sneered at me and called me a freak. I'll kill him--some day. Your
coming has merely delayed the time. But before he dies I want to see
him beaten at this game he's tryin' to work on Miss Bransford. And
I'll kill any man that tries to give Miss Bransford the worst of it.

"You've got a fight on your hands. I know Dale and his gang, and
they'll make things mighty interesting for you and Miss Bransford. But
I'll help you, if you say the word. I'm not much for looks--as you can
see--but I can sling a gun with any man I've ever met.

"I'd have tried to fight Dale alone--for Miss Bransford's sake--but I
realize that things are against me. I haven't the size, and I haven't
the nerve to take the initiative. Besides, I drink. I get riotously
drunk. I can't help it. I can't depend on myself. But I can help
you, and I will."

The man's earnestness was genuine, and though Sanderson had little
confidence in the other's ability to take a large part in what was to
come, he respected the spirit that had prompted the offer. So he
reached out and took the man's hand.

"Any man that feels as strongly as you do can do a heap--at anything,"
he said. "We'll call it a deal. But you're under my orders."

"Yes," returned Owen, gripping the hand held out to him.

"Will!" came Mary's voice from the kitchen, "supper is ready!"

Owen laughed lowly, dropped Sanderson's hand, and slipped away into the
growing darkness.