It was fully two weeks before Miguel returned to the ranch from the
little hospital at El Toro. During that period the willows had already
started to sprout on the last abiding place of Kano Ugichi, the pain
had left the Farrel head and the Farrel attorney had had André
Loustalot up in the Superior Court, where he had won a drawn verdict.
The cash in bank was proved to have been deposited there by Loustalot
personally; it had been subject to his personal check, and was
accordingly adjudged to be his personal property and ordered turned
over to Miguel Farrel in partial liquidation of the ancient judgment
which Farrel held against the Basque. A preponderance of testimony,
however (Don Nicolás Sandoval swore it was all perjured and paid for)
indicated that but one quarter of the sheep found on the Rancho Palomar
belonged to Loustalot, the remainder being owned by his foreman and
employees. To Farrel, therefore, these sheep were awarded, and in some
occult manner Don Nicolás Sandoval selected them from the flock; then,
acting under instructions from Farrel, he sold the sheep back to
Loustalot at something like a dollar a head under the market value and
leased to the amazed Basque for one year the grazing privilege on the
Rancho Palomar. In return for the signing of this lease and the
payment of the lease money in advance, Farrel executed to Loustalot a
satisfaction in full of the unpaid portion of the judgment. "For," as
the sheriff remarked to Farrel, "while you hold the balance of that
judgment over this fellow's head your own head is in danger. It is
best to conciliate him, for you will never again have an opportunity to
levy against his assets."
"I think you're right, Don Nicolás," Farrel agreed. "I can never feel
wholly safe until I strike a truce with that man. Tell him I'll give
him back his eight thousand dollar automobile if he will agree on his
own behalf and that of his employees, agents and friends, not to
bushwhack me or any person connected with me."
"I have already made him a tentative offer to that effect, my boy, and,
now that the first flush of his rage is over, he is a coyote lacking
the courage to kill. He will agree to your proposal, and I shall take
occasion to warn him that if he should ever break his word while I am
living, I shall consider, in view of the fact that I am the mediator in
this matter, that he has broken faith with me, and I shall act
accordingly."
The arrangement with Loustalot was therefore made, and immediately upon
his return to the ranch Farrel, knowing that the sheep would spoil his
range for the few hundred head of cattle that still remained of the
thousands that once had roamed El Palomar, rounded up these cattle and
sold them. And it was in the performance of this duty that he
discovered during the roundup, on the trail leading from the hacienda
to Agua Caliente basin, a rectangular piece of paper. It lay, somewhat
weather-stained, face up beside the trail, and because it resembled a
check, he leaned easily from his horse and picked it up. To his
amazement he discovered it to be a promissory note, in the sum of fifty
thousand dollars, in favor of Kay Parker and signed by William D.
Conway.
Pablo was beating the thickets in the river bottom, searching out some
spring calves he knew were lurking there, when his master reined up
beside him.
"Pablo," he demanded, "has Señor Conway been to the ranch during my
absence?"
"No, Don Miguel, he has not."
"Has Señorita Parker ridden Panchito over to Señor Conway's camp at
Agua Caliente basin?"
"Yes, Don Miguel. I rode behind her, in case of accident."
"What day was that?"
Pablo considered. "The day after you were shot, Don Miguel."
"Did you see Señorita Parker give Señor Conway a writing?"
"I did, truly. She wrote from a small leathern book and tore out the
page whereon she wrote. In return Señor Conway made a writing and this
he gave to Señorita Parker who accepted it.
"Thank you, Pablo. That is all I desired to know." And he was away
again, swinging his lariat and whooping joyously at the cattle. Pablo
watched narrowly.
"Now whatever this mystery may be," he soliloquized, "the news I gave
Don Miguel has certainly not displeased him. Ah, he is a sharp one,
that boy. He learns everything and without effort, yet for all he
knows he talks but little. Can it be that he has the gift of second
sight? I wonder!"