"A thousand dollars ain't
a hell of a lot--but I've put men out of business for less!"
Dale knew the man to whom he had written, and he had received a reply,
telling him that the job would be done. And that was why, when
Sanderson had calmly announced that he was Will Bransford, Dale had
been unwilling to believe his statement.
Dale did not believe, now, that the man who had interfered to save
Nyland was Will Bransford. Dale rode slowly homeward, scowling,
inwardly fuming with rage, but unable to form any decided plan of
action.
It was several miles to the Bar D, Dale's ranch, and when he arrived
there he was in an ugly mood. He curtly dismissed the two men who had
accompanied him and went into the house. Opening the door of the room
he used as an office, he saw a medium-sized man of fifty sitting in a
big desk chair, smoking a cigar.
The man smiled at Dale's surprise, but did not offer to get up, merely
extending his right hand, which Dale grasped and shook heartily.
"Dave Silverthorn, or I'm a ghost!" ejaculated Dale, grinning.
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