is,' as the auctioneers
sometimes say."

"You have never seen the ranch?" questioned the astonished Logan. "You
would bid sight-unseen for a property that you don't know where it's
located--would accept a deed without possession? Young man, you need a
guardian."

"I had one once," retorted the midget, "and in the eight months of his
management he turned over quite a lot of money to me, enough to gamble
on, to buy a block of blue sky or a pig in a poke. Maybe there's
enough to make a bid on a ranch, a property with a crazy man on it,
armed with a gun and threatening to shoot intruders. If you are the
receiver, I want to make a bid for the Bar-O ranch, as it is."

"No bids are solicited," said Logan severely. "The judgment is for
forty-two hundred dollars. I bid it in for that, and must account for
that amount. Then there are expenses and costs being added from time
to time--"

"Now you've hit center," interrupted the midget. "You've pricked the
sore spot. There are costs being added, and time being frittered, and
nothing accomplished. It might run on this way for months, and you
hoping to have the collection cleaned up and get the bank opened soon
thereafter.

"Now I'm wanting to help, wanting to get on the payroll. Here's how.
Between now and next Thursday I'll pay you four thousand dollars for a
deed to the Bar-O ranch. You make the consideration the full forty-two
hundred and show, in your report, an expense of two hundred in getting
possession. Then it's up to me to get old Shells, or Hulls, or what's
his name, to move out. It might cost me the two hundred, it might cost
a lot more; that's my lookout. Maybe the old guy won't move at all.
But in any event, I shall not resort to law, won't call the sheriff to
get killed or get action. With winter coming on and a woman mixed up
in the case, it would be too bad to set 'em out in the snow without
shelter or money."

Adine Lough, more deeply interested in the outcome than any other
person present, had come from the house to join the little party now
congregated in front of Potter's little office building. She heard
Davy's final proposition. She saw tough, seasoned old Landy Spencer
furtively reach down and pat the little man on the back.

"What about the cattle?" asked Finch, breaking the tension.

"Are any cattle left, and how many?" Davy countered promptly.

"I don't know," replied Finch sheepishly. "We didn't get to count 'em
this morning. There's probably