The sale was to take place at noon in the sheriff's office. After breakfast Angus went down to the corrals. Faith followed him.

"I'd like to go with you to the sale."

"Why?" he asked.

"I'd just like to be with you."

He stared at her for a moment. In his life this solicitude, almost maternal, was a new thing.

"Why, old girl, I believe you think I can't stand the gaff. But if you like, we'll take our medicine together."

Toward noon they entered the sheriff's office. Braden was already there with his lawyer, Parks, talking with the sheriff. Presently entered the two strangers with whom Angus had talked the day before. The stout man smiled and nodded, with a quick appraising glance at Faith. Then came Judge Riley, and with him, to Angus' surprise, was Chetwood.

"'Under and by virtue of the power of sale contained in a certain mortgage bearing date—and made between—'"

The sheriff's voice droned on. Angus paid scanty attention. Now that he was there "to stand the gaff" his feelings were almost impersonal.

"What am I offered for this property?" the sheriff having stated the conditions of sale was getting down to business.

"Ten thousand dollars." This from Mr. Braden. The amount was slightly more than his mortgage claim.

"Ten thousand dollars I am offered. Ten thousand. Are there any other offers? If not—" The sheriff paused, sweeping the room with his eye. Braden, looking at Angus, permitted himself a grin. "If not, then—"

"Twelve thousand." It was the stout man, Mac. Having uttered the two words he resumed a conversation with his friend.

"Twelve thousand?" the sheriff repeated. "Was that right sir? You bid twelve thousand, Mr.—er—"

"McGinity," the stout man supplied.

"Twelve thousand I am offered. Any other offers?"

"Thirteen," said Mr. Braden.

"Fourteen," said McGinity on the heels of Braden's voice.

Faith whispered, "Who is he?"

"I don't know. He was out at the ranch yesterday. I think he'll run Braden up."

Braden whispered to his lawyer, who shook his head.

"Fifteen thousand."

"Sixteen."

Mr. Braden frowned, hesitated and went over to Mr. McGinity.

"We seem to be opposing each other," he observed.

"Does seem like it."

"Perhaps we could reach an understanding—privately. As it stands, we are running the price up."

"I can stand it so far," said Mr. McGinity.

"But we are cutting into each other. If you have reached your top figure I will give you five hundred on it."

"I haven't any top figure—except the value of the property to me."

"You have bid all the property is worth."

Mr. McGinity grinned. "Then naturally you won't bid any more," said he.

"I have—er—sentimental reasons for desiring this property. You won't enter into any arrangement?"

"Not just now."

"Very well," said Mr. Braden. "Sixteen thousand, five hundred, Mr. Sheriff."

"Seventeen," said Mr. McGinity, idly creasing his hat.

Again Mr. Braden conferred with Parks. He raised the bid five hundred, and again the stranger tilted it. The latter did so nonchalantly. Between bids he conversed with his friend. But when Mr. Braden had bid nineteen thousand, five hundred, he shot it to twenty-one thousand.

Though the perspiration stood upon Mr. Braden's brow, his pedal extremities began to suffer from cold. He had not expected any opposition. The conditions of sale were stringent, as he had intended them to be, with a view of choking off others; but just then, though few knew it, certain unfortunate speculations had strained his credit very badly. Twenty-one thousand was a large sum, more than he could count on with certainty unless he had time to raise more on the security of the property itself, even though part of it was his mortgage claim. But he wanted the property very badly—needed it, in fact. Who the deuce was this McGinity?

And then, suddenly, he saw light. "McGinity" was the translation of certain hieroglyphics appended to letters he had received from the Northern Airline. He had translated them into "McKinley," but with considerable doubt. So his competitor for possession of the Mackay ranch was the Airline itself!

So that was what he was up against! Mackay, somehow, must have gotten wind of his intentions, and himself entered into negotiations with the railway; and these must have reached a definite point.

It was a difficult situation for Mr. Braden. He saw his dream of carving up a choice townsite—of seeing it grow in value by leaps and bounds—go glimmering. He hated to drop out. But what was the use of going on? McGinity would bid up to whatever he thought the proposition worth, and not a dollar more. More than that, if he, Braden, overtopped that figure, they would let him keep the land, and they would make a townsite elsewhere. Mr. Braden was under no delusions. He had known landowners who had held the mistaken belief that a strong corporation could be forced to adopt a certain location for a townsite merely because it was the best. The said landowners still owned the land, but it was not a town.

"Twenty-one thousand!" the sheriff repeated. "Any advance? A very valuable property, gentlemen." He looked at Mr. Braden. That gentleman sadly shook his head. No, he was out of it. "Then," said the sheriff, "if there is no higher bid, I—"

"Twenty-two thousand!"

It was Chetwood, and the effect was explosive. Mr. Braden stared, open-mouthed. McGinity and Floyd turned and eyed him. Faith gasped, clutching Angus' arm.

"Why—why," she whispered, "how can he—you told me he had lost all his money!"

"So he told me. He must be running some sort of a blazer. Only, of course, it won't go. It's foolish of him to try."

The sheriff seemed to share Angus' view. Mr. Braden whispered to him. He frowned.

"You know the conditions of sale, young man?"

"I heard you state them."

"You are able to meet them?"

"May I point out," said Chetwood, "that you have not asked that question of any previous bidder. Why favor me?"

"Well—er—you see—" the sheriff was slightly embarrassed—"I understand that you are working for Mr. Mackay."

"Quite so. And what of it?"

"A man who can pay twenty-two thousand for a ranch doesn't often work on it as a hired man," the sheriff pointed out.

"It is absolutely none of your business, official or private, for whom, or for what, or at what I work," Chetwood retorted. "I make that bid, and I demand that you receive it."

