Nothing Bob Rogeen had overheard about Reedy Jenkins and his schemes
had so intensified his anger as this treatment of the patient,
defenceless Ah Sing.
"A Chinaman has the system," remarked Noah Ezekiel as they drove away.
"He'll lease a ranch, then take in half a dozen partners and put a
partner in charge of each section of the field. Raisin' cotton is
all-fired particular work, especially with borrowed water--there are as
many ways to ruin it as there are to spoil a pancake. And a partner
isn't so apt to go to sleep at the ditch."
"That is why I went into partnership with Ah Sing," said Bob. "I have
never seen much money made in farming anywhere unless a man who had an
interest in the crop was on the job."
"You bet you haven't," agreed Noah Ezekiel. "Absent treatment may
remove warts and bad dispositions, but it sure won't work on cockleburs
and Bermuda grass."
For several miles Bob's mind was busy.
"Noah," he asked, abruptly, "how would you like to go into partnership
with me and take over the management of that hundred and sixty acres we
cultivated last year?"
"As my dad used to say," replied Noah Ezekiel, skeptically, "'Faith is
the substance of things hoped for'; and as I never hope for any
substance, I ain't got no faith--especially in profits. Whenever I
come round, profits hide out like a bunch of quails on a rainy day. I
prefer wages."
Bob laughed. "Suppose we make it both. I'll pay you wages, and
besides give you one fifth of the net profits."
"I reckon that'll be satisfactory," agreed Noah. "But any Saturday
night you find yourself a little short on net profits, you can buy my
share for about twenty dollars in real money."
As they crossed the line Noah Ezekiel inquired:
"But if me and the Chinaman raise your cotton, what are you goin' to
do?"
"Raise more cotton," Bob answered. "You know," he spoke what had been
in his mind all the time, "I never saw anything I wanted as much as
that Red Butte Ranch. It is on that Dillenbeck System and its water
costs about twice as much as on the regular canals, but it is rich
enough to make up the difference."
"Well, why don't you get it?" asked Noah. "Reedy Jenkins is goin' to
lose all his leases inside of a month if he doesn't sell 'em; and with
cotton at six cents, they ain't shovin' each other off of Reedy's
stairway tryin' to get to him first. It's my idea that a fellow could
buy out the Red Butte for a song, and hire a parrot to sing it for a
cracker."
"But that is the smallest part of it," said Bob. "To farm that five
thousand acres in cotton this season would take round a hundred
thousand dollars, and," he laughed, "I lack considerable over
ninety-nine thousand of having that much."
"Lend it to yourself out of money you are lending for old Crill,"
suggested Noah.
After Bob dropped Noah at the Greek restaurant--"Open Day and
Night--Waffles"--he drove down the street, stopped in front of an
office building, and went up to see a lawyer that he knew.
"T. J.," he began at once, "I want you to see what is the lowest dollar
that will buy the Red Butte Ranch and its equipment. Reedy Jenkins
can't farm it, and he can't afford to pay $15,000 rent and let it lie
idle. You ought to be able to get it cheap. Get a rock-bottom offer,
but don't by any means let him know who wants it."
As Bob went down the stairs his head was fairly whizzing with plans.
This thing had taken strong hold of him. He had longed for many months
to get possession of that ranch but had never seriously thought of it
as a possibility. But if Jim Crill would risk the money, it would be
the great opportunity. Five thousand acres of cotton might make a big
fortune in one year.
"Of course"--doubt had its inning as he drove north toward El
Centro--"if he failed it would mean, instead of a fortune, a lifetime
debt." Yet he was so feverishly hopeful he let out the little machine
a few notches beyond the speed limit. At El Centro he went direct to
the Crill bungalow.
Mrs. Barnett opened the door when he knocked, opened it about fourteen
inches, and stood looking at him as though he were a leper and had
eaten onions besides.
"Is Mr. Crill in?" Bob asked.
"Mr. Crill is not in." She bit off each word with the finality of a
closed argument and shut the door with a whack so decisive it was
almost a slam.
Bob found Jim Crill in the lobby of the hotel, smoking; he sat down by
him, and concentrated for a moment on the line of argument he had
thought out.
"Mr. Crill, cotton is selling at six cents now. It won't go any lower."
"It doesn't need to as far as I'm concerned." The old gentleman puffed
his pipe vigorously.
"It will be at least ten cents this fall." Bob was figuring on the
back of an old envelope. "Much more next year."
Then he opened up on the Red Butte Ranch. Bob never did such talking
in his life. He knew every step of his plan, for he had thought out
fifty times just what he would do with that ranch if he had it. He
outlined this plan clearly and definitely to Jim Crill. He carefully
estimated every expense, and allowed liberally for incidentals. He
figured the lowest probable price for cotton, and in addition discussed
the possibilities of failure.
"I feel sure," he concluded, definitely, "that I can put it through,
that I can make from fifty to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in
profits on one crop. If you want to risk it and stake me, I'll go
fifty-fifty on the profits."
"No partnership for me," Crill shook his head vigorously. He had made
some figures on an envelope and sat scowling at them. He had a good
deal of idle money. It this crop paid out--and he felt reasonably sure
Bob would make it go--it would give him $10,000 interest on the
$100,000; and his half of the cotton seed would be worth at least
$10,000 more. Twenty thousand returns against nothing was worth some
risk.
"Besides," added Bob, "the lease itself, if cotton goes up, will be
worth fifty thousand next year."
"That's what Reedy Jenkins said," remarked the old gentleman, dryly.
"Just left here an hour ago--wanted to borrow money to pay the rent
this year and let the land lie idle."
Bob's heart beat uneasily. "Did you lend it to him?"
"No!" The old man almost spat the word out. "He owes me too much
already."
For two minutes, three, four, Jim Crill smoked and Bob waited, counting
the thump of his heartbeats in his temple.
"I'll let you have the hundred thousand," he said directly. "I've
watched you; I know an honest man when I see one."
Bob's spirits went up like a rocket; but his mind quickly veered round
to Reedy Jenkins.
"This will make Reedy Jenkins about the maddest man in America," he
remarked. He knew now that Reedy would fight him to the bitterest end.
Jim Crill grinned. "So'll Evy be mad. You fight Reedy, and I'll--run."