maison, Okar's banker,until the following morning. But upon returning to Okar's street hesaw Maison ahead of him on the sidewalk. He followed the banker, sawhim enter the front door of the bank building, and a few minutes laterhe was sitting opposite Maison at a table in the banker's private room.
Maison was short and pudgy, short of breath, with a pasty complexion.
"Will Bransford, eh?" he said, looking sharply at Sanderson over thetable. "H'm. You don't look much like your father."
"Nor I don't act like him, either," smiled Sanderson. "For instance,"he went on at the banker's quick look, "dad was slow; he wasn't aliveto his opportunities. How long has it been since the railroad came toOkar?"
"Five years."
"Then dad was five years slower than he ought to have been. He oughtto have seen what water would do to the basin. He didn't--left thatfor me."
"Meaning what?" asked Maison, as Sanderson paused.
"Meanin' that I want to turn the Double A water into the basin. That'swhat I came here to see you for. I want to mortgage the Double A tothe limit; I want to build a dam, irrigation canals, locks, an'everything that goes with it. It will take a heap of money."
Maison reflected. "And you want me to supply it," he said. "Yes, thatproject will require a large sum. H'm! It is--er--do you purpose totry to handle the project yourself, Mr. Bransford?"
"Me an' Mary Bransford. I'll hire an engineer."
Maison's cheeks reddened a trifle. He seemed to lose interest slightly.
"Don't you think it is rather too big a thing for one man tohandle--aided by a woman?" He smiled blandly at Sanderson. "I havethought of the water situation in the basin. It is my opinion that itmight be worked out successfully.
"Why not organize a company--say a company composed of influential andpowerful men like Silverthorn and Dale and--er--myself. We could issuestock, you know. Each would take a certain number of shares--payingyou for them, of course, and leaving you in possession of a large blockof it--say--forty per cent. We could organize, elect officers----"
"An' freeze me out," smiled Sanderson.
Maison sat erect and gazed haughtily at his visitor.
"No one has ever questioned my honesty," he declared.
Sanderson smiled at him. "Nor I don't. But I want to play her a lonehand."
"I am afraid I wouldn't be interested in that sort of project," saidMaison.
The thought that Maison _would_ be interested--not publicly, butprivately--made Sanderson grin. The grin angered Maison; he arosesmiling coldly.
"I am sorry to have taken your time, Mr. Bransford," he said,dismissing his visitor.
Sanderson did not give up. "My father left some money in your bank,"he said; "I'll take it."
"Certainly," said the banker. He got a withdrawal blank and laid itbefore Sanderson.
"The amount is three thousand two hundred," he said. "Just fill thatout and sign your name and yon can have the money."
Sanderson did not sign; he sat, looking at the blank, suddenlyafflicted with the knowledge that once more the troublesome "Bransford"signature had placed him in a dilemma.
Undoubtedly Maison, Silverthorn, and Dale were confederates in thismatter, and Dale's insistence that he sign the register claim was amere subterfuge to obtain a copy of the Bransford signature in order tomake trouble for him. It occurred to Sanderson that the men suspectedhim, and he grinned coldly as he raised his eyes to Maison.
Maison was watching him, keenly; and his flush when he saw Sandersonlooking at him convinced the latter that his suspicions were notwithout foundation.
If Sanderson could have known that he had hardly left the hotel when aman whispered to Maison; and that Maison had said to the man: "Allright, I'll go down and wait for him," Sanderson could not have moreaccurately interpreted Maison's flush.
Sanderson's grin grew grim. "It's a frame-up," he told himself. Hisgrin grew saturnine. He got up, folded the withdrawal blank and stuckit in a pocket.
"I'm leavin' the money here tonight," he said. "For a man that ain'tbeen to town in a long while, there'd be too many temptations yankin'at me."
He went out, leaving Maison to watch him from a window, a flush ofchagrin on his face.
Sanderson walked down the street toward the hotel. He would have Owensign the withdrawal blank before morning--that would defeat Maison'splan to gain evidence of the impersonation.
Sanderson had not been gone from Silverthorn's office more than fiveminutes when Dale entered. Silverthorn was sitting at his deskscowling, his face pale with big, heavy lines in it showing the strainof his interview with Sanderson.
"Bransford's been here!" guessed Dale, looking at Silverthorn.
Silverthorn nodded, cursing.
"You don't need to feel conceited," laughed Dale; "he's been to see me,too."
Dale related what had happened on the street some time before, andSilverthorn's scowl deepened.
"There are times when you don't seem to be able to think at all, Dale!"he declared. "After this, when you decide to do a thing, see mefirst--or Maison. The last thing we want to happen right now is tohave this fake Bransford k
illed."
"Why?"
"I've just got word from Las Vegas that he's submitted his affidavitestablishing his identity, and that the court has accepted it. Thatsettles the matter until--or unless--we can get evidence to thecontrary. And if he dies without us getting that evidence we arethrough."
"Him dyin' would make things sure for us," contended Dale. "MaryBransford wouldn't have any claim--us havin' proof that she ain't aBransford."
"This fellow is no fool," declared Silverthorn. "Suppose he's wise tous, which he might be, and he has willed the property to the girl.Where would we be, not being able to prove that he isn't WillBransford?"
Dale meditated. Then he made a wry face. "That's right," he finallyadmitted. He made a gesture of futility. "I reckon I'll let you dothe plannin' after this."
"All right," said Silverthorn, mollified. "Have you set Morley onBarney Owen?"
"Owen was goin' right strong a few minutes after this Bransford guyleft him," grinned Dale.
"All right," said Silverthorn, "go ahead the way we planned it. Butdon't have our friend killed."
When Sanderson entered the hotel the clerk was alone in the officepondering over the register.
