an, and I told you to lay off--but
here's where he's got you now. You owe money to his bank, and you owe it
to me, and he's guaranteed us both against loss. Now he might step in
and get a judgment against you and tie up every share you've got; but all
he wants--and he told me so himself--is four thousand shares of Tecolote.
That gives him control and, I'll tell you frankly, he's going to get
those shares."

"Oh, he is, is he?" said Rimrock and then sat silent while Buckbee bit
the tip from a cigar.

"Yes, he's going to get them," went on Buckbee quietly, "but here's how
it looks to me. The loss you will suffer from those four thousand shares
will be more than made up by the increase in the dividends on the rest.
You are not a good business man and, more than that, you have gone off
and neglected your mine. But give Stoddard the control and, the way
he'll manage it, your stock will bring you in more. You've learned your
lesson--just hold on to the rest and you'll always have money to burn.
But, if you try to buck him, as sure as God made little fishes, he'll
have your hide on the fence."

"D'ye think so?" enquired Rimrock and again he sat silent while Buckbee
puffed away at his cigar.

"Yes, he's a hard man to whip," went on Buckbee thoughtfully, "they call
him the Iron Man. Any place you hit him you only break your hand; but
when he comes back--zowie!"

"Well, I guess you're right," answered Rimrock slowly, "New York is no
place for me. It's back to the cactus where they fight it out with
sixshooters and the man that wins grabs the loot. But here you can get
some kind of a judgment and let the sheriff do the job."

Buckbee laughed lightheartedly and slapped him on the back, but Rimrock
did not even smile.

"By George," exclaimed Buckbee, "I'll be sorry to lose you. You do have
a way of putting things. But say, Old Sport, let's get this painful
business over. When can you arrange to turn in that stock?"

"I don't know," grumbled Rimrock, "I'll have to think this over--maybe
call in a lawyer or two. I'm not so sure about those hands-up judgments."

"Why, my dear boy," exclaimed Buckbee, "you don't doubt for a moment that
a bank can attach your stock? You must bear in mind that they loaned you
half a million on your mere name stuck to a note. Not a cent of
collateral--and on the other half million you were distinctly notified it
could be called. Why, the banks have a department where they grind out