Mellin wasted no words.

"It takes time and money to get a charter just now. The less money, the more time; the less time, the more money." He tipped Elijah a knowing wink.

Elijah made no reply and Mellin resumed briskly.

"I've got just what you want. An omnibus charter that'll allow you to do anything from a straight deal to skinning suckers. I had a chance to get it cheap and I'll let you off easy."

"I don't know that I want it." Elijah spoke with deliberation; but his mind was working rapidly.

"Better take it; I can make it worth your while--either way," he added with a cunning leer.

Elijah felt a cold sinking of the heart. His chickens were coming home to roost sooner than he had expected. He recognized the fact that his note to the Las Cruces, secured by his interest in the company, was in the nature of a forced loan, after all; that it would sooner or later compel him to answer some ugly questions to some men in an ugly mood.

The iron-gray face of Seymour rose uppermost in his mind.

"What do you want for your charter?" He steadied his voice with an effort.

"I'm not going to squeeze you, just because I've got you cinched. That isn't T. J. Mellin, Esq. 'Live and let live'; that's my motto; only live well while you're at it. We're a long time dead."

"What do you want for your charter?" Elijah repeated.

"Well," Mellin looked meditatively at the burning end of his cigar which he turned toward himself,--"I'm in need of a little cash just now. A matter of five thousand. One hundred thousand on time, in addition, will do."

"You won't get it. I'm not obliged to take your charter." Elijah's jaws snapped together, his eyes were narrowed to a slit.

"Just as you say, Berl. There are worse places than San Quentin. You and I would be taken care of there, at no expense to ourselves."

The state penitentiary had never seemed a reality to Elijah before. His face paled. Mellin noted the look with evident satisfaction.

"It's nothing to get white over. There's a heap more money near the doors of San Quentin than anywhere else. The closer the doors, the larger the heap. It takes a little more courage to grab it and run, that's all. I've tried it before."

"Will you take the one hundred thousand in stock?"

"That would be easy; too easy for me. No stock, thanks. Five thousand cash, one hundred thousand in a six months, ten per cent note. First mortgage note. I'm prepared to deliver the goods." He drew a large envelope from his pocket, pulled out the charter and held it open before Elijah. "Omnibus goods. A license to pick the gilt k.n.o.bs off'n the doors."

"Suppose I take your offer, what certainty have I that this will end your demands?"

"My word, Berl. 'Honor among, etc.' You know. Besides, the cinch isn't going to last always. You're going to be able to square yourself with the Las Cruces. That'll end me. I could make it unpleasant, but what's the use? Every one goes in sight of the doors sometimes; but it's only fools who get inside. I know."

Elijah rose slowly and went into the house. A little later, he returned and handed some papers to Mellin. They were a note for one hundred thousand dollars and a draft on a San Francis...o...b..nk for five thousand.

In the note was this condition. It would be payable three months after the water should be turned into the main ca.n.a.l of the Las Cruces company.

Mellin read the note.

"I object to the conditional payment. The water may never be turned on."

"Then you are welcome to the land."

Mellin thought a moment.

"There's something in that."

"Everything," returned Elijah abruptly. "The company has nothing to do with this business. They will get the water as soon as possible."

Mellin again looked the papers over.

"Keno. Here's your license. It's worth more; but I told you I would be easy. So long." He shoved the papers into his pocket and started for the waiting wagon.

Elijah listened in a dazed dream to the crunch of the retreating wheels.

He was not thinking of his crime nor of his temporary escape from its penalty. He was thinking of Helen Lonsdale, and of the effect of the knowledge upon her, should this ever come to her.

Mrs. MacGregor reappeared upon the verandah. Elijah handed the charter to her.

"We have six months in which to redeem ourselves." He offered no explanation; she asked none. There was no need. The walls of the house were thin, and moreover the windows were open.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In the transaction with Mellin, there was one thing that cut Elijah more deeply than all others. Mellin had insisted that the mortgage be registered. He was too shrewd to let this pa.s.s by. He had a hold upon Elijah and he had no intention of loosening it without a consideration.

The registration was a public recognition of the fact that Elijah had dealings with Mellin and on a large scale. There was no use in requesting that the transaction be kept in obscurity. The object of registration was publicity, and publicity was not confined to those concerned in knowing; the books were open to inspection by the busiest gossip as well as by the most earnest business man.

For the first time in his life, Elijah was learning the bitter lesson, that even divine guidance does not release the guided from responsibility for his actions. There was bitterness in his heart, the feeling that he had been betrayed.

Ysleta lived on sensations, and it was a dainty morsel, when the news of Elijah's connection with Mellin became known. Yet it had no malice toward Elijah, it simply welcomed him as one of themselves and this was what cut. He could no longer conceal from himself that he had fallen.

The news of course reached Uncle Sid and Winston. Winston was shocked, yet after the first effects had pa.s.sed away, he recognized the fact, that after all, he was not surprised. Absorbed in his field duties, he had put from him for the time his feeling that Elijah was not wholly to be trusted, that for all his vaunted beliefs, he yet lacked the subtle sense of honor that would keep him true to himself and to his fellows.

Winston did not know, nor did Uncle Sid, of the darker stain that was on Elijah's soul.

"Perhaps it ain't as bad as it looks," the old seaman remarked when he had broken the news to Winston.

"Perhaps not," Winston replied, "but I have been in pretty close touch with Elijah since he has been in California, and I know he's sailed close to the wind, mighty close," he added decisively.

Uncle Sid looked thoughtful.

"Where'd he get money to start with?"

Winston waited a long time before replying. He was turning over in his mind the best thing to be done. He felt that he could trust the old man.

"You remember the Pacific failure?"

"I reckon I do, young man. I have cause to. I lost fifteen dollars and sixty-five cents in that failure."

Winston smiled at Uncle Sid's earnestness.

"The Las Cruces lost more than that. An even fifty thousand. At least our books show that."

Uncle Sid started. He looked at Winston with wide-open eyes, every line of his wrinkled face drawn tense.