She gave him gladly of her slender h.o.a.rd and that night Bob McGraw went up to San Francisco. Two days later he returned, stopping off at Bakersfield, and the following morning he returned to San Pasqual.

He went at once to the post-office, and after receiving permission from Miss Pickett, screwed into the wall of the post-office lobby what appeared to Miss Pickett to be two pictures, framed. When he had left, she came out of her sanctum and discovered that one of the frames contained a certified copy of a marriage license issued to Robert McGraw and Donna Corblay on October 17th,----, together with a neat typewritten statement of the reasons why interested parties had not been able to discover the record of the issuance of the license at the county seat.

It appeared that the minister who had performed the ceremony, after forwarding the license to the State Board of Health for registration, had neglected to return it thereafter to the two most interested parties, which, coupled with Mrs. McGraw's ignorance of the procedure to be followed under the circ.u.mstances, had resulted in more or less embarra.s.sment.

The other frame contained a typewritten invitation to the public to earn five hundred dollars by convicting the undersigned of stage robbery. The "undersigned" was Robert McGraw, who would remain in San Pasqual all day long and would be delighted to answer questions.

From the post-office Bob went to the public telephone station and called up T. Morgan Carey in Los Angeles. He requested an interview at ten o'clock the following morning for the purpose of adjusting a compromise with him.

Needless to state, Mr. T. Morgan Carey granted the request with cheerful alacrity.

"I'm coming to do business" Bob warned him. "No third parties around--understand!"

"Certainly, certainly" responded Carey. "And in order to save time, Mr.

McGraw, I'll have the a.s.signment of your water right made out, ready for your signature. I'll have a notary within hailing distance."

Bob could hear him chuckling as he hung up, for to Carey the thought of his revenge on the man who had cuffed him in the State Land Office was very sweet, indeed. His amiable smile had not yet worn off when his office boy ushered Bob McGraw into his private office at ten o'clock next morning. He waved Bob to a chair and looked him over curiously.

"Been too busy lately to dress up, eh?" he queried, as he noted Bob's corduroy trousers tucked into his miner's boots.

"Pretty busy" a.s.sented Bob, and smiled.

"Rather spectacular removal--that of our friend Hennage" Carey continued. "From what I learn he was a little slow on the draw."

"O'Rourke beat him to it."

"If I may judge by the single exhibition of your proficiency with a gun which I was privileged to observe, Mr. McGraw, the issue would have been different had you been in Hennage's boots."

"Possibly. But I didn't come here to gossip with you, Carey. I don't like you well enough for that. I want to finish my business and get back to San Pasqual to-night."

"Certainly, certainly. But you're such an extraordinary young man, McGraw, that in spite of our former differences I must own to a desire to know more about you. I could use a man with your brains and ability, McGraw. You're the kind of a fellow I've been looking for--for a great many years, in fact. If you think you could manage to divorce yourself from your ambitions to supersede me in the State Land Office, I could afford to pay you a fat salary to attend to my land matters. I would have to be the boss, however. It has been a rule of my life, McGraw, to gather about me men with more brains than I possess myself. That is the secret of my--er--rather modest success."

Bob smiled. "No use" he answered. "I couldn't wear your collar, Carey. I Ve been a white man all my life and I'm too old to change."

"It's a pity" Carey replied with genuine sincerity. "I can see remarkable possibilities in you, McGraw. I can, indeed. It's a shame to see you waste your opportunities."

"Play ball" commanded Bob sharply.

"Very well, since you desire it. In the matter of those applications for fifty sections of Owens Valley: you have received a notification from the Registrar of the State Land Office, advising you to call and pay thirty-nine thousand dollars. You cannot pay it; neither can your clients. What are you going to do about it?"

Bob shrugged. "_Quien sabe?_" he said.

"Well, Mr. McGraw, I'll tell you. Your applications are going to lapse through non-payment, and I'm going to get the land. So enough of that.

You own a valuable water right. I'm going to get that also. Do you wish me to explain why?"

"No, it is not necessary. I think I follow your line of reasoning."

