At that instant a loud voice beyond the door of the room was heard shouting to the men outside--

"Keep a keen eye while I go through the house! Don't let a soul escape. If they've hurt one hair of her head somebody's going to pay, and pay dear."

The millionaire was standing stock still in the middle of the room. A curious look was gleaming in his steady eyes. Hazel, in the midst of her pretended panic, beheld it and interpreted it. She read in it a recognition of the speaker's voice, but she also read incredulity and amazement.

But at that instant the door burst open and a great figure rushed headlong into the room. As the girl beheld it she flung wide her arms and, with a cry, ran towards the intruder.

"Gordon! Gordon! At last, at last!" she cried. "Oh, I thought you would never find me! Never, never!"

Her final exclamations were lost in the bosom of his tweed coat, as she flung herself into his arms and burst into a flood of hysterical weeping and laughter.

"Hazel! My poor little Hazel! Say, I've been nearly crazy. I----"

Gordon broke off, the girl still lying in his arms. His eyes had lifted to the face of his father, and their keen, steady glance became instantly absorbed by the gray speculation behind the other's.

"Dad! You?"

The astonishment, the incredulity were perfect. They might well have deceived anybody.

"Sure," said the millionaire dryly. Then, "I don't guess they've hurt her any, though. Maybe you best hand her over to her father," he went on, pointing at the burly figure of Silas Mallinsbee, who, with his patch well down over his eye, had appeared at that moment in the doorway. "Guess he'll know how to soothe her some. Meanwhile you'll maybe tell me how you lit on our trail."

The man's smile was disarming, yet Gordon fancied he detected a shadow of that lurking irony which he knew so well in his father.

He turned about, however, and passed Hazel over to the rancher, while he added tender injunctions--

"Say, Mr. Mallinsbee, she's scared all to death. You best get her to bed. Poor little girl! Say, I'd like----"

But he did not complete his sentence. Instead he turned to his father, as Hazel, with difficulty restraining her laughter, was led from the room by her solemn-faced, fierce-eyed parent.

"Say, Dad, what in the name of all creation has brought you here?"

The millionaire turned, and a cold eye of hatred settled upon the background which Hip-Lee formed to the picture.

"Do we need that yellow reptile present?" he said unemotionally.

"I guess not," said Gordon readily. Then he pointed the door to the Mongolian. "Get!" he ejaculated. And the injunction was acted upon with silent alacrity.

Then the two men faced each other.

"Well?" demanded the father.

The son smiled amiably.

"Well?" he retorted. And both men sat down.

CHAPTER XXVI

CASHING IN

Gordon's eyes were alight with a wonder that somehow lacked reality as he dropped into the chair beside the table.

"You? You?" he murmured. Then aloud: "It--it's incredible!" Then, with an impulsive gesture. "In the name of all that's crazy what's--what's the meaning of it? How in the world have you got into the hands of these ruffians?"

His father selected one of the two remaining cigars in his case, and passed the other across.

"Try again," he said quietly, as he bit the end off his.

But Gordon did not "try again." He took the proffered cigar, and sat devouring the silent figure and sphinx-like face of the other, while he felt like one who had received a douche of ice-cold water from a pail.

His acting had missed fire, and he knew it. He wondered how much else of his efforts had missed fire with this abnormally acute man. He had intended this to be the moment of his triumph. He had intended to lay before his father his talent of silver, doubled and redoubled an hundredfold. He had intended, with all the enthusiasm of youthful vanity, to display the triumph of his understanding of the modern methods of dealing with the affairs of finance. He was going to prove his theories up to the hilt.

Now, somehow, he felt that whatever victory he had achieved the clear, keen brain behind his father's steady gray eyes saw through him completely, right down into the deepest secrets which he had believed to be securely hidden. Face to face with this man, who had spent all the long years of his life studying how best to beat his fellow man, his acting became but a paltry mask which obscured nothing. "Try again." Such simple words, but so significant. No, it was useless to "try again" with this dear, shrewd creature he was so futilely endeavoring to deceive.

The cold of the gray eyes had changed. It was only a slight change, but to Gordon, who understood his father so well, it was clearly perceptible and indicative of the mood behind. There was a suggestion of a smile in them, an ironical, half-humorous smile that scattered all his carefully made plans.

The millionaire struck a match and held it out to light his son's cigar, and, as Gordon leaned forward, their eyes met in a steady regard.

"Nothing doing?" inquired the father, as he carefully lit his own cigar from the same match.

Gordon shook his head, and his eyes smiled whimsically.

"Then I best do first talk." The millionaire leaned back in his chair and breathed out a thin spiral of smoke. Then he sighed. "Good smokes these. Mallinsbee's a man of taste."

"Mallinsbee?"

"Sure."

"Go on."

"He's kept me well supplied. Also with good wine. I owe him quite a debt--that way. Say----" The millionaire paused reflectively. Then he went on in the manner of a man who has arrived at a complete and definite decision: "Guess it would take hours asking questions and getting answers. It's not my way, and I don't guess I'm a lawyer anyway, and you aren't a shady witness. We know just how to talk out straight. I've had over seven weeks to think in--and thinking with me is--a disease. Let's go back. I had a neat land scoop working up here. Slosson was working it. He's been a secret agent of mine for years. I've no reason to distrust him. He fixes things right for us and sends word for me to come along. That's happened many times before. It's not new, or--unusual. When I get here I'm met by a very charming young girl with a rig and team. Her excuse for meeting me is reasonable. The rest is easy. We are both held up, and brought here--captives. Then I start in to think a lot. Argument don't carry me more than a mile till that same charming girl, who's just done all she knew to make things right for me, makes her first break. When I found out she was the daughter of Mallinsbee I did all the thinking needed in half an hour. I knew I was to be rolled on this land deal by Mallinsbee's crowd, and, judging by the methods adopted, to be rolled good. You see we'd had negotiations with Mallinsbee about his land at Buffalo Point before. See?"

Gordon silently nodded.

His father breathed heavily, and, with a wry twist of his lips, rolled his cigar firmly into the corner of his mouth.

"Now, when I'd done thinking it just left me guessing in two directions. One of 'em I answered more or less satisfactorily. This was the one I answered. What had become of Slosson? Had he been handled by these folk, or had he doubled? The latter I counted out.

I've always had him where I wanted him. He wouldn't dare. So I said he'd been 'handled.' The other was how could they hope to deal with the Union Grayling without my authority? That's still unanswered, though I see a gleam of daylight--since meeting you here. However, Gordon boy, you've certainly given me the surprise of my life--finding you associated with Mallinsbee--and taken to play-acting. That was a pretty piece outside with guns. I allow it got me fine. But you overdid it showing in here. That also told me another thing. It told me that a feller can spend a lifetime making a bright man of himself, while it only takes a pretty gal five seconds yanking out one of the key-stones to the edifice he's built. I guess I've been mighty sorry for your lady friend. I guessed she was pining to death for her folks, and was scared to death of that darnation Chink. However, I'm relieved to find she's just a bunch of bright wits, and don't lack in natural female ability for play-acting. Maybe you can hand me some about those directions I'm still guessing in. I'll smoke while you say some."

Father and son smiled into each other's faces as the elder finished speaking. But while Gordon's smile was one of genuine admiration, his father's still savored of that irony which warned the younger that all was by no means plain sailing yet.

"I'm glad you feel that way about Hazel, Dad," cried Gordon, his face flushing with genuine pleasure. "She's some girl. I guess I'm the luckiest feller alive winning her for a wife, eh?"

"You're going to--marry her?"

"Why, yes. She's the greatest, the best, the----"

"Just so. But we're not both going to marry her."