"That shaggy thief I manhandled a few minutes ago. He's a sheep-man
from the San Carpojo, and for a quarter of a century he has not dared
set foot on the Palomar. Your father, thinking I was dead and that the
ranch would never be redeemed after foreclosure of the mortgage, leased
the grazing-privilege to Loustalot. I do not blame him. I do not
think we have more than five hundred head of cattle on the ranch, and
it would be a shame to waste that fine green feed." Suddenly the sad
and somber mien induced by his recent grief fled his countenance. He
turned to her eagerly. "Miss Parker, if I have any luck worth while
to-day, I think I may win back my ranch."

"I wish you could win it back, Don Mike. I think we all wish it."

"I hope you all do." He laughed joyously. "My dear Miss Parker, this
is the open season on terrible practical jokes. I'm no judge of sheep
in bulk, but there must be not less than ten thousand over on that
hillside, and if the title to them is vested in Andre Loustalot to-day,
it will be vested in me about a month from now. I shall attach them;
they will be sold at pub-lie auction by the sheriff to satisfy in part
my father's old judgment against Loustalot, and I shall bid them
in--cheap. Nobody in San Marcos County will bid against me, for I can
outbid everybody and acquire the sheep without having to put up a cent
of capital. Oh, my dear, thoughtful, vengeful old dad! Dying, he
assigned that judgment to me and had it recorded. I came across it in
his effects last night.

"What are sheep worth, Don Mike?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, but I should say that by next fall,
those sheep should be worth not less than six dollars a head, including
the wool-clip. They will begin to lamb in February, and by the time
your father dispossesses me a year hence, the increase will amount to
considerable. That flock of sheep should be worth about one hundred
thousand dollars by the time I have to leave the Palomar, and I _know_
I'm going to collect at least fifty thousand dollars in cash in
addition."

He drew from his vest pocket a check for that sum, signed by Andre
Loustalot and drawn in favor of John Parker, Trustee.

"How did you come by that check?" Kay demanded. "It belongs to my
father, so, if you do not mind, Mr. Farrel, I shall retain it and
deliver it to my father." Quite deliberately, she folded the check and
thrust it into her hand-bag. There was a bright spot of color in