The Long Chance

by Peter B. Kyne

  CHAPTER IX

  Bob McGraw threw back his red head and chuckled. "A bright idea,sweetheart," he repeated, "and if it works out and I am enabled to filefirst, the problem of getting back to the desert will be a minor one.The real problem is the acquisition of four or five thousand dollarsto drive my tunnel, and after that I must scrape together thirty-ninethousand dollars to advance to my poor Pagans, in order that they maypay for the land on which I shall have induced them to file. In themeantime I do not anticipate any diminution in the appetites of myselfand Friar Tuck.

  "Well, after I have my tunnel driven and the head-gates in and my Paganshave the land, I have only started. The land must be cleared of sage andgreasewood, which in turn must be piled and burned. Then I must buildseveral miles of concrete aqueduct, with laterals to carry the water forirrigation, and I must install a hydro-electric power-plant, purchasetelegraph poles, string power lines, build roads, houses, barns andfences. I think I shall even have to build one hundred and fifty milesof railroad into Donnaville and equip it with rolling stock."

  He thrust both arms out, as if delving into the treasures of his future."Whew-w-w!" he sighed. "I'll need oodles of money. I'm going to be asbusy as a woodpecker in the acorn season."

  Donna drew his arm within hers and they walked slowly--up and down thebrick-lined patio.

  "It means a fight to the finish, Bobby dear--and you're terriblyhandicapped. If your suspicions are well founded you will find yourselfopposed by men with the power of wealth and political influence behindthem."

  His whimsical exalted mood passed. In the presence of the girl he lovedand whom he hoped to marry he suddenly realized that he stood faceto face with a gigantic sacrifice. To carry through to a conclusion,successful or unsuccessful, this great work to which he had set his handmeant that until the finish came he must renounce his hope of marriagewith Donna. True, he might win--but it would take years to demonstratethat victory was even in sight; if he lost, he felt that he couldnever have the heart to ask her to share with him his poverty and hisfailures.

  An intuitive understanding of his thoughts came to Donna at that moment;she realized that under that gay, careless exterior there beat thegreat warm heart of a man and a master, on whom, for all his youth andstrength and optimism, a great load of care was already resting--thedestiny of his people. She realized that he needed help; she thoughtof her insignificant savings (some six hundred dollars) reposing inthe strong-box of the eating-house safe, and the first impulse of hergenerous heart was to offer him these hard-earned dollars. In the taskthat Bob McGraw had set himself, moral support was a kindly thing tooffer, but dollars were the things that counted!

  However, to offer him financial aid now, no matter how badly he requiredmoney, would not avail. The dictates of his manhood would not permithim to accept, and until God and man had given her the right to make theoffer she must remain silent.

  "I can wait here until you're ready to come for me, Bob," she saidbravely. "It's a big task--a man's work--that you're going to do, andwin or lose, I want you to fight the good fight. I know the kind of manI want to marry. If he starts anything that's big and noble and worthyof him, I want him to finish it--if he wants to marry me. Success orfailure counts but little with men like you; it is only the fightthat matters, and there are some defeats that are more glorious thanvictories. Remember that little jingle, dearie:

  The harder you're hit, the higher you bounce, Be proud of your blackened eye. It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts, But how did you fight--and why?"

  "You quoted your Pagan's Litany to me to-night, sweetheart. I wantyou to be true to it. I don't know a thing about desert land laws andriparian rights, but I do know that if you sold your Pagans into bondagefor money to marry me, I'd be ashamed of you--and disappointed. Don'tlet your love for me weaken your defenses, Bob. If you win I want tolive with you in Donnaville, but if you lose--I want you to make me apromise, Bob."

  "You wonderful woman! What is it--you wonderful, wonderful woman?"

  "I'm asking for a promise, dear."

  "I'll grant it."

  "If you lose, you'll come to me and we'll be married despite defeat andfailure, and you'll live here, with me--at the Hat Ranch until--"

  "Oh, Donnie, girl, I couldn't do that!"

