became apparent that they had a real
grievance, and one which called for immediate satisfaction; moreover,
it was made plain that the callers cared little what form that
satisfaction took, whether tar and feathers or a rope and a lamp-post.
They had been sold, victimized, flimflammed, skinned; the scorpion had
stung them and the poison was boiling in their veins. Briefly, the
swindle was this: investigation had shown that the land owned by the
Desert Scorpion was not where it had been represented to be, but more
than a mile distant therefrom. Chance alone had brought forth the
truth; the hour of vengeance had struck.

Calvin Gray withdrew quietly from the hubbub and asked Mallow, "Can
that be true?"

The eminent scientist shrugged; out of the corner of his mouth he
murmured: "Why not? It all looks alike."

McWade and Stoner were not in the least dismayed by this amazing
intelligence; as a matter of fact, the former assumed an air of even
greater geniality than usual and nodded a careless agreement to every
accusation hurled against him. "Right you are, men! Absolutely right.
We were victimized, but we're tickled to death to rectify the error.
Mighty fortunate mistake, as a matter of fact. Brick, out with the old
check book and give these birds back their money." With alacrity Mr.
Stoner cleared off his desk and seated himself, pen in hand. "Step up
and get a dollar a share--just what you paid. Fair enough, I calls it.
The banks are open and the checks are good."

Immediately the repurchase of stock began, but anger and suspicion
still smoldered; there were dissatisfied mutterings. One investor, a
field man in greasy overalls, spoke out:

"We'll get ours, all right. Don't worry. But how about the other
suckers? There's fifty thousand shares out. What you going to do about
that?"

"Buy it back. Know where you can get any more?"

"Maybe."

"We'll pay a dollar and a half a share for all you can get, to-morrow."

"What?"

"You heard me. Breast up, boys, and get your money back. Our offer
stands--a dollar a share to-day, a dollar and a half to-morrow."

There was a stir among the indignant speculators; the man for whom
Stoner was writing a check inquired: "What's the idea? Why not a dollar
and a half now?"

Stoner and McWade exchanged a meaning glance--it was not lost upon
their attentive audience--but the latter shrugged and smiled
provocatively. "That's our business," he declared, lightly. "You ghost
dancer