Kay's first coherent thought was to claim the privilege of her sex--a
headache--and refrain from joining Don Mike and her parents at dinner.
Upon consideration, however, she decided that since she would have to
face the issue sooner or later, she might as well be brave and not try
to evade it. For she knew now the fate of the promissory note Bill
Conway had given her and which she had thrust into the pocket of her
riding coat. It had worked out of her pocket and dropped beside the
trail to Agua Caliente Basin, and fate had ordained that it should be
found by the one person in the world not entitled to that privilege.
Kay would have given fifty thousand dollars for some miraculous philter
which, administered surreptitiously to Miguel Farrel, would cause him
to forget what the girl now realized he knew of her secret negotiations
with Bill Conway for the salvation of the ranch. Nevertheless, despite
her overwhelming embarrassment and distress, the question occurred to
her again and again: What would Don Miguel Farrel do about it? She
hadn't the slightest doubt but that his tremendous pride would lead him
to reject her aid and comfort, but how was he to accomplish this
delicate procedure? The situation was fraught with as much awkwardness
and embarrassment for him as for her.
She was late in joining the others at table. To her great relief,
after rising politely at her entrance and favoring her with an
impersonal smile, Farrel sat down and continued to discuss with John
Parker and his wife the great natural resources of Siberia and the
designs of the Japanese empire upon that territory. About the time the
black coffee made its appearance, Kay's harassed soul had found
sanctuary in the discussion of a topic which she knew would be of
interest--one in which she felt she could join exuberantly.
"Do tell father and mother of your plans for a _fiesta_, Miguel," she
pleaded presently.
"A _fiesta_, eh?" Mrs. Parker was instantly interested. "Miguel, that
is, indeed, a bright thought. I volunteer as a patroness here and now.
John, you can be a judge of the course, or something. Miguel, what is
the occasion of your _fiesta_?"
"At a period in the world's history, Mrs. Parker, when butter is a
dollar a pound and blue-denim over-alls sell freely for three dollars a
pair, I think we ought to do something to dissipate the general gloom.
I want to celebrate my return to civil life, and my more recent return
from the grave. Also, I would just as lief indicate to the county at
large that, outside of business hours, we constitute a very happy
little family here; so if you all please, I shall announce a _fiesta_
in honor of the Parker family."
"It will last all day and night and we are to have a Wild West show,"
Kay added eagerly.
"Where will it be held, Miguel?"
"Down at our old abandoned race-track, about a mile from here."
Mrs. Parker nodded approval. "John, you old dud," she decided, "you
always liked horse-races and athletics. You're stuck for some prizes."
Her indulgent husband good-naturedly agreed, and at Kay's suggestion,
Carolina brought a pencil and a large writing-tablet, whereupon the
girl constituted herself secretary of the carnival committee and wrote
the program, as arranged by Don Mike and her father. She thrilled when
Farrel announced a race of six furlongs for ladies' saddle-horses, to
be ridden by their owners.
"You ought to win that with Panchito," he suggested to Kay.
Kay's heart beat happily. In Farrel's suggestion that she ride
Panchito in this race she decided that here was evidence that her host
did not contemplate any action that would tend to render the ranch
untenable for her prior to the _fiesta_; indeed, there was nothing in
his speech or bearing that indicated the slightest mental perturbation
now that he had discovered the compact existing between her and Bill
Conway. Perhaps his pride was not so high as she had rated it; what if
her action had been secretly pleasing to him?
Somehow, Kay found this latter thought disturbing and distasteful. It
was long past midnight before she could dismiss the enigma from her
thoughts and fall asleep.
It was later than that, however, before Don Miguel José Federico
Noriaga Farrel dismissed her from his thoughts and succumbed to the
arms of Morpheus. For quite a while after retiring to his room he sat
on the edge of the bed, rubbing his toes with one hand and holding Bill
Conway's promissory note before him with the other.
"That girl and her mother are my secret allies," he soliloquized.
"Bless their dear kind hearts. Kay has confided in Conway and for
reasons best known to himself he has secretly accepted of her aid. Now
I wonder," he continued, "what the devil actuates her to double-cross
her own father in favor of a stranger?"
He tucked the note back in his pocket, removed a sock and rubbed the
other foot thoughtfully. "Well, whatever happens," he decided
eventually, "I've got to keep my secret to myself, while at the same
time effectually preventing this young lady from advancing Bill Conway
any further funds for my relief. I cannot afford her pity or her
charity; I can accept her sympathy, but not her aid. Conway cannot
have so soon spent much of the money he borrowed from her, and if I
insist on the cessation of operations in the Basin he'll promptly give
her back her fifty thousand dollars in order to save the interest
charges; in the meantime I shall mail Kay the note in a plain white
envelope, with the address typewritten, so she will never know where it
came from, for of course she'll have to hand Bill back his canceled
note when he pays it."