  "I understand your point of view. Perhaps you think me bold--orunconventional. But a woman has certain rights, Bob. She should be giventhe right to outline her own ideas of happiness, regardless of traditionand ancient usage, provided she conforms to all of the law, legal andmoral. If you go forth to battle and they slaughter you, I claim theright to pick up your poor battered old heart and give it the onlycomfort--I mean, if I have to wait, I love you enough to work withyou--and for you--when further waiting is useless--"

  She pressed her face against his great breast and commenced to cry.

  "I have never been really happy until you came" she sobbed. "We'reyoung, Bob--and I do not want to wait--for happiness--until the capacityfor it--is gone."

  He patted the beautiful head, soothing her with tender words, and it wascharacteristic of the man that in that instant he made his decision.

  "Within six weeks I shall know how long the fight is to last, Donna.If I can put through a scheme which I have evolved to secure that landwithout recourse to the desert land laws--if I can get my applicationsfiled first in the State Land Office--I shall have won the first battleof the war. If I fail to do this I shall have lost the land, and withoutfurther ado I shall sell my water-right to the best possible advantage.The enemy may conclude to pay me a reasonable price for it, ratherthan declare war and delay the development of their land. The powerpossibilities of my water-right are tremendous and I think I can force agood price, for I can poke away at my tunnel and by doing the assessmentwork I can keep my title alive for a few years. Of course, in theevent that I should, after the lapse of years, be financially unable todevelop my water-right, or interest others in it, I should lose it andthey would grab it, no doubt. But they will buy me out, I think, ratherthan brook delay."

  She raised her face, transfigured through the tears.

  "Then, win or lose--"

  "Win or lose, if you desire it and I can scrape together the price of amarriage license, we'll be married in six weeks.

  "I'm so tired of the desert, dear. I'm lonely."

  "A little like Br'er B'ar, eh, darling! You want to see the other sideof the mountain." He pressed her to him lovingly. "Of course" (withmasculine inconsistency Bob was beginning to equivocate) "I may not beable to sell my water-right and the enemy may elect to play a waitinggame and starve me out. In that case, it would not be fair to you toburden you with a husband whose sole assets are his dreams and hishopes."

  "That makes no difference" she exclaimed passionately. "We're young.We'll fight the rest of the battle together."

  "Well, there's strength in numbers, at any rate, beloved. You're mymascot and I'm bound to win." He placed his left hand under her chinand tilted her face upward. He was stooping to seal their compact witha true lover's kiss, when the sound of footsteps startled them. Bothturned guiltily, to confront Mr. Harley P. Hennage.

  "Hah-hah," puffed Mr. Hennage, "at it again, eh?" He stood at the cornerof the house, with his three gold teeth flashing in the moonlight.

  "Kill-joy!" hissed Bob McGraw. "His Royal Highness, Kill-joy theThirteenth!"

  Harley P. shook a fat forefinger at the lovers. "If I was a youngfeller, Bob McGraw--"

  "Mr. Hennage, you're an old snooper, that's what you are!" cried Donna."You're all the time snooping."

  "Explain this unwarranted intrusion, Harley P. Hennage" Bob demanded, ashe advanced with outstretched hand to greet the gambler. "I'll have youknow that in approaching this ranch hereafter, you will be required tohalt at the front gate and whistle, cough, stamp your feet, yell or firesix shots from a Colts revolver--"

  "You mean a presidential salute o' twenty-one twelve-inch guns" retortedHarley P. "I ain't no snooper. I've wore co
rns on my hands a-bangin'that there iron gate to announce my approach, an' it wasn't no use; so Ijust made up my mind you was ready to receive me an' I come ramblin' in.Donnie, you know I ain't one o' the presumin' kind."

  He held out a hand to Bob and another to Donna. "How?" he queried, andmade swift appraisal of Bob McGraw from heels to hair. "You've filledout a whole lot since the last time I seen you standin' up. How'stricks?"

  "Great. I'll be out in a day or two."

  The gambler nodded his approval of this cheerful news. Donna broughtout another chair and the trio sat in the secluded patio and talkedgeneralities for ten minutes. Donna knew that Mr. Hennage must have somereason for calling other than a mere desire to pay his respects to Bob,and presently he unbosomed himself.