Dusk had fallen, and the light in the office was rather dim. Throughthe archway connecting the office with the saloon came a broad beam oflight from a number of kerosene lamps. From beyond the archway issuedthe buzz of voices and the clink of glasses; peering through theopening Sanderson could see that the barroom was crowded.
Sanderson mounted the stairs leading from the office. When he had leftOwen, the latter had told Sanderson that it was his intention to spendthe time until the return of his friend in reading.
Owen, however, was not in the room. Sanderson descended the stairs,walked to the archway that led into the saloon, and looked inside. Ina rear corner of the barroom he saw Owen, seated at a table withseveral other men. Owen's face was flushed; he was talking loudly andextravagantly.
Sanderson remembered what Owen had told him concerning his appetite forstrong liquor, he remembered, too, that Owen was in possession of asecret which, if divulged, would deliver Mary Bransford into the handsof her enemies.
Sanderson's blood rioted with rage and disgust. He crossed the barroomand stood behind Owen. The latter did not see him. One of the menwith Owen did see Sanderson, though, and he looked up impudently, andsmilingly pushed a filled glass of amber-colored liquor toward Owen.
"You ain't half drinkin', Owen," he said.
Sanderson reached over, took the glass, threw its contents on the floorand grasped Owen by the shoulder. His gaze met the tempter's, coldly.
"My friend ain't drinkin' no more tonight," he declared.
The tempter sneered, his body stiffening.
"He ain't, eh?" he grinned, insolently. "I reckon you don't know him;he likes whisky as a fish likes water."
Several men in the vicinity guffawed loudly.
Owen was drunk. His hair was rumpled, his face was flushed, and hiseyes were bleared and wide with an unreasoning, belligerent light as hegot up, swaying unsteadily, and looked at Sanderson.
"Not drink any more?" he demanded loudly. "Who says I can't? I've gotlots of money, and there's lots of booze here. Who says I can't drinkany more?"
And now, for the first time, he seemed to realize that Sanderson stoodbefore him. But the knowledge appeared merely to increase hisbelligerence to an insane fury. He broke from Sanderson's restraininggrasp and stood off, reeling, looking at Sanderson with the grin of asatyr.
"Look who's telling me I can't drink any more!" he taunted, so thatnearly every man in the room turned to look at him, "It's my guardianangel gentlemen--Will Bransford, of the Double A! Will Bransford--ha,ha, ha! Will Bransford! Come an' look at him, gentlemen! Says Ican't drink any more booze. He's running the Double A, Bransford is.There's a lot I could tell you about Bransford--a whole lot! Heain't----"
His maudlin talk broke off short, for Sanderson had stepped to his sideand placed a hand over his mouth. Owen struggled, broke away, andshouted:
"Damn you, let me alone! I'm going to tell these people who you are.You're----"
Again his talk was stilled. This time the method was swift andcertain. Sanderson took another step toward him and struck. His fistlanded on Owen's jaw, resounding with a vicious smack! in the suddensilence that had fallen, and Owen crumpled and sank to the floor in aninert heap.
Sanderson was bending over him, preparing to carry him to his room,when there came an interruption. A big man, with a drawn six-shooter,stepped to Sanderson's side. A dozen more shoved forward and stoodnear him, the crowd moving back, Sanderson sensed the movement andstood erect, leaving Owen still on the floor. One look at the hostilefaces around him convinced Sanderson that the men were there by design.
He grinned mirthlessly into the face of the man with the drawn pistol.
"Frame-up, eh?" he said. "What's the game?"
"You're wanted for drawin' a gun on Dave Silverthorn--in his office.I'm a deputy sheriff, an' I've got a warrant for you. Want to see it?"
Sanderson did not answer. Here was a manifestation of Dale's power andcupidity.
The charge was a mere subterfuge, designed to deprive him of hisliberty. Sanderson had no intention of submitting.
The deputy saw resistance in the gleam of Sanderson's eyes, and hespoke sharply, warningly:
"Don't try any funny business; I've a dozen men here!"
Sanderson laughed in his face. He lunged forward, striking bitterlywith the movement. The deputy's body doubled forward--Sanderson's fisthad been driven into his stomach. His gun clattered to the floor; hereached out, trying to grasp Sanderson, who evaded him and struckupward viciously.
The deputy slid to the floor, and Sanderson stood beside the table, hisgun menacing the deputy's followers.
Sanderson had worked fast. Possibly the deputy's men had anticipatedno resistance from Sanderson, or they had been stunned with therapidity with which he had placed their leader out of action.
Not one of them had drawn a weapon. They watched Sanderson silently ashe began to back away from them, still covering them with his pistol.
Sanderson had decided to desert Owen; the man had proved a traitor, andcould not expect any consideration. Owen might talk--Sandersonexpected he would talk; but he did not intend to jeopardize his libertyby staying to find out.
He stepped backward cautiously, for he saw certain of the men begin tomove restlessly. He cautioned them, swinging the muzzle of his pistolback and forth, the crowd behind him splitting apart as he retreated.
He had gone a dozen steps when someone tripped him. He fell backward,landing on his shoulders, his right elbow striking hard on the boardfloor and knocking the pistol out of his hand.
He saw the men surge forward, and he made a desperate effort to get tohis feet. But he did not succeed. He was on his knees when severalmen, throwing themselves at him, landed on top of him. Their combinedweight crushed him to the floor, but he squirmed out of the mass andgot to his feet, striking at the faces he saw around him, worrying themen hither and yon, dragging them with him as he reeled under savageblows that were rained on him.
He had torn himself almost free; one man still clung to him, and he wastrying to shake the fellow off, that he might hit him effectively, whena great weight seemed to fall on his head, blackness surrounded him,and he pitched face down on the floor.