He blew out the light and retired, not to sleep, but to revolve plan
after plan for the salvation of the ranch. To float a new loan from
any source in San Marcos County he dismissed for the hundredth time as
a proposition too nebulous for consideration. His only hope of a bank
loan lay in an attempt to interest outside bankers to a point where
they would consent to have the property appraised. Perhaps the letter
from Parker which he held would constitute evidence to cautious
capitalists of the sufficiency of the security for the loan. It was
for that purpose that he had cunningly inveigled Parker into making him
that offer to clear out and leave him a fair field and no litigation.
However, Don Mike knew that between bankers there exists a certain
mutual dependence, a certain cohesiveness that makes for mutual
protection. If, for instance (he told himself), he should apply to a
San Francisco bank for a loan on the ranch, the bank, prior to wasting
either time or mental energy on his application, would first ascertain
from sources other than him, whether it was remotely worth while
considering the loan up to a point of sending a representative down to
appraise the land. Their first move, therefore, would be to write
their correspondent in El Toro--John Parker's bank, the First
National--for information regarding the Farrel family, the ranch and
the history of the mortgage. Don Mike was not such an optimist as to
believe that the report of Parker's bank would be such as to encourage
the outside bank to proceed further in the deal.
He was also aware that the loan would not be attractive to commercial
banks, who are forced, in self-protection, to loan their money on
liquid assets. He must therefore turn to the savings-banks and trust
companies. But here again he faced an impasse. Such institutions loan
money for the purpose of securing interest on it; the last thing they
wish to do is to be forced, in the protection of the loan, to foreclose
a mortgage. Hence, should they entertain the slightest doubt of his
inability to repay the mortgage; should they be forced to consider the
probability of foreclosure eventually, he knew they would not consider
the loan. Don Mike was bitterly aware of the fact that the history of
his family bad been one of waste, extravagance, carelessness and
inefficiency. In order to place the ranch on a paying basis and take
up John Parker's mortgage, therefore, he would have to have a new loan
of not less than half a million dollars, and at six per cent., the
lowest rate of interest he could hope to obtain, his annual interest
charge would be thirty thousand dollars. Naturally he would be
expected to repay the loan gradually--say at the rate of fifty thousand
dollars a year. By running ten thousand head of cattle on the Palomar
he knew he could meet his payments of interest and principal without
lessening his working capital, but he could not do it by attempting to
raise scrub beef cattle. He would gradually produce a herd of
pure-bred Herefords, but in the meantime he would have to buy
"feeders," grow them out on the Palomar range and sell them at a
profit. During the present high price of beef cattle, he dared not
gamble on borrowed capital, else with a slump in prices he might be
destroyed. It would be a year or two, at least, before he might accept
that risk; indeed, the knowledge of this condition had induced him to
lease the San Gregorio for one year to the Basque sheep man, André
Loustalot. If, in the interim, he should succeed in saving the ranch,
he knew that a rest of one year would enable the range to recover from
the damage inflicted upon it by the sheep.
In his desolation there came to him presently a wave of the strong
religious faith that was his sole unencumbered heritage. Once again he
was a trustful little boy. He slid out of the great bed of his
ancestors and knelt on the old rag mat beside it; he poured out an
appeal for help from One who, he had been told--who, he truly
believed--marked the sparrow's fall. Don Mike was far from being the
orthodox person one ordinarily visualizes in a Spanish-Irish Catholic,
but he was deeply religious, his religious impulse taking quite
naturally a much more practical form and one most pleasing to himself
and his neighbors, in that it impelled him to be brave and kind and
hopeful, a gentleman in all that the word implies. He valued far more
than he did the promise of a mansion in the skies a certain
tranquillity of spirit which comes of conscious virtue.
When he rose from his knees he had a feeling that God had not lost
track of him and that, despite a long list of debit entries, a
celestial accountant had, at some period in Don Mike's life, posted a
considerable sum to his credit in the Book of Things. "That credit may
just balance the account," he reflected, "although it is quite probable
I am still working in the red ink. Well--I've asked Him for the
privilege of overdrawing my account . . . we shall see what we shall
see."