  "Our mutual friend, Miss Pickett, has a notice pasted up on the wall o'the post-office, advertisin' a registered letter for one Robert McGraw."The gambler tittered foolishly. "Ain't a soul can tell Miss Pickettwho the feller is or where he's at, except me an' Doc Taylor an' MissDonna--an' we're all swore to secrecy, so I come down to scheme out away to bell the cat--meanin' Miss Pickett" he added, apparently as anafterthought.

  "A letter for me?" Bob was surprised. "Why, it's years since I havereceived a letter. I wonder who could know that I might be found in SanPasqual I didn't tell anybody I was headed this way, and as a matter offact I hadn't intended staying here beyond that first night."

  "Well, there's a letter there all right," reiterated Mr. Hennage, "an'if I was called on to give a guess who sent it I'd bet a stack o'blue chips I could hit the bull's eye first shot. A dry, purse-proudaristocrat, with gray chin whiskers an' a pair o' bespectacled bluelamps that'd charm a Gila monster, they're that shiny, lined up at theSilver Dollar bar the other day an' bought a drink for himself. Yes, hedrank alone--which goes to prove that men with money ain't always gotthe best manners in the world. Well, after stowin' away his little jolt,he comes fussin' around among the boys, askin' which one of 'em is Mr.Robert McGraw. Of course he didn't get no information, an' wouldn't'a got it if the boys had it. So he goes down to see Miss Pickett, an'bimeby me an' him meets up in front o' the eatin' house, an' he up an'asked me if I could tell him who owns that little roan cayuse kickin' uphis heels over in the feed corral.

  "Of course, I seen right off that Miss Pickett had her suspicions an'had sicked this stranger onto me; so when he informed me that he'd beentold I knew the name o' the little hoss' owner, I told him I did--thatthe little roan hoss belonged to a Mexican friend o' mine by the name o'Enrique Maria Jose Sanchez Flavio Domingo Miramontes.

  "He give me a sour look at that. 'Well, that don't correspond none withthe initials on the saddle' he says.

  "'Shucks,' I says,'that don't signify nothin'. Mexicans is the biggesthoss thieves living besides, I ain't feelin' disputatious to-night, soI'll just close up my game an' go get my scoffin's.'

  "'But I must find this man' he says, 'It means a great deal to him--an'me.'

  "'What do you call a great deal?'

  "'Money' he says.

  "I says: 'See here, pardner, don't you go givin' no money to no Mexican,because he'll only gamble it away on three-card monte.'

  "'I don't mean your Mexican friend,' he says, like a snappin' turtle,'I'm after a man named Robert McGraw.'

  "'Oh,' I says, 'you mean that red-headed outlaw from up country? WhyI didn't know he was wanted. What's it this time? He ain't got himselfmixed up in more trouble, has he?'

  "'I prefer to refrain from discussin' the details,' says this wealthygent, 'with a perfect stranger.'

  "'Oh, very well' I says. 'I didn't seek this interview, but when youmentioned the hoss I could tell by the look in your eye that McGraw'sbeen robbin' you o' somethin'. Well, you might own that hoss, but you'vegot to prove property. McGraw sold the hoss to Enrique an' lit out forBakersfield, an' I won the hoss from Enrique at faro. I been keepin' himin the corral in order to give the Mexican a chance to buy him back. ButMcGraw's not in town. He won't be here for a week or two yet.'

  "'Thank you, my man,' says he, an' pulls a card, just about the time Iwas gettin' ready to pull his nose. 'If you should see Mr. McGraw,you might be good enough, to tell him he can learn of somethin' to hisadvantage by communicatin' with me right away.'

  "'Well, my man,' I says, 'I do hope it's an alibi,' an' I took the cardan' he went back to Miss Pickett. I want to tell you, children, that anytime Miss Molly thinks she can spring a secret out o' me she's got to gosome."

