n your books--as revised, of course--" he laughed; "Jeff
Corrigan is the legal possessor of one-hundred thousand acres of land
right in the heart of what is going to be the boom section of the West!"
He chuckled, lit a cigar, leaned back in his chair and looked at the
Judge. "All you have to do now is to enter that transaction on your
records."

"You don't expect the present owners to yield their titles without a
fight, do you?" asked the Judge. He spoke breathlessly.

Corrigan grunted. "Sure; they'll fight. But they'll lose. I've got them.
I've got the power--the courts--the law, behind me. I've got them, and
I'll squeeze them. It means a mint of money, man. It will make you. It's
the biggest thing that any man ever attempted to pull off in this
country!"

"Yes, it's big," groaned the Judge; "it's stupendous! It's frightful! Why,
man, if anything goes wrong, it would mean--" He paused and shivered.

Corrigan smiled contemptuously. "Where's the original record?" he asked.

"I destroyed it," said the Judge. He did not look at Corrigan. "How?"
demanded the latter.

"Burned it."

"Good." Corrigan rubbed his palms together. "It's too soon to start
anything. Things are booming, and some of these owners will be trying to
sell. Hold them off--don't record anything. Give them any excuse that
comes to your mind. Have you heard from Washington?"

"The establishment of the court here has been confirmed."

"Quick work," laughed Corrigan. He got up, murmuring something about
having to take care of some leases. When he turned, it was to start and
stand rigid, his jaws set, his face pale. A man stood in the open
doorway--a man of about fifty apparently, furtive-eyed, slightly shabby,
though with an atmosphere about him that hinted of past dignity of
carriage.

"Jim Marchmont!" said Corrigan. He stepped forward, threateningly, his
face dark with wrath. Without speaking another word he seized the newcomer
by the coat collar, snapping his head back savagely, and dragged him back
of a wooden partition. Concealed there from any of the curious in the
street, he jammed Marchmont against the wall of the building, held him
there with one hand and stuck a huge fist into his face.

"What in hell are you doing here?" he demanded. "Come clean, or I'll tear
you apart!"

The other laughed, but there was no mirth in it, and his thin lips were
curved queerly, and were stiff and white. "Don't get excited, Jeff," he
said; "it won't be hea