"They say these six, with a little toning up in language, a little toning down in cold-blooded murder and exclamatory remarks, would make ideal, cloth-bound books for boys, for Sunday School prizes and junior libraries. They offer me royalties on each if I execute the work for them under my real name."

"Aren't you going to take it on? I really think you should. It would give you a certain amount of literary permanency. I've told you all along that you ought to be doing n.o.bler work in that line than ten-cent 'hair-raisers.'"

"Me? No, thanks! Captain Mayne Plunkett is as dead a deader as Aunt Christina. _Requiescat in pace_."

He waved his hand in dismissal of the subject.

"'On with the dance--let joy be unconfined.'"

"Phil," said Jim seriously, half an hour afterwards, "Royce Pederstone is going to come a terrible cropper over this business. He is mortgaged up to the neck and, singly or with some of the political gang, he is in almost every realty proposition we hear of."

"I know it. I've tried my best to make him see it, but he says if he doesn't have faith in the Valley, who will."

"But this isn't a question of faith;--it is a shortage of money and a tightening up of foreign capital chiefly."

"I've told him. I am worried sick over it. But he refuses to move."

"Let's send him a wire now," suggested Jim.

In five minutes the message in cipher was on the way.

"Definite information banks closing down immediately with loans on realty. Mortgagees not renewing. Advise prompt sale. Wire lowest prices."

The reply came in an hour and a half.

"Think information canard. Sell Remington Ranch eighty thousand dollars, Pedloe Ranch fifty thousand dollars, Bonnington Ranch forty thousand dollars."

Phil and Jim scoured the town, but there were no buyers at the figures, for they were rocket-high.

They wired again, quoting best offers, but no answer came that afternoon.

On the day following, Graham Brenchfield, stout and prosperous-looking as ever, stepped inside the office for the first time, as bold as bra.s.s too.

"Nice day, boys!" he shouted familiarly. "Would like to see you two for a minute."

To Phil's inquiring eyes, he appeared slightly fl.u.s.tered.

"Come in here!" said Jim, beckoning him to the inner office, where Phil followed, closing the door behind him.

"You fellows have a pretty fine lay-out here," the Mayor began, chewing at his cigar.

"Pretty fine!"

"Guess you've got us all skinned now, Phil. Wouldn't like to take me in on that old fifty-fifty proposition?" he inquired sarcastically.

"If you have come in on any funny stuff," answered Phil, rising, "then you'd better get outside. We haven't the time for it."

"Shucks! Don't get sore! I don't want to make you mad to-day. I've had a sc.r.a.p with the bank this morning and I'm going to make them sit up for a while and guess."

"That is quite a big proposition."

"All the better! I hear you folks have lots of money to loan?" he queried.

"Yes!--and what?" put in Jim.

"I wish to borrow some."

"Yes!"

"I'm paying eight percent, with first-cla.s.s security."

"Ugh-huh!"

"I want forty thousand dollars for two years."

"Ay!"

"Can I have it?"

"No!"

Brenchfield looked sidelong at Jim, then at Phil; and back again at Jim.

"Good Lord! You can have the best ranch in the country as security."

"On second mortgage?"

"Sure! Why not? The first mortgage don't amount to a hill of beans.

You could buy it out any old time."

"No, thanks! Not to-day! Man, but you've got your nerve! What do you think we are, anyway?--a charity inst.i.tution?" growled Jim.

Brenchfield flushed, but he swallowed his anger.

"Would the bank loan you on second mortgage?" pursued Jim.

"No!--guess not!"

"Well,--neither will the Langford-Ralston Company."

"I'll give you ten percent."

"Not if you made it twenty percent."

Brenchfield sat in silence for a moment. Suddenly he seemed to make a resolve.

"Will you lend me forty thousand dollars on first mortgage on my Redmans Ranch?"