the alert old contractor roared, "you certainly do
file a bill of complications! I'll have to see Parker about this right
away--why, here he is now."

The Parkers had followed more decorously than had Farrel; nevertheless,
they had arrived in more or less of a hurry. John Parker rode directly
to Conway and Farrel.

"Well, Mr. Conway," he shouted pleasantly, "the lost sheep is found
again."

"Whereat there is more rejoicing in San Marcos County than there will
be over the return of some other sheep--and a few goats--I know of.
How do you do, Mr. Parker?" Conway extended his hand, and, as Kay and
her mother rode up, Farrel begged their permission to present him to
them. Followed the usual commonplaces of introduction, which Farrel
presently interrupted.

"Well, you confounded old ditch-digger! How about you?"

"Still making little rocks out of big ones, son. Say, Mr. Parker, how
do we stack up on this contract, now that Little Boy Blue is back on
the Palomar, blowing his horn?"

Parker strove gallantly to work up a cheerful grin.

"Oh, he's put a handful of emery dust in my bearings, confound him, Mr.
Conway! It begins to look as if I had leaped before looking."

"Very reprehensible habit, Mr. Parker. Well--I'm getting so old and
worthless nowadays that I make it a point to look before I leap. Mike,
my son, do you happen to be underwriting this contract?"

Don Mike looked serious. He pursed his lips, arched his brows, drew
some bills and small coins from his pocket, and carefully counted them.

"The liquid assets of the present owner of that dirt you're making so
free with, Mr. Conway, total exactly sixty-seven dollars and nine
cents. And I never thought the day would come when a pair of old-time
Californians like us would stoop to counting copper pennies. Before I
joined the army, I used to give them away to the cholo children, and
when there were no youngsters handy to give the pennies to, I used to
throw them away."

"Yes," Bill Conway murmured sadly. "And I remember the roar that went
up from the old-timers five years ago when the Palace Hotel in San
Francisco reduced the price of three fingers of straight whisky from
twenty-five cents to fifteen. Boy, they're crowding us out."

"Who's been doing most of the crowding in San Marcos County while I've
been away, Mr. Conway?" Farrel queried innocently.

"Japs, my son. Say, they're comin' in here by the ship-load."

"You don't tell me! Why,