CHAPTER IX

THE LITTLE MAN TALKS

Mary Bransford spent the first day of Sanderson’s absence in the isolation of the parlor, with the shades drawn, crying.  Her brother had bitterly disappointed her.

He had sent word by one of the men that he was going to Las Vegas to look up the title to the property.  She thought he might at least have brought her the message personally.

Mary told herself that she had not been unduly demonstrative, as Sanderson had intimated by his actions.  She had merely been glad to see him, as any sister would be glad to see a brother whom she had not seen for many years; and she assured herself that if he loved her as she loved him he would not have resented her display of affection.

That affection, though, troubled Mary.  To be sure, she had never had a brother about, to fuss over, and therefore she could not tell just how deeply she should be expected to love the one whom Providence had given her; but she was certain that she did not love him too much.

For Sanderson was worthy of the full measure of any sister’s love.  Big, handsome, vigorous, with a way about him that any woman must admire, Mary felt he deserved all the affection she could bestow.

Her wonder and perplexity came over a contemplation of the quality of that love.  Was it right that she should thrill so delightfully whenever he came near her?  And was it entirely proper for her to feel that queer tingle of delight over the strangeness of it all?

And did that strangeness result from the fact that she had not seen him for years; or was there some truth in Dale’s assertion that she was merely an adopted daughter, and her love for Sanderson not merely the love of a sister for a brother, but the love of a woman for a man?

Had Sanderson taken that view of it?  She thought he had; for she had told him about Dale’s assertion, and his constraint had begun shortly after.

She did not blame him a great deal—­after she had thought it over.  He had done the manly thing, she divined, in not taking advantage of the situation, and she believed she loved him more than ever because of his attitude.  But she felt that she had lost something, and the second day had gone before she succeeded in resigning herself to the new state of affairs.

Nothing happened.  Dale did not come near the ranchhouse.  Mary rode over to the Nyland ranch and had a long talk with Peggy, and Peggy told her that she had not seen Dale.

Ben Nyland had driven the Double A cattle over to their own range, and so far as he was concerned the incident with Dale was closed.  But, Peggy told Mary, Ben was bitterly resentful, and had sworn that if Dale bothered Peggy any more he would kill him.

Mary, however, was not greatly interested in Peggy’s recital.  She sat on a chair in the kitchen of the Nyland cabin, listening to Peggy, but making no replies.  And it was not until she was ready to go that Mary revealed the real reason for her visit—­and then she did not reveal it to Peggy, but to her own heart.