"I am not disappointed in my estimate of your common sense" Carey retorted, and favored his visitor with a cold, quizzical smile. "Here is the a.s.signment of that water right to me. In return I will give you--let me see. I will give you just fifteen hundred dollars for that water right, McGraw, and I am surprised at myself for exhibiting such generosity. And inasmuch as you collected that sum in advance last autumn at Garlock, your signature to the a.s.signment, before a notary who is waiting in the next room, is all that we require to terminate this interview."

"But I told you I came here to compromise."

"I understand fully. Those are my terms. Your water right on Cottonwood lake in return for your freedom. Stage-robbers cannot be choosers, Mr.

McGraw. I recognized you that day at Garlock and I am prepared to so testify."

The land-grabber rose from his swivel chair. His polished suave manner had disappeared now and his cold eyes flashed with anger and hatred.

"I haven't forgotten that day in the State Land Office, McGraw. A slight pressure on this b.u.t.ton"--he placed his manicured finger on an ivory push b.u.t.ton--"and two plain-clothes men in my outer office will attend to your case, McGraw."

"So those are your final terms, Carey?"

"Absolutely."

Bob crossed his right leg over his left knee, pulled out a five-cent cigar and thoughtfully bit off the end.

"Press the b.u.t.ton, old man" he murmured presently. "Confound this cigar, I've busted the blamed wrapper. Got another cigar handy, Carey? Thanks.

By George, that's a two-bitter, isn't it? Well, it's none too good for the last of the McGraw family. I'll be in the two-bit cla.s.s; myself in half an hour. But proceed, Carey. Press the b.u.t.ton and call in your plain-clothes men."

He pulled back the lapel of his coat, and the land-grabber saw the b.u.t.t of a gun nestling under his left arm. From his inner coat pocket Bob drew a cylindrical roll of paper about eight inches long.

Carey eyed him scornfully. "This is the city of Los Angeles, my friend, not the open desert at Garlock. A gunplay would be most ill-advised, I a.s.sure you."

"Oh, that's just part of my wardrobe" Bob retorted. "I wouldn't think of using that on a man unless he was real dangerous--and men like you are beneath my notice. Come now, Carey. Which is it to be? Compromise or the penitentiary?"

"Certainly not compromise--on any terms but mine."

"Well, press the b.u.t.ton and call them in--_Boston!_"

Carey whirled in his chair, jerked open a drawer in his desk and reached his hand inside. Before he could withdraw it Bob McGraw's big automatic was covering him.

"Take your hand out of that drawer--_Boston._ Out, you dog, or I'll drill you!"

Carey's hand came out of the drawer slowly, very slowly, grasping a small pearl-handled revolver.

"This is the city of Los Angeles, my friend, and not the open desert.

A gun-play would be most ill-advised, I a.s.sure you" Bob mocked the land-grabber. "You'd better let me have that pop-gun."

He gently removed the little weapon from Carey's trembling hand.

"Now, go over in that corner and sit down--no, not on the floor. Take a chair with you. I'll occupy the a.r.s.enal. You might have all kinds of push b.u.t.tons, burglar alarms and deadly weapons around this desk."

He ran his hands lightly over Carey's person in search of weapons, shoved him into the corner indicated, then turned and snapped the spring lock on the door leading out to the general office; after which he laid his gun on Carey's desk, sat down in Carey's swivel chair, tilted himself back and lifted his hob-nailed miner's boots to the top of Carey's rosewood table close by. And as he gazed, almost sorrowfully, at the land-grabber, he puffed enjoyably at Carey's cigar. Evidently he foresaw a lengthy argument and meant to make himself comfortable before proceeding.

"Well, now, Boston, since we have definitely located you as the murderer of Oliver Corblay in the Colorado desert on the night of May 17th, 188-, I'll give you five minutes to get your nerve back and then we'll get down to business. You will recall that I came here to compromise."

He reached over and placed a brown calloused finger on the push b.u.t.ton, and waited.

"Well" he said presently, "what's the answer!"

"Compromise" Carey managed to articulate. Bob removed his finger.