oubtful whether he himself had not before his
death abandoned his claim. His official acts appear to point to that
conclusion. Our case is a very substantial one--very substantial,
indeed."

"The Valdes' tenants have settled on the land, grazed their flocks over
it, bought farms here and there from the heirs, haven't they?"

"Exactly. But if the sellers cannot show a good title--and my word as a
lawyer for it they can't. Prove that in court and all we'll need is a
writ of ejectment against the present holders as squatters. Then----"
Fitt snapped his finger and thumb in an airy gesture that swept the
Valdes' faction into the middle of the Pacific.

"It'll be the story of Evangeline all over again, won't it?" asked
Gordon satirically.

"Ah! You have a kind heart, Mr. Gordon. Your sympathy does you credit.
Still--business is business, of course."

"Of course," Dick picked up a pen and began to jab holes aimlessly into
a perfectly good blotter tacked to the table. "Well, let's hear the
story--just a sketch of it. Why do the rightful heirs lose out and the
villain gain possession?"

Mr. Fitt smiled blandly. He had satisfied himself that his client was
good pay and he did not intend to take offense. "It pleases you to be
facetious, Mr. Gordon. But we all know that what this country
needs--what such a valley as the Rio Chama ought to have--is up to date
American development. People and conditions are in a primitive state.
When men like you get possession of the Moreno and similar tracts New
Mexico will move forward with giant strides to its great destiny. Time
does not stand still. The day of the indolent semi-feudal Spanish system
of occupancy has passed away. New Mexico will no longer remain _manana_
land. You--and men like you--of broad ideas, progressive, energetic----"

"Quite a philanthropist, ain't I?" interrupted Gordon, smiling lazily.
"Well, let's hear the yarn, Mr. Fitt."

The attorney gave up his oration regretfully. He subsided into a chair
and resumed the conversational tone.

"You've got to understand how things were here in the old Spanish days,
gentlemen. Don Bartolome for instance was not merely a cattleman. He was
a grandee, a feudal lord, a military chief to all his tenants and
employees. His word was law. The power of life and death lay in him."

Dick nodded. "Get you."

"The old Don was pasturing his sheep in the Rio Chama valley and he had
started a little village there--called the place Tor