  Mr. Hennage chuckled, produced a white square of cardboard and handed itto Bob. Donna, leaning over his shoulder, read:

  MR. T. MORGAN CAREY PRESIDENT INYO LAND & IRRIGATION COMPANY, 414-422SOUTHERN TRUST BUILDING, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  "I've heard of that fellow before," mused Bob, "and it strikes me hisname is associated with some unpleasant memory, but I can't recall justwhat it is. However, I can hazard a good guess as to what he desiresto see me about. I'm glad you didn't tell him where I might be found,Hennage. It was thoughtful of you. I do not care to meet T. MorganCarey--yet."

  "Well," said Mr. Hennage, "he's a smart man an' smells o' ready money.However, I wasn't goin' to give him no information until I'd talkedwith you first, although my main idea was to throw Miss Pickett off thescent. I'm goin' up to Bakersfield to-night, Bob, and just to keep upappearances, you give me an order for that registered letter, datin'the order from Bakersfield, to-morrow, an' I'll mail that order fromBakersfield to myself in San Pasqual. Then to-morrow night when I getback I'll go to the post-office for my mail. I ain't had a letter cometo me in ten years. Miss Pickett'll give me the letter, I'll open itright in front o' her an' flash the order for the registered letter, an'the old gossip'll be annoyed to death to think she's lost the trail."

  When presently Bob went into the house to write the desired order forHarley P., Donna and the gambler were left alone for a few minutes.Instantly Mr. Hennage became serious.

  "Looky here. Miss Donnie," he said, "Bob McGraw's free, white an'twenty-one an' he can play his own hand. I ain't one of the presumin'kind an' I hate to tell any man his own business, but if twenty yearso' gamblin' an' meetin' all kinds an' conditions o' men ain't made meas fly as a road-runner, then that there artesian well is spoutin' mintjuleps. Say, Miss Donnie, if ever I see a cold-blooded, fishy, snaky,ornery man, it's this T. Morgan Carey--an' at that he's a dead ringerfor a church deacon. That Carey man would steal a hot stove withoutburnin' himself. Now, this young Bob is an impulsive cuss, an' if hehas any dealin's of a money nature with this sweet-scented porch-climberthat's on his trail, you take a tip from Harley P. Hennage, Miss Donnie,an' act as lookout on Bob's game. Miss Donnie, I can tell a crook inthe dark. Let a crook try to buck my game an' I have him spotted in aminute. I just _feel_ 'em."

  "Thank you, Mr. Hennage. I have great faith in your judgment."

  "Well, generally speakin', I call the turn, if I do say so myself."

  He sat there, his bow-legs spread apart, his hands folded across hisample abdomen, staring thoughtfully at the little white cross down atthe end of the garden.

  "You're a heap like your mother" he said presently, and sighed.

  When Bob returned with the order for the registered letter, Mr. Hennagetucked it carefully in his side coat pocket; then from his rear hippocket he produced Bob McGraw's automatic gun.

  "I took charge o' this the night o' the mix-up" he explained as hereturned it. He looked hard at Bob. "When you're ready to toddle about"he added, with a lightning wink and a slight movement of his fat thumband forefinger, as if counting a stack of imaginary bills, "send SamSinger up to let me know. _Comprende, amigo?"_

  Bob smiled at this sinful philanthropist. "Not necessary, old man--ifyou'll drop in at the Kern County Bank and Trust Company in Bakersfieldto-morrow and get me a check-book. I have owed you fifty for three yearsand I'd like to square up."

  "Sure you ain't bluffin' on no pair?"

  "Thank you, Harley. I have a small stake."

  "Well, holler when you're hit." He
waved his hand and departed with a"_Buenas noches,_ children."

  Scarcely had the gate slammed behind him when Bob turned to Donna withbeaming face.

  "They're after my water-right, sweetheart--they're after it already!"His exultant laugh rang through the patio, "I knew I was treading onsomebody's toes when I filed on that water, Donna. By George, I mustinvestigate T. Morgan Carey and ascertain the kind of man I have tofight."

  "He came here looking for you a week after you arrived. Doesn't thatseem strange? How did he discover you had a water-right, investigate it,ascertain its value and then, come seeking you, all in the course of oneweek?"

