"I am hereby returning to Deal Sanderson the seven thousand two hundred dollars I stole from, him," directed Sanderson. "I am doing this of my own accord—no one is forcin' me," went on Sanderson. "I want to add that I hereby swear that the charge of drawin' a gun on Silverthorn was a frame-up, me an' Silverthorn an' Maison bein' the guilty parties," finished Sanderson.
"Now," he added, when Dale had written as directed, "sign it."
Dale signed and stood up, his face aflame with rage.
"I'll take the money—now," said Sanderson.
Dale produced it from various pockets, laying it on the table. He said nothing. Mary Bransford stood a little distance away, watching silently.
"Count it, Miss Bransford," said Sanderson when Dale had disgorged the money.
The two men stood silent as the girl fingered the bills. At last she looked at Sanderson and nodded.
The latter grinned. "Everything's regular, now," he said. He looked at Mary. "Do you want him killed, ma'am? He'd be a lot better off dead. You'd be better off, too. This kind of a skunk is always around, botherin' women—when there ain't no men around."
Mary shook her head with a decisive negative.
"Then he won't die, right now," said Sanderson. "He'll pull his freight away from the Double A, though, ma 'am. An' he'll never come back."