At daylight he awakened suddenly and found himself quite mysteriously
the possessor of a trend of reasoning that automatically forced him to
sit up in bed.
Fifteen minutes later, mounted on Panchito, he was cantering up the San
Gregorio, and just as the cook at Bill Conway's camp at Agua Caliente
Basin came to the door of the mess hall and yelled: "Come an' git it or
I'll throw it out," Panchito slid down the gravel cut-bank into camp.
"Where is Mr. Conway?" he demanded of the cook,
The latter jerked a greasy thumb toward the interior of the mess hall,
so, leaving Panchito "tied to the breeze," Don Mike dismounted and
entered.
"Hello there, young feller," Bill Conway roared at him.
"Top o' the morning to you, old dirt-digger," Farrel replied. "Please
deal me a hand of your ham and eggs, sunny side up. How be ye, Willum?"
"R'arin' to go," Conway assured him.
"All right. Pack up and go to-day. You're through on this job."
"Why?"
"I've changed my mind about fighting Parker on this dam deal--and no
profanity intended."
"But--but--"
"But me no buts, even if you are the goat. You're through. I forbid
the bans. The eggs, man! I'm famished. The midnight ride of Paul
Revere was a mere exercise gallop, because he started shortly after
supper, but the morning ride of Mike Farrel has been done on fresh air."
"You're a lunatic. If you knew what I know, Miguel--"
"Hush! I want to ascertain what you know. Bet you a dollar!" He
slammed a dollar down on the table and held his palm over it.
Bill Conway produced a dollar and likewise covered it. "Very well,
son," he replied. "I'll see your dollar. What's the nature of the
bet?"
"I'm betting a dollar you didn't draw the plans for this dam."
Bill Conway flipped his dollar over to his guest.
"I'm betting two dollars!"
Conway took two silver dollars from his vest pocket and laid them on
the table. "And the bet?" he queried.
"I'm betting two dollars the plans were drawn by an engineer in Los
Angeles."
"Some days I can't lay up a cent," the old contractor complained, and
parted with his two dollars.
"I'm betting four dollars!" Farrel challenged.
"See your four dollars," Conway retorted and covered the bet.
"I'm betting that those plans were drawn by the engineer of the South
Coast Power Corporation."
"Death loves a shining mark, Michael, my boy. Hand over that four
dollars."
Farrel produced a five dollar bill. "I'm betting five dollars," he
challenged again.
"Not with me, son. You're too good. I suppose your next bet will be
that the plans were drawn by the engineer of the Central California
Power Company."
"Were they?"
"Yes."
"Got a set of the plans with his name on them?"
"You bet."
"I want them."
"They're yours, provided you tell your Uncle Bill the Big Idea."
Don Mike flipped some pepper and salt on his eggs and while doing so
proceeded to elucidate.
"If I had two projects in mind--one for irrigation and one for power, I
would not, of course, unless I happened to be a public service
corporation engaged in producing and selling electric power, consider
for a moment wasting my time monkeying with the hydro-electric
buzz-saw. Indeed, I would have to sell it, for with the juice
developed here I could not hope to compete in a limited field with the
established power companies. I would proceed to negotiate the sale of
this by-product to the highest bidder. Bill, do you know that I've
seen enough flood water running down the San Gregorio every winter to
have furnished, if it could have been stored in Agua Caliente Basin,
sufficient water to irrigate the San Gregorio Valley for five years?"
"I know it, Miguel."
"All a power company requires is the assurance that the dam you are
building will impound in the Agua Caliente Basin during an ordinarily
wet winter, sufficient run-off water to insure them against a shortage
during the summer. After the water has passed over their wheels
they're through with it and it can be used for irrigation, can it not?"
"Yes, of course, although you'd have to have a greater volume of water
than the amount coming through the power company's pen-stocks. But
that's easily arranged. Two ditches, Miguel!"
"If the engineer of the Central California Power Company had not
examined the possibilities here and approved of them, it is reasonable
to suppose that he would not have drawn the plans and Parker would not
have engaged you to build the dam."
"You're on the target, son. Go on."
"Then Parker must have entered into an agreement to sell, and the
Central California Power Company must have agreed to buy, if and when
Parker could secure legal title to the Rancho Palomar, a certain number
of miner's inches of water daily, in perpetuity, together with certain
lands for a power station and a perpetual right of way for their power
lines over the lands of this ranch."
"Well, son, that's what I would have done in a similar situation.
Nothing to be made by letting that hydro-electric opportunity lie
fallow. No profit in wasting kilowatts, Miguel. We haven't got a
third of the power necessary for the proper development/of this state."