  "That is very easily explained, Donna. It merely verifies my suspicionsthat there is a ring of land-grabbers operating in this state, whichring controls some official of the State Land Office and keeps on itspay-roll an employee in every United States land office in California.The moment I filed on that water, T. Morgan Carey was notified by histool in the State Land Office that Robert McGraw (I gave my address asIndependence, Inyo county) had filed on one hundred thousand miners'inches of water for power and irrigation. Now, there isn't that muchnon-alkaline water available anywhere in the valley--at least underthe control of one man or one corporation, and of course it frightenedCarey. He wired his field engineer, who was probably in Inyo county atthe time, to investigate. The engineer found my location notices tackedto a cottonwood tree right where I'm going to drive my tunnel, and heimmediately reported to Carey that the location was very valuable. Alsohe wired my name and general description and probably stated that thelast seen of me I was headed south for the railroad on a roan bronco.They've traced me by my horse to San Pasqual, and now they're trying tofind me with a registered letter; very probably acting under the adviceof Miss Pickett, who, apparently, is an elderly bird and not to becaught with Harley P. Hennage's chaff.

  "It's absurdly simple, dear. They want my water, for they must eliminatecompetition, and they want to tie me up before I have an opportunity tosell to somebody who realizes the value of my holdings. Up Inyo way theyknow me for a range rider, a desert rat, a ne'er-do-well, and it may bethey are under the impression that I am like most of my kind--that I canbe mesmerized by the sight of four or five thousand dollars."

  "Harley P. will give me your letter to-morrow night and I'll bringit home with me. We'll know definitely, then, what to expect. In themeantime, Bob, I think you've dreamed enough for one night. You've beenup all day and you've talked and it's time you went to bed."

  "'Talk'" he echoed, "talk! That's what. I've been talking--talk. Butwhen I clash with T. Morgan Carey's company I'll talk--turkey. If you'llkiss me good-night, Donna, I think I can manage to last until morning."

  Late the following afternoon Harley P. Hennage returned from Bakersfieldand at once went to the post-office and secured Bob's registered letter.He brought it over to Donna at the eating-house, delivering with it apantomime of the inquisitive Miss Pickett when she discovered that theorder for delivery of the registered letter to the gambler was dated andmailed from Bakersfield.

  At dinner Bob read the letter and silently handed it over to Donna.It was from T. Morgan Carey. On behalf of the Inyo Land & IrrigationCompany Carey requested the favor of an interview at an early date totake up with Bob the matter of purchasing his newly acquired water-righton Cottonwood lake, or submitting a proposition for consolidation with,certain rights held by his company. He begged for an early reply.

  "Will you reply to his letter?" Donna queried.

  "Yes. I shall write him that my location is not for sale."

  "Then write it from Bakersfield" Donna suggested. "Harley P.'sreputation is bad enough, but you mustn't convict him of lying."

  Three days later Bob's strength had so far returned that Doc Taylor toldhim he might leave San Pasqual whenever he pleased. Bob realized that alonger stay at the Hat Ranch, while inviting enough, would neverthelessprove expensive, by reason of the retention of his nurse, for Donnacould not continue to entertain him unchaperoned, even in such afree-and-easy town as San Pasqual, and he was fearful that a longerstay, even under the prevailing conditions, might prove embarrassing toDonna, in case interest in his affairs should revive; hence he announcedhis determination of going up to San Francisco to recuperate andcomplete his plans for the acquisition of thirty-two thousand acres ofthe public domain in the desert of Owens river valley.

  Donna did not endeavor to dissuade him. She realized that a longer staywas impossible, much as both desired it, and Bob had his work to do andnot a great deal of time in which to do it. Accordingly Bob issued acheck to Doc Taylor that evening in payment of his fee, dismissed hisnurse and paid her off, and left with Donna another check, to becashed by Harley P. Hennage and the proceeds applied to the care andmaintenance of Friar Tuck until Bob's return to San Pasqual.

