CHAPTER XVI
THE HAND OF THE ENEMY
When in the bunkhouse the next morning Sanderson informed Barney Owenof what had occurred during the night, the latter looked fixedly atSanderson.
"So she didn't take it hard," he said.
"Was you expectin' her to? For a brother that she hadn't seen in adozen years--an' which she knows in her secret heart wasn't any good?"retorted Sanderson. "Shootin' your face off in Okar--or anywhereelse--don't go any more," added Sanderson. "She's pretendin',publicly, that I'm her brother."
"I'm through talking," declared Owen.
"Or livin'. It's one or the other," warned Sanderson.
Sanderson took the seven thousand dollars that Mary gave him, rode toLazette--a town fifty miles eastward from the basin---and deposited themoney in a bank there. Then he rode eastward still farther and inanother town discovered a young engineer with a grievance against hisemployers.
The result of this discovery was that on the following morning theyoung engineer and Sanderson journeyed westward to the basin, arrivingat the Double A late in the afternoon of the next day.
On the edge of the plateau after the engineer and, Sanderson had spentthree or four days prowling through the basin and the gorge, theengineer spoke convincingly:
"It's the easiest thing in the world! A big flume to the point Ishowed you, a big main ditch and several laterals will do the trick.I'm with you to the finish!"
Sanderson smiled at the engineer's glowing enthusiasm and told him ofthe opposition he would meet in developing the project.
"There'll be a heap of schemin', an' mebbe shootin', Williams,"Sanderson told him. "Puttin' through this deal won't be anypussy-kitten affair."
"So much the better," laughed the engineer; "I'm fed up on soft snapsand longing for action."
The engineer was thirty; big, square-shouldered, lithe, and capable.He had a strong face and a level, steady eye.
"If you mean business, let's get acquainted," he said. "My front nameis Kent."
"Well, Kent, let's get busy," smiled Sanderson. "You go to work onyour estimates, order your material, hire your men. I'll see how badthe people in the basin want the water they've been expectin'."
Kent Williams took up his quarters in the bunkhouse and immediatelybegan work, though before he could do much he rode to Okar, telegraphedto Dry Bottom, the town which had been the scene of his previousactivity, and awaited the arrival of several capable-looking young men.
In company with the latter he returned to the Double A, and for manydays thereafter he and his men ran the transit and drove stakes in thebasin and along the gorge.
Sanderson spent much of his time talking with the cattlemen in thebasin. They were all eager to have water brought to their ranches, forit would save them the long trip to the river, which was inaccessiblein many places, and they welcomed the new project.
0ne of the men--a newcomer to the basin--voiced the general sentiment.
"We want water, an' we don't give a damn who brings it here. Firstcome, first served!"
The big problem to Sanderson, however, was the question of money. Hewas aware that a vast sum would be required. Nearly all the money hepossessed would be sunk in the preliminary work, and he knew that ifthe work was to go on he must borrow money.
He couldn't get money in Okar, he knew that.
He rode to Lazette and talked with a banker there. The latter wasinterested, but unwilling to lend.
"The Okar Basin," he said. "Yes, I've heard about it. Great prospectsthere. But I've been told that Silverthorn and Maison are going to putit through, and until I hear from them, I shouldn't like to interfere."
"That gang won't touch the Double A water!" declared Sanderson. "I'llsee the basin scorched to a cinder before I'll let them in on the deal!"
The banker smiled. "You are entitled to the water, of course; and Iadmire your grit. But those men are powerful. I have to depend onthem a great deal. So you can see that I couldn't do anything withoutfirst consulting them."
Sanderson left Lazette in disgust. It was not until after he had triedin Dry Bottom and Las Vegas that he realized how subtle andfar-reaching was the power and influence of the financial rulers ofOkar.
"We should like to let you have the money," the Las Vegas banker toldhim. "But, unfortunately, a loan to you would conflict with ourinterests in Okar. We know the big men in Okar have been consideringthe water question in the basin, and we should not like to antagonizethem."
The trip consumed two weeks, and Sanderson returned to the Double A todiscover that during his absence very little work had been done.
"It looks like we're up against it," Williams informed him when pressedfor an explanation. "We can't get a pound of material. I wentpersonally to Okar and was told by Silverthorn that the railroad wouldaccept no material consigned to the Double A ranch."
"Pretty raw," was Sanderson's only comment.
"Raw? It's rotten!" declared Williams. "There's plenty of the kindof material we want in Lazette. To get it here would mean a fifty-milehaul. I can get teams and wagons in Lazette," he added, an eager notein his voice.
"Go to it," said Sanderson.
Williams smiled admiringly. "You're game, Mr. Man," he said; "it's apleasure to work for you!"
However, it was not courage that impelled Sanderson to accept thehazard and expense of the fifty-mile haul. In his mind during the dayshe had been trying to borrow money had been a picture of the defeatthat was ahead of him if he did not succeed; he could imagine themalicious satisfaction with which his three enemies would discuss hisfailure.
Inwardly, Sanderson was writhing with impatience and consumed with aneagerness to get into personal contact with his enemies, the passion totriumph had gripped his soul, and a contempt for the sort of law inwhich Okar dealt had grown upon him until the contemplation of it hadaroused in him a savage humor.
Okar's law was not law at all; it was a convenience under which histhree enemies could assail the property rights of others.
Outwardly, Sanderson was a smiling optimist. To Mary Bransford heconfided that all was going well.
