it. In black and white he had a statement from old Don Bartolome
himself that he considered the grant no longer valid, that he had given
it up because he did not think it worth holding. He had but to prove the
handwriting in court--a thing easy enough to do, since the Don's bold,
stiff writing could be found on a hundred documents--and the Valdes
claimants would be thrown out of possession.

Gordon looked in vain for the "later letter" to which Bartolome
referred. Either it had never been written or it had been destroyed. But
without it he had enough to go on.

Before he left the State House he made a proposal to Miss Underwood to
buy the letters from her.

"What do you want with a bunch of old letters?" she asked.

"One of them helps my case. The Don refers to the grant and says he has
relinquished his claim."

She nodded at him with brisk approval. "It's fair of you to tell me
that." The girl stood for a moment considering, a pencil pressed against
her lips. "I suppose the letters are not mine to give. They belong to
father. Better see him."

"Where?"

"At the office of the _New Mexican_. Or you can come to the house
to-night."

"Believe I'll see him right away."

Within half an hour Dick had bought the bundle of letters for five
hundred dollars. He returned to the State House with an order to Kate
Underwood to deliver them to him upon demand.

"Dad make a good bargain?" asked Miss Underwood, with a laugh.

Gordon told her the price he had paid.

"If I had telephoned to him what you wanted them for they would have
cost you three times as much," she told him, nodding sagely.

"Then I'm glad you didn't. Point of fact you haven't the slightest idea
what I want with them."

"To help your suit. Isn't that what you're going to use them for?"

Mildly he answered "Yes," but he did not tell her which suit they were
to help.

As he was leaving she spoke to him without looking up from her writing.
"Mother and I will be at home this evening, if you'd like to look the
house over."

"Thanks. I'd be delighted to come. I'm really awfully interested."

"I see you are," she answered dryly.

Followed by his brown shadows at a respectful distance, Dick walked back
to the hotel whistling gaily.

"Some one die and leave you a million dollars, son?" inquired the old
miner, with amiable sarcasm.

"Me, I'm just happy because I'm not a Chink," explained his friend, and
passed to the hotel writing-room.

He sat dow