Is that clear?"

"Then you drop this prosecution against Welton?"

"Nary prosecution, as far as I am concerned."

"But the Modoc Land case----"

"Take back your lands," chaffed Baker dramatically. "Kind of bum lands,
anyway. No use skirmishing after the battle is over. Your father would
tell you that."

"Then you don't fight the suit?"

"That," said Baker, "is still a point for compromise. You've got us, I'm
willing to admit that. Also that you are a bright young man, and that I
underestimated you. You've lifted my property, legally acquired, and
you've done it by outplaying my bluff. I still maintain the points of
the law are with me--we won't get into that," he checked himself. "But
criminal prosecution is a different matter. I don't intend to stand for
that a minute. Your gang don't slow-step me to any bastiles now listed
in the prison records. Nothing doing that way. I'll fight her to a
fare-ye-well on that." His round face seemed to become square-set and
grim for an instant, but immediately reassumed its customary rather
careless good-nature. "No, we'll just call the whole business off."

"That is not for me to decide," said Bob.

"No; but you've got a lot to say about it--and I'll see to the little
details; don't fret. By the way," mentioned Baker, "just as a matter of
ordinary curiosity, _did_ Oldham have anything on you, or was he just a
strong-arm artist?" He threw back his head and laughed aloud at Bob's
face. At the thought of Pollock the young man could not prevent a
momentary expression of relief from crossing his countenance. "There's a
tail-holt on all of us," Baker observed.

He flipped open a desk drawer and produced a box of expensive-looking
cigars which he offered to his visitors. Orde lit one; but Bob, eyeing
the power-man coldly, refused. Baker laughed.

"You'll get over it," he observed--"youth, I mean. Don't mix your
business and your personal affairs. That came right out of the copy
book, page one, but it's true. I'm the one that ought to feel sore,
seems to me." He lit his own cigar, and puffed at it, swinging his bulky
form to the edge of the desk. "Look here," said he, shaking the butt at
the younger man. "You're making a great mistake. The future of this
country is with water, and don't you forget it. Fuel is scarce; water
power is the coming force. The country can produce like a garden under
irrigation; and it's only been scratched yet, and that just about the
big cities. We ar