"In the absence of conclusive proof to the contrary, Bill, I am
convinced that John Parker did enter into such a contract. Naturally,
until he should secure the title to the ranch, the railroad commission,
which regulates all public service corporations in this state, would
not grant the power company permission to gamble on the truth of an
official report that I had been killed in Siberia."
"Your reasoning is sound. Now eat, and after breakfast I'll tell you
things. Your visit and your eager inquiries have started a train of
thought in my thick head."
Don Mike obeyed, and while he devoted himself to his breakfast, old
Bill Conway amused himself rolling pellets out of bread and flipping
them at a knot-hole in the rough wall of the mess hall.
"You've been pretty well troubled, haven't you, son?" he remarked
paternally when Don Mike, having completed his meal, sat back and
commenced rolling a cigarette.
"_Si_. Got your train of thought ditched, Bill?"
"I have. Assuming that Parker has made a deal with the Central
California Power Company, what I want to know is: Why did he do it?"
"I've just told you why he did it."
"You've just told me why he would make a deal with a power company, but
you haven't explained why he should make a deal with this _particular_
power company."
"I cannot answer that question, Bill."
"Nor can I. But there's a reason--perhaps two reasons. Territorially,
this power site is the natural property of but two power
corporations--the Central California and the South Coast. The South
Coast is the second largest corporation of its kind in the state; the
Central California is the fifth. Why go gunning for a dickey bird when
you can tie up to an eagle?"
They were both silent, pondering the question. Then said Bill Conway,
"Well, son, if I had as much curiosity regarding the reason for this
situation as you have, I'd most certainly spend some money to find out."
"I have the money and I am prepared to spend it. How would you start,
Bill?"
"Well, I'd buy a couple of shares of stock, in the Central California
Power Company as a starter. Then I would descend upon the main office
of the company, exhibit my stock and claim my stockholder's right to
look over the list of stockholders and bondholders of record; also, the
board of directors and the minutes of the previous meetings. You may
not find John Parker's name listed either as stockholder, bondholder or
director, but you might find the First National Bank of El Toro,
represented by the cashier or the first vice-president of that
institution. Also, if I were you, I'd just naturally hop the rattler
for San Francisco, hie myself to some stockbroker's office to buy this
stock, and while buying it look over the daily reports of the stock
market for the past few years and see if the figures suggested anything
to me."
"Anything else?"
"Thus endeth the first lesson, Miguel. At that it's only a vague
suspicion. Get out of my way, boy. I'm going out to build a dam and
you're not ready to stop me--yet."
"Bill, I'm serious about this. I want you to cease operations."
Bill Conway turned upon him almost angrily. "What for?" he demanded.
"I own the Rancho Palomar. I forbid it. I have a good and sufficient
reason."
"But, son, I can finance the confounded dam. I have it financed
already."
"So have I--if I cared to accept favors."
Bill Conway approached and took his young friend by each shoulder.
"Son," he pleaded, "please let me build this dam. I was never so plumb
interested in any job before. I'll take a chance. I know what I'm
going to do and how I'm going to do it, and you aren't going to be
obligated the least little bit. Isn't John Parker stuck for it all, in
the long run? Why, I've got that _hombre_ by the short hair."
"I know, but long before you can collect from him you'll be financially
embarrassed."
"Don't worry. I've been a miser all my life and I've got a lot of
money hid out. Please, son, quit interfering with me. You asked me to
help you out, I accepted and I'm going to go through until stopped by
legal procedure. And if you have the law on me I'll never speak to you
again."
"Your attitude doesn't fit in with my plans, Bill Conway."
"Yours don't fit in with mine. Besides, I'm older than you and if
there was one thing your father taught you it was respect for your
elders. Two heads are better than one. You crack right along and try
to save your ranch in your way and I'll crack right along and try to
save it my way. You pay your way and I'll pay mine. That's fair,
isn't it?"
"Yes, but--"
"Fiddlesticks; on your way. You're wasting your breath arguing with
me."
Don Mike knew it. "Well, let me have a set of the plans," he concluded
sulkily.
Bill Conway handed him out a roll of blue-prints and Farrel mounted
Panchito and returned to the hacienda. The blue-prints he hid in the
barn before presenting himself at the house. He knew his absence from
the breakfast-table would not be commented upon, because for a week,
during the round-up of the cattle, he and Pablo and the latter's male
relatives who helped in the riding, had left the hacienda at daylight
after partaking of a four o'clock breakfast.