Sanderson wanted to talk; he wanted to tell Mary Bransford that he was
not her brother; that he had assumed the rôle merely for the purpose of
defeating Dale's aim. His sole purpose had been to help Mary Bransford
out of a difficult situation; he had acted on impulse--an impulse
resulting from the pleading look she had given him, together with the
knowledge that she had wanted to save Nyland.

Now that the incident was closed, and Nyland saved, he wanted to make
his confession, be forgiven, and received into Mary's good graces.

He followed the girl into the house, but as he halted for an instant on
the threshold, just before entering, he looked hack, to see the little,
anemic man standing near the house, looking at him with an odd smile.
Sanderson flushed and made a grimace at the little man, whereat the
latter's smile grew broad and eloquent.

"What's eatin' him, I wonder?" was Sanderson's mental comment. "He
looked mighty fussed up while Dale was doin' the talkin'. Likely he's
just tickled--like the rest of them."

Mary led Sanderson into the sitting-room to a big easy-chair, shoved
him into it, and stood behind him, running her fingers through his
hair. Meanwhile she talked rapidly, telling him of the elder
Bransford's last moments, of incidents that had occurred during his
absence from the ranch; of other incidents that had to do with her life
at a school on the coast; of many things of which he was in complete
ignorance.

Desperate over his inability to interrupt her flow of talk, conscious