as fast and as accurately as the next man--or a little faster and more
accurately; to be alert and self-contained, to talk as little as
possible; to listen well, and to deal fairly with his fellow-men.

That philosophy had served Sanderson well. It had made him feared and
respected throughout Arizona; it had earned him the sobriquet
"Square"--a title which he valued.

Sanderson could not have told, however, just what motive had impelled
him to decide to go to the Double A. No doubt the Drifter's story
regarding the trouble that was soon to assail Mary Bransford had had
its effect, but he preferred to think he had merely grown tired of life
at the Pig-Pen--Burrough's ranch--and that the Drifter's story, coming
at the instant when the yearning for a change had seized upon him, had
decided him.

He had persisted in that thought until after the finding of the letters
in William Bransford's pockets; and then, staring down at the man's
face, he had realized that he had been deluding himself, and, that he
was journeying northeastward merely because he was curious to see the
girl whom the Drifter had so vividly described.

Away back in his mind, too, there might have been a chivalrous desire
to help her in the fight that was to come with Alva Dale. He had felt
his blood surge hotly at the prospect of a fight, with Mary Bransford
as the storm center; a passion to defend her had got into his soul; and
a hatred for Alva Dale had gripped him.

Whatever the motive, he had come, and since he had looked down into
William Bransford's face, he had become conscious of a mighty