Sanderson's application had earned him the reputation of being
"reliable" and "trustworthy"--two terms that, in the lexicon of the
cow-country, were descriptive of virtues not at all common. In
Sanderson's case they were deserved--more, to them might have been
added another, "straight."
Sanderson's trip northeastward had resulted partly from a desire to
escape the monotony of old scenes and familiar faces; and partly
because one day while in "town" he had listened attentively to a desert
nomad, or "drifter," who had told a tale of a country where water was
to be the magic which would open the gates of fortune to the eager and
serious-minded.
"That country's goin' to blossom!" declared the Drifter. "An' the guy
which gets in on the ground floor is goin' to make a clean-up! They's
a range there--the Double A--which is right in the middle of things. A
guy named Bransford owns her--an' Bransford's on his last legs. He's
due to pass out _pronto_, or I'm a gopher! He's got a daughter
there--Mary--which is a pippin, an' no mistake! But she's sure got a
job on her hands, if the ol' man croaks.
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