"There's time for that after we've settled with Dale," he told the girl
gruffly.

Dale had recovered; he sneered. "It's easy enough to make a claim like
that, but it's another thing to prove it. How in hell do we know
you're Bill Bransford?"

Sanderson's smile was maddening. "I ain't aimin' to prove nothin'--to
you!" he said. But he reached into a pocket, drew out the two letters
he had taken from the real Bransford's pocket, and passed them back to
Mary Bransford, still facing Dale.

He grinned at Dale's face as the latter watched Mary while she read the
letters, gathering from the scowl that swept over the other's lips that
Mary had accepted them as proof of his identity.

"You'll find the most of that thousand you sent me in my slicker," he
told the girl. And while Mary ran to Streak, unstrapped the slicker,
tore it open, and secured the money, Sanderson watched Dale's face,
grinning mockingly.

"O Will--Will!" cried the girl joyously behind Sanderson.

Sanderson's smile grew. "Seems to prove a heap, don't it?" he said to
Dale. "I know a little about law myself. I won't be pressin' no
charge against Nyland. Take your rope off him an' turn him free. An'
then mebbe you'll be accommodatin' enough to hit the breeze while the
hittin's good--for me an' Miss--my sister's sort of figurin' on a
reunion--bein' disunited for so long."