Faith laughed softly. Angus stared at his hired man.

"I may tell you, Mr. Sheriff," the court voice of Judge Riley filled the room, "that this gentleman is quite able to meet the conditions of sale in any offer he may make."

"Twenty-three thousand," said Mr. McGinity experimentally.

"Twenty-four," Chetwood returned.

Mr. McGinity turned to his friend. "Now what the devil is up? I've raised Braden out. Who's this young fellow? And what's this about his working for Mackay?"

"I'm an engineer and an honest man," Floyd returned. "This is your end, Mac. But if I were doing it, I'd get together with those boys, now that the old cuss is out of it."

"I always said you had too much brains for an engineer," Mr. McGinity retorted. He crossed the room to Angus and bowed to Faith.

"Suppose you tell me what the idea is?" he said. "Is this young fellow bidding for you?"

"You know as much about it as I do," Angus confessed, and beckoned to Chetwood. "What are you up to, anyway?" he demanded of the latter. "I thought you were broke. You told me so."

"I told you my income had stopped—temporarily," Chetwood replied. "So it had. If you had ever said a word about money troubles I would have fixed them like a shot, but you never even mentioned 'em. So now I'm going to buy the ranch in."

"How high will you go?" Mr. McGinity asked. "Hold on, now—wait a minute. I represent the Northern Airline, which is going to build through here, and this property is valuable to us. I'm prepared to go fairly high myself to get it. That means that we are prepared to pay the owner a good price. Now, instead of crazy bidding, can't we come to an arrangement?"

"Have you any connection with Braden?" Chetwood asked.

"Hell, no!" Mr. McGinity replied. "Didn't you just see me raise him out? And I can raise you out, young man, if you won't act sensibly, unless you have a mighty big roll back of you."

"Oh, no, you can't," Chetwood replied cheerfully. He drew McGinity to one side. "Because, you see," he explained, "I'm really bidding the property in for Mackay, though he doesn't know it. So, you see, I never have to put up real money at all, except enough to satisfy old Braden's claim, and technically satisfy the conditions of sale. I buy the property, hand stage money to Mackay, he hands it back to me—and there you are! The only real money is what Braden gets."

"And suppose Mackay doesn't come through," Mr. McGinity speculated wisely. "Suppose I forced you up—away up—and Mackay found that as a result his ranch had brought a top-notch price which he was entitled to most of; and suppose he stood pat and insisted on receiving it. Where would you get off at then?"

Chetwood laughed. "Braden might do that. Mackay isn't that kind. We're friends, and I'm going to marry his sister. Raise away, if you feel like it."

Mr. McGinity's eyes twinkled. "Not on your life," he said. "The combination is too many for me." The sheriff impatiently claimed recognition. "I'm through, Mr. Sheriff. The last bid is good as far as I'm concerned."

The sheriff looked at Mr. Braden, who shook his head. And thus the Mackay ranch came into the nominal possession of Chetwood.

Angus, throttling his pride, held out his hand.

"You've got a good ranch," he said. "I'm glad it's you. If you marry Jean it will be staying in the family, anyway. I'll be moving out as soon—"

"You'll be doing nothing of the kind," Chetwood told him. "Do you think I'm such a dashed cad as that? I'm buying the ranch for you, of course. You can pay me what I'll pay Braden, when you like, and if you never feel like it nobody will worry."

Angus stared at him dazedly. For the first time in years his eyes were misty; but his innate pride still held.

"It's good of you," he said. "Oh, it's damned good of you, but—I can't stand for it."

"Afraid you'll jolly well have to, my boy," Chetwood grinned cheerfully. "You can't help yourself, you know."

"But I can't allow—"

"Don't I tell you, you'll have to. Don't be such a bally ass, or strike me pink if I don't punch your beastly head here and now! Can't you take a little help from a friend who would take it from you? Mrs. Angus, for heaven's sake make this lunatic listen to reason!"

Faith laughed happily. "He wouldn't let me help him," she said. "Give him time, Mr. Chetwood."

As Chetwood waited to comply with the necessary formalities Mr. McGinity touched him on the arm.

"I want to make a proposition to whoever owns that land—you or Mackay," he said. "I'd rather make it to you, because I can see you know more about business than he does. The Airline isn't any philanthropic institution, of course, but we'll play fair with you and Mackay."

"Thanks very much," said Chetwood, a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, I mean it," Mr. McGinity assured him. "You seem a pretty bright young fellow. If you haven't got too much money to take a good job, I can place you in my department."

"But you see," Chetwood returned, "I've already got a job with your company."

"What?" cried Mr. McGinity. "What kind of a con game is this? What department are you in?"

"I'm a director. Did you ever hear of Sir Eustace Chetwood?"

Mr. McGinity gasped. "Are you trying to kid me? Sir Eustace Chetwood was one of our English directors, but he's dead. And he was about eighty years old."

"Quite right," Chetwood nodded. "He died a few months ago, and by virtue of the shares in your corporation which he left to me, I was elected to fill his place. I'm his nephew, you see. As to the title, it's hereditary, and I can't help it."

"Sir Eustace Chetwood!" gasped Mr. McGinity. "Good Lord!"

"Well, I'm not using either title at present," Chetwood grinned. "Just keep it dark, like a good fellow. I don't want to be plagued by a lot of blighters who can't see me at all as a thirty-dollar ranch hand. My real friends are just beginning to call me 'Bill'—and I like it. I say, Mr. McGinity, if you should ever call me 'Bill,' I'd call you 'Mac'."

"Is that so, Bill?" said Mr. McGinity, who was a gentlemen of easy adjustments.

"It are so, Mac!" Chetwood laughed. "See you later about that proposition. Remember, you are to play fair."