bt he had suffered from the depredations of Mexico's casual
visitors, and was ready to protect not only his own interests but those of
any newcomers. He seemed to have the spirit of fair-mindedness; and he
believed firmly in the possibilities of this magic land, particularly for
young men. "It's God's country," he told Gilbert on more than one occasion.
"Get into the soil all you can. Dig--and dig deep."

He said this over and over. It ran like a refrain through every
conversation he had with anyone. He preached the gospel of labor. And he
did work himself; there was no shadow of doubt as to that. He had struck
oil himself, and had made a goodly extra pile. Now, unknown to young Jones,
he was casting envious eyes on his ranch; and when the war came and Gilbert
went overseas in a burst of fine patriotism, and later came other
disasters, he was quick to snatch his opportunity.

Why go to Bisbee, he told Jones, to see who would take up his mortgage?
What were neighbors for, if not to come in handy in such unpleasant
emergencies? And he laughed.

The long and short of it was that Hardy took an option on Gilbert's
property, and held it at this very moment. It was better so, thought
Gilbert. Better to be foreclosed by a friendly neighbor, who might hesitate
to drive one out at the last moment, than under the thumb of some unknown
individual way down the valley.

Four years of it--and he had come to this! Well, he'd take his medicine
like a man. He had done his best, and no one could do more.

CHAPTER II

WHEREIN, FAR AWAY, ANOTHER MAN HEARS WHISPERS OF THE WEALTH ALONG THE
BORDER, AND COMES DOWN TO SEE ABOUT IT

Up North there was a man with a jaw like a rock, and hard, steel-gray eyes.
He had his fingers on the pulse of business, and employed agents everywhere
to serve his interests. His office in New York, in the heart of the great
financial district, was like a telephone exchange--he the central who
controlled the wires, put in and drew out the plugs, and played the
fascinating game of connecting himself with any "party" he thought worth
while. A shrewd, inveterate gambler, he was without scruples. He lived for
one purpose: to make money. For one person: Morgan Pell.

There had been whispers concerning his methods. They were often
questionable, to say the least; but, like all men who work quietly beneath
the surface of the world of business, Pell covered up his tracks with as
much genius as he displayed in