There is only one way to get at him, and that
is in some way to get possession of the title."
"That's tied up tighter than blazes," said Dale. "Record and all are
clear. An' there ain't no judge we can get at. But if young Bransford
hadn't come----"
"Yes," smiled Silverthorn. "It's too bad. We had a man, ready to come
on at the word, to impersonate young Bransford. He would have stayed
here long enough to get a clear title to the Double A, and then he
would have turned it over to us for a consideration. It rather looks
as though we are stumped, eh?"
Dale frowned. Then he got up, went to a drawer in the desk before
which Silverthorn sat, and drew out a letter--the letter young
Bransford had written to his father about a year before.
"We've still got a chance," he told Silverthorn. And then he told the
latter of his suspicions about Sanderson.
Silverthorn's eyes gleamed. "That's possible," he said, "but how are
you going to prove it?"
"There's a way," returned Dale. He went to the door, and shouted the
names of two men, standing in the doorway until they came--the two men
who had accompanied him that morning.
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