"
"Him dyin' would make things sure for us," contended Dale. "Mary
Bransford wouldn't have any claim--us havin' proof that she ain't a
Bransford."
"This fellow is no fool," declared Silverthorn. "Suppose he's wise to
us, which he might be, and he has willed the property to the girl.
Where would we be, not being able to prove that he isn't Will
Bransford?"
Dale meditated. Then he made a wry face. "That's right," he finally
admitted. He made a gesture of futility. "I reckon I'll let you do
the plannin' after this."
"All right," said Silverthorn, mollified. "Have you set Morley on
Barney Owen?"
"Owen was goin' right strong a few minutes after this Bransford guy
left him," grinned Dale.
"All right," said Silverthorn, "go ahead the way we planned it. But
don't have our friend killed."
When Sanderson entered the hotel the clerk was alone in the office
pondering over the register.
Dusk had fallen, and the light in the office was rather dim. Through
the archway connecting the office with the saloon came a broad beam of
light from a number of kerosene lamps.
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