Neither had broached the subject of Sanderson's impersonation since thenight of Dale's visit. It was a matter which certain thoughts madeembarrassing for Mary, and Sanderson was satisfied to keep silent.
But on the day that Williams left the Double A for Lazette, Mary'scuriosity could not be denied. She had conquered that constraint whichhad resulted from the revelation of Sanderson's identity, and had askedhim to ride to the top of the gorge, telling him she wanted him toexplain the proposed system of irrigation.
"It is desperately hard to get any information out of Williams," shetold Sanderson; "he simply won't talk about the work."
"Meanin' that he'll talk rapid enough about other things, eh?"Sanderson returned. He looked slyly at Mary.
"What other things are there for him to talk about?"
"A man could find a heap of things to talk about--to a woman. He mighttalk about himself--or the woman," suggested Sanderson, grinning.
She gave him a knowing look. "Oh," she said, reddening. "Yes," sheadded, smiling faintly, "now that you speak of it, I remember he didtalk quite a little. He is a very interesting man."
"Good-looking too," said Sanderson; "an' smart. He saw the prospectsof this thing right off."
"Didn't you see them?" she questioned quickly.
"Oh, that," he said, flushing. "If the Drifter hadn't told me mebbe Iwouldn't have seen."
"You have always been around cattle, I suppose?" she asked.
"Raised with them," smiled Sanderson.
Thus she directed the conversation to the subject about which she hadwanted to inquire--his past life. Her questions were clever; they weresuggestions to which he could do nothing except to return directreplies. And she got out of him much of his history, discovering thathe had sound moral views, and a philosophy of which the salientprinciple was the scriptural injunction: "
Do unto others as ye wouldthat others should do unto you."
Upon that principle he had founded his character. His reputation hadgrown out of an adamantine adherence to it. Looking at him now shefelt the strength of him, his intense devotion to his ideals; theearnestness of him.
Curiously, she had felt those things during the time she had thought ofhim as her brother, and had been conscious of the lure of him. It gaveher a queer thrill to stand beside him now, knowing that she had kissedhim; that he had had an opportunity to take advantage of the situation,and had not done so.
He had acted the gentleman; he was a gentleman. That was why she wasable to talk with him now. If he had not treated her as he had treatedher his presence at the Double A would have been intolerable.
There was deep respect for women in Sanderson, she knew. Also, despitehis bold, frank glances--which was merely the manhood of himchallenging her and taking note of her charms--there was a hesitatingbashfulness about the man, as though he was not quite certain of theimpression he was creating in her mind.
That knowledge pleased Mary; it convinced her of his entire worthiness;it gave her power over him--and that power thrilled her.
As her brother, he had been an interesting figure, though his mannerhad repelled her. And she had been conscious of a subtle pleasure thatwas not all sisterly when she had been near him. She knew, now, thatthe sensation had been instinctive, and she wondered if she could havefelt toward her brother as she felt toward this man.
However, this new situation had removed the diffidence that hadaffected her; their relations were less matter of fact and moreromantic, and she felt toward him as any woman feels who knows anadmirer pursues her--breathless with the wonder of it, but holdingaloof, tantalizing, whimsical, and uncertain of herself.
She looked at him challengingly, mockery in her eyes.
"So you came here because the Drifter told you there would betrouble--and a woman. How perfectly delightful!"
He sensed her mood and responded to it.
"It's sure delightful. But it ain't unusual. I've always heard thattrouble will be lurkin' around where there's a woman."
"But you would not say that a woman is not worth the trouble shecauses?" she countered.
"A man is willin' to take her--trouble an' all," he responded, lookingstraight at her.
"Yes--if he can get her!" she shot back at him.
"Mostly every woman gets married to a man. I've got as good a chanceas any other man."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're talkin' to me about it," he grinned. "If you wasn'tconsiderin' me you wouldn't argue with me about it; you'd turn me downcold an' forget it."
"I suppose when a man is big and romantic-looking----"
"Oh, shucks, ma'am; you'll be havin' me gettin' a swelled head."
"He thinks that all he has to do is to look his best."
"I expect I've looked my worst since I've been here. I ain't had achance to do any moonin' at you."
"I don't like men that 'moon,'" she declared.
"That's the reason I didn't do it," he said.
She laughed. "Now, tell me," she asked, "how you got your name,'Deal.' It had something to do with cards, I suppose?"
"With weight," he said, looking soberly at her. "When I was born mydad looked at me sort of nonplussed. I was that big. 'There's a dealof him,' he told my mother. An' the name stuck. That ain't a lotmysterious."
"It was a convenient name to attach the 'Square' to," she said.
"I've earned it," he said earnestly. "An' I've had a mighty hard timeprovin' my right to wear it. There's men that will tempt you out ofpure deviltry, an' others that will try to shoot such a fancy out ofyour system. But I didn't wear the 'Square' because I wanted to--folkshung it onto me without me askin'. That's one reason I left Tombstone;I'd got tired of posin' as an angel."
He saw her face grow thoughtful and a haunting expression come into hereyes.
"You haven't told me how he looked," she said.
Sanderson lied. He couldn't tell her of the dissipation he had seen inher brother's face, nor of the evilness that had been stamped there.He drew a glowing picture of the man he had buried, and told her thathad he lived her brother would have done her credit.
But Sanderson suffered no remorse over the lie. For he saw her eyesglow with pride, and he knew that the picture he had drawn would be theideal of her memory for the future.