“Yep. What I want to know is this: Do you want me to play safe on this stock or do you want me to handle it as I would my own? I warn you, there’s a vast difference between the two! I can’t warn you too seriously.” She did not reply at once. Bowen waited until waiting grew intolerable. “Hello! Are you there, Miss Ferguson?” “Yes. I—I was thinking. Please, Mr. Bowen, handle that stock entirely as if it were your own. I’ll take the chance!” “Good! Thank Heaven for your courage! I’ll be down presently.” He had quite forgotten the five thousand which she bore for him. Bowen returned to Dickover’s rooms in no great haste; talking with Tonopah would take time as well as money. But when he entered, he found Dickover giving his private secretary some instructions. “And rush the papers here!” concluded the magnate. “With witnesses.” “Well?” Bowen dropped into a chair, as if casually. “Did you get Lyman yet?” “The boy’s making out the papers now. I’ll buy. What did your lady friend say?” Bowen felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. The game was won—almost! “One thing at a time,” he said, laughing. “Let’s clean the Big Bony off the slate, then clean off the Apex Crown.” “Uhuh. One thing I meant to tell you, Bowen. Keep your eye peeled for Henderson! That fellow is bad medicine when he’s crossed, and I judge by your manner that you have crossed him some this morning.” “I did, I hope,” Bowen chuckled. The magnate grunted non-committally. In ten minutes the ownership of the Big Bony group of claims was transferred from Bob Bowen to Dickover. The secretary and witnesses departed. Bowen pocketed the magnate’s check for thirty thousand dollars. “You lost another thirty on that deal,” said Dickover complacently. “I’ll clean up fifty with the thirty I got,” retorted Bowen. The other chuckled. “I’ll gamble that you do, at that! Well, about the Apex Crown—” “We hang on to it.” The eyes of the two men met and held for a long moment. “Then,” Dickover’s fist crashed down on the table, “you’ll go smash! All or nothing is my motto. In three days you won’t get three cents for that stock—and what’s more, you never will get three cents for it!” Bowen rose, his lips curving in a smile. “Maybe. Well, I’m glad to ’ve met you. Hope we meet again.” “Same here.” The two men shook hands. Dickover extended another cigar. “Smoke up on me after lunch, Bowen. Sorry you’re going smash with that block of Apex Crown!” “I’ll be sorry if I do,” said Bowen cryptically. “So-long!” V—BOWEN TAKES A PARTNER. Without comment, Bowen took the flat packet Miss Ferguson handed him, dropped into the big plush chair beside her, and glanced at his watch. “Eleven o’clock. Time to talk before lunch.” He glanced around and found they were in no danger of eavesdroppers. Then, with leaping pulses, he told the girl of his conversations with Henderson and Dickover.