The elder Bishops drew a breath of relief. The old man grounded his heavy walking-stick suddenly, as if it had slipped through his inert fingers. “I'm trustin' you boys to pull me through,” he said, with a shaky laugh. “I hain't never treated Alan right, an' I'm heer to confess it. I 'lowed I was the only one in our layout with any business sense.” “So you are willing to accept the loan?” said Miller. “Willin'? I reckon I am. I never slept one wink last night fer feer some 'n' 'll interfere with it.” Miller reflected a moment and then said: “I am afraid of only one thing, and that is this: Not one man in a million will make a trade of this size without corroborating the statements made by the people he is dealing with. Wilson is at breakfast by this time, and after he is through he may decide to nose around a little before coming to me. I'm afraid to go after him; he would think I was over-anxious. The trouble is that he may run upon somebody from out in the mountains--there are a lot in town already--and get to talking. Just one word about your biting off more than you can chaw, Mr. Bishop, would make 'im balk like a mean mule. He thinks I'm favoring him now, but let him get the notion that you haven't been holding that land for at least a hundred thousand an' the thing would bu'st like a bubble.” Alan mentioned Pole Baker's proposition. Miller thought it over for a moment, his brow wrinkled, and then he said: “Good!--a good idea, but you must call Pole in and let me give him a few pointers. By George! he could keep Wilson away from dangerous people anyway.” Alan went after Pole, and Miller took him into his consultation-room in the rear, where they remained for about fifteen minutes. When they came out Pole's face was very grave. “I won't forget a thing,” he said to Miller. “I understand exactly what you want. When I git through with 'im he 'll want that land bad enough to pay anything fer it, an' he won't dream I'm in cahoot with you, nuther. I can manage that. I ain't no fool ef I do have fits.” “Do you remember my description of him?” asked Miller. “You bet I do--thick-set, about fifty, bald, red-faced, sharp, black eyes, iron gray hair, an' mighty nigh always with a cigar in his mouth.” “That's right,” laughed Miller, “now do your work, and we won't forget you. By all means keep him away from meddlesome people.” When Pole had left the office and Miller had resumed his revolving-chair Mrs. Bishop addressed him, looking straight into his eyes. “I don't see,” she said, in a timid, hesitating way, and yet with a note of firmness dominating her tone--“I don't see why we have to go through all this trickery to make the trade. Ef the land is good security fer the money we needn't be afeerd of what the man will find out. Ef it ain' t good security I don't want his money as fer as I'm concerned.”