  During the afternoon Bob dispatched Sam Singer to Harley P. Hennage witha request for a shaving outfit, a shirt, underwear, a necktie and a newsuit of khaki. Armed with information respecting the physical dimensionsof Mr. McGraw, the gambler had attended to Bob's shopping, and uponDonna's return to the Hat Ranch that night she discovered that duringher absence a transformation had taken place. Bob was arrayed in hisnew habiliments, and paraded up and down the patio for the inspection ofDonna and the nurse.

  "Well, Donna" he called to her, "how do I look? Presentable? I know I'mfeeling clean and respectable again, at any rate, and I've asked SamSinger to bury that ruin of rags I wore into town."

  "Your gun hangs below the tail of your khaki coat."

  "Then I'll tuck it up under my arm."

  Donna helped him remove the coat, after which he buckled the belt overhis right shoulder, permitting the gun to hang securely in the holsterunder his left arm.

  "Now, I don't look so confoundedly woolly and western" he said. "I dohate to go about looking like the hero of a dime novel. I suppose ifa tourist saw that gun hanging down he'd think I was bloodthirsty. Itwould never occur to him that a gun comes in handy in the wilderness."

  "Why not leave it here until your return?"

  Bob grinned. "It's a good gun, Donna. I might be able to pawn it forenough to help out on my return trip. Of course I have a watch, but itshockable value is negative. When I was very young I was foolish enoughto have my initials engraved on the case, but of course I know betternow--by George, Donna girl, I haven't any hat!"

  She flashed him one of her rare wonderful smiles. "I was waiting foryou to make that discovery" she said. "You lost your hat the night youarrived in San Pasqual, but I haven't worried about it. I've been savinga splendid big sombrero for you, Bob."

  She went to her room, returning presently with a "cowboy" hat that musthave been the joy and pride of the tourist who sacrificed it to theSan Pasqual zephyr. She pinched it to a peak and set it jauntily on hisauburn head, then stood off and surveyed him critically.

  "It's a dear" she announced.

  "Looks dear, too" he replied whimsically. "Must have cost the originalowner a month's board. Whew! That's a bird of a hat, Donna girl. Thankyou. It's as good a hat as I'll ever own."

  He sat down forthwith, turned back the sweat-band, moistened it slightlyand with the stub of an indelible pencil wrote his name in full. He hadridden range long enough to acquire the habit of branding his property,and in that land of breeze and sunshine he knew the dangers that beset amaverick hat.

  That night they walked together in the patio for the last time. Neitherfelt inclined to conversation, for the thoughts of each were occupiedwith dreams of the future, and the tragedy of that farewell lay heavyupon them. Lover-like, each exacted from the other a promise to writeevery day, and that important detail finally settled, Donna found iteasy enough to be brave and let him go.

  At eleven o'clock Sam Singer appeared in the patio to announce hiswillingness to trundle Bob up to San Pasqual on the same trackwalker'svelocipede upon which Bob had arrived at the Hat Ranch. The nurse wasnot to leave until the next day, and being a discreet woman, and kindlywithal, she had had
the delicacy to bid her patient farewell in thepatio. Donna accompanied him to the front gate, and there Bob with manya fervent promise to take good care of himself--and not to forget towrite every day, took her in his arms, kissed her quickly before thetears should have a chance to rise, and was gone.

  She watched him stride slowly through the gloom to the velocipedewaiting on the tracks; she saw him climb aboard. Then the Indian's bodybent over the levers and the machine glided away into the night. Shestood at the gate and watched it until it vanished; she waited untilTwenty-six came thundering by at eleven-thirty-five and heard the grindof the brakes as the long train pulled up at the station. Five minuteslater she heard it pull out of San Pasqual, with many a short andlabored gasp, casting a lurid gleam across the desert as it spednorthward into Tehachapi Pass, carrying Bob McGraw forth to battle, tofight for his land and his Pagans.

  When the last dim flicker of the green tail lights had disappeared Donnaretired to her room and cried herself to sleep. Once more she was leftto battle alone with the world, and the days would be long until BobMcGraw came back.

  Three hours after leaving Donna Corblay at the Hat Ranch, Bob McGrawalighted from the train at Bakersfield and went at once to a hotel.He arose late the next morning, breakfasted in the most appallingloneliness and later wended his way weakly to the bank where his meagerfunds were on deposit. Here he had his account balanced and discoveredthat his total fortune amounted to a trifle over sixteen hundreddollars, so he closed out his account and purchased a draft on SanFrancisco for the amount of his balance, less sufficient money to payhis current expenses.

