The Long Chance Part 17

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' up his 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 been told I knew the name o' the little hoss' owner, I told him I did--that the 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 with the initials on the saddle' he says.

"'Shucks,' I says,'that don't signify nothin'. Mexicans is the biggest hoss thieves living besides, I ain't feelin' disputatious to-night, so I'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? Why I didn't know he was wanted. What's it this time? He ain't got himself mixed up in more trouble, has he?'

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

"'Oh, very well' I says. 'I didn't seek this interview, but when you mentioned the hoss I could tell by the look in your eye that McGraw's been robbin' you o' somethin'. Well, you might own that hoss, but you've got to prove property. McGraw sold the hoss to Enrique an' lit out for Bakersfield, an' I won the hoss from Enrique at faro. I been keepin' him in the corral in order to give the Mexican a chance to buy him back. But McGraw'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 I was 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 his advantage by communicatin' with me right away.'

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

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

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

"I've heard of that fellow before," mused Bob, "and it strikes me his name is a.s.sociated with some unpleasant memory, but I can't recall just what it is. However, I can hazard a good guess as to what he desires to 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. Morgan Carey--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 talked with you first, although my main idea was to throw Miss Pickett off the scent. I'm goin' up to Bakersfield to-night, Bob, and just to keep up appearances, you give me an order for that registered letter, datin'

the order from Bakersfield, to-morrow, an' I'll mail that order from Bakersfield to myself in San Pasqual. Then to-morrow night when I get back I'll go to the post-office for my mail. I ain't had a letter come to me in ten years. Miss Pickett'll give me the letter, I'll open it right 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 for Harley 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 years o' gamblin' an' meetin' all kinds an' conditions o' men ain't made me as fly as a road-runner, then that there artesian well is spoutin' mint juleps. 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 ringer for a church deacon. That Carey man would steal a hot stove without burnin' himself. Now, this young Bob is an impulsive cuss, an' if he has any dealin's of a money nature with this sweet-scented porch-climber that'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 in the dark. Let a crook try to buck my game an' I have him spotted in a minute. 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 his ample abdomen, staring thoughtfully at the little white cross down at the 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. Hennage tucked it carefully in his side coat pocket; then from his rear hip pocket he produced Bob McGraw's automatic gun.

"I took charge o' this the night o' the mix-up" he explained as he returned 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 thumb and forefinger, as if counting a stack of imaginary bills, "send Sam Singer up to let me know. _Comprende, amigo?"_

Bob smiled at this sinful philanthropist. "Not necessary, old man--if you'll drop in at the Kern County Bank and Trust Company in Bakersfield to-morrow and get me a check-book. I have owed you fifty for three years and 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 with beaming 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 on somebody's toes when I filed on that water, Donna. By George, I must investigate T. Morgan Carey and ascertain the kind of man I have to fight."

"He came here looking for you a week after you arrived. Doesn't that seem 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 one week?"

"That is very easily explained, Donna. It merely verifies my suspicions that there is a ring of land-grabbers operating in this state, which ring controls some official of the State Land Office and keeps on its pay-roll an employee in every United States land office in California.

The moment I filed on that water, T. Morgan Carey was notified by his tool in the State Land Office that Robert McGraw (I gave my address as Independence, Inyo county) had filed on one hundred thousand miners'

inches of water for power and irrigation. Now, there isn't that much non-alkaline water available anywhere in the valley--at least under the control of one man or one corporation, and of course it frightened Carey. He wired his field engineer, who was probably in Inyo county at the time, to investigate. The engineer found my location notices tacked to a cottonwood tree right where I'm going to drive my tunnel, and he immediately reported to Carey that the location was very valuable. Also he wired my name and general description and probably stated that the last 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 to find me with a registered letter; very probably acting under the advice of Miss Pickett, who, apparently, is an elderly bird and not to be caught with Harley P. Hennage's chaff.

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

"Harley P. will give me your letter to-morrow night and I'll bring it home with me. We'll know definitely, then, what to expect. In the meantime, Bob, I think you've dreamed enough for one night. You've been up 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. But when I clash with T. Morgan Carey's company I'll talk--turkey. If you'll kiss me good-night, Donna, I think I can manage to last until morning."

Late the following afternoon Harley P. Hennage returned from Bakersfield and 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 a pantomime of the inquisitive Miss Pickett when she discovered that the order for delivery of the registered letter to the gambler was dated and mailed 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 & Irrigation Company Carey requested the favor of an interview at an early date to take up with Bob the matter of purchasing his newly acquired water-right on 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."