"Huh!" grunted Sandy complacently. "Let him sue! You can't draw blood out of a turnip, not even with the law to help ye. So this Tom Lee is a rich man, is he? That's interestin'." Murray nodded. "Seems to be. Queer what he's doing here, Sandy! But the girl--the girl Claire! I tell you, she's white! That's the queerest thing of all." Piute came forward, bearing coffee and flapjacks, and sat down to light his corncob. He wore a portentous and solemn air. "Ye don't think there's nothin' wrong, do ye?" he asked. "No," said Murray decisively. "Nothing. It's something we don't understand, but it's nothing wrong. Tom Lee is no ordinary man." "I reckon not," said Piute drily. "He done offered five thousand for Morongo Valley." The two friends quickly glanced at each other, then stared at Piute. "Five thousand?" repeated Sandy, incredulous. "Yep. Now I'm putting it straight up to you gents, layin' all cards down, and leavin' it to you to do the right thing if ye sell to him. He wants to see you and buy the property. I guess you'll sell at _that_ figger, huh?" Murray leaned back in his chair and gazed at Sandy. "It's up to you, Mac," he said briefly. "What's he want? the minin' rights or----?" "The whole works," returned Piute. "Or so he allowed. All of it!" "No tellin' his game," quoth Sandy. "Doc, find out his object when ye see him in the mornin', and we'll talk it over." Murray nodded assent, astonished and mystified by such an offer for Morongo Valley. He was too weary to discuss it now, however, and he wended his way to bed without further delay. Early in the morning he was aroused by voices, and sat up. Sandy, who occupied a second bed in the same room, was talking with Bill Hobbs, and the latter turned to Murray with a proud but modest grin. "Hello, Doc! Mac says you seen the paper last night. Kinda nifty, ain't it?" "A miracle," said Murray gravely. "How you did it, I can't figure out yet!" "Oh, printin' ain't so much," observed Bill loftily. "There was a few mistakes, I seen on readin' her over, but next time she'll come through better. But what's this Mac is tellin' me about gettin' in bad?" "All depends," responded Murray. "That story about Doctor Scudder--where on earth did you get the nerve to print that, you big boob?" "Why, it's true!" asserted Willyum stoutly. "I was vagged down to N'Orleans, just like I printed it, and seen him in court bein' tried for supplyin' dust an' hop to----" "Was he convicted?" demanded Murray. "Nope. He slid through; his pals squared the bulls, I guess." "Good Lord!" Murray began to dress. "Well, he can't get any money out of you, that's some satisfaction." "Well, I ain't worried none," said Bill. "Leavin' all that out, how did the paper strike you--honest, now?"