  This detail attended to, Mr. McGraw next proceeded to do what he hadalways done when in a civilized community--spend his money recklessly.He went back to the hotel, called Donna on the long-distance phone andfrittered away two dollars in inconsequential conversation. However,he felt amply rewarded for the extravagance when Donna's voice--deep,throaty, almost a baritone--came to him over the wire; the delighted,almost childish cry of amazement which greeted his "Hello, Donna girl"was music to his soul.

  Bob was the kind of man who always thinks of the little things. He knewDonna had gone to work that morning feeling blue and lonely, and thesubstitution of that mood for one of genuine happiness for the rest ofthe day Mr. McGraw would have considered cheap at the price of his greattoe or a hastily plucked handful of his auburn locks. As for money--bah!Had it been his last two dollars it would have made no difference. Hewould have telephoned just the same and trusted to heaven to rain mannafor his next meal.

  But Bob McGraw was nothing if not an impetuous lover. Even in the caseof one who, like himself, had plans afoot where every dollar counted, wemight pardon readily the expenditure of two dollars on conversation,in view of the extraordinary circumstances; but Mr. McGraw's next movesavors so strongly of the veal period of his existence that no amountof extenuating circumstances may be adduced in defense of it. Whilethe promoter of Donnaville was a true son of the desert, he wascollege-bred, and with the sight now, for the first time in severalyears, of trolley cars, automobiles and people wearing clean linen, oldmemories surged up in Mr. McGraw's damaged breast, and despite the factthat his long legs were now weak and wobbly from the premature strainof his journey from the hotel to the bank and back again, he fared forthonce more and pursued the uneven tenor of his way until he found himselfin a florist's shop.

  Here no less than six dozen red carnations caught Mr. McGraw's fancy,the purchase price of which, in addition to the express charges prepaidto San Pasqual, further denuded him of ten dollars. Into the heartof this cluster of fragrance he caused to be secreted a tiny envelopeenclosing a card, upon which he had drawn a heart with a feathered arrowsticking through it; and for fear this symbolic declaration of undyingdevotion might not be sufficient, he scrawled beneath it: "Love fromBob."

  Ah, if he could only have seen Donna's face when the express messengernext door brought that votive offering in to her! Red carnations werenot frequent in San Pasqual. It was the first lover's bouquet Donna hadever received and she bent low behind the cash register and kissedthe foolish little card, for the hand of her Bob had touched it! Thecarnations she bore home to the Hat Ranch in triumph, and two weekslater when Soft Wind, a stranger to romance, threw them out, Donna wept.

  His mission of love finally accomplished, Bob returned to his hotel andwent to bed. Late that afternoon he arose, much refreshed, dined andwaited around the lobby until it was time for the bus to leave for thenorth-bound train.

  By nine o'clock next morning he was in San Francisco. He found frugallodgings in a third-class hotel, and after writing a letter to Donna,he went down town, purchased a suit of "store" clothes, and spent thebalance of the day in the public law library.

  By nightfall Bob had saturated his brain with legal lore bearing onevery feature of the laws governing the acquisition of lands in thepublic domain, and was satisfied that the hazy plan which he hadoutlined was not only within the law, but really did have some vagueelements of feasibility. The beauty of Bob's plan, however--the partthat appealed to the sporting instinct in his ultra-sporty soul--layin the fact that it would cost him only fifteen hundred dollars to try!Twelve hundred and seventy-five in preliminary payments, filing fees andnotary's fees, and the balance in hotel bills, traveling expenses,etc.; but as an offset to his comparatively brilliant prospects of goinghungry and ragged there was the dim, long chance that he _might_ winmillions, provided his venture should be attended with a fair percentageof supernatural luck. That was all Bob McGraw had to cheer him on tovictory--a million-to-one chance; yet, such was his peculiar mentalmake-up, the terrific odds only proved an added attraction.