“What I want,” said Dunbar, “is the real, gen-u-ine thing in stones. This ring’s to be for Mrs. Dunbar, and she hasn’t her equal among womenkind in all Texas. I want something that’s up to the mark, or it don’t go; and, what’s more, I haven’t a mint of money to squander, either.” “Vat you like to pay?” The Jew was studying the handsome face of the young man, studying it compassionately. If it wasn’t for the gain to be had from Benner, Isaacs would never have taken part in the contemptible plot hatched by Jerry. But money was the Jew’s life blood. His compassion was strong, but his love for money was stronger. “A hundred pesos is the extent of my pile,” said Dunbar. “Act, Himmel! Vat you expect to get for a hundert tollars? It vill be shmall, mein friendt. Tiamonts iss vort’ mooch money. A hundert-toller bigness in a tiamont iss shmall.” “Well, anyways, a hundred-dollar bigness is all I can stand for,” returned Dunbar regretfully. “Next time you come around, Isaacs, maybe I’ll be in better case so that we can dicker for a watch. How much is this?” He picked up a ring and held it where the slanting rays of the sun entered a window and struck a rainbow of color from the single stone. “A hundert und feefty toller, Misder Dunbar,” replied the Jew, “but I geave him to you for one hundert toller. You look like a fine poy, und I haf got tender feelings for fine poys. Ven you puy der vatch, den I make it oop vat I lose on der ring. Hein?” “I’ve bought something, uncle. Put the ring in a box and I’ll stow it away.” The ring was put in a case, and the money changed hands. Dunbar, whistling blithely, left the room. Isaacs looked after him, shook his head forebodingly, and began replacing his jewelry in the satchel. While he was about it, a tapping came on the window of the room. He looked up and saw Jerry Benner peering in at him through the glass. A shiver ran through the humped form of Isaacs. Here was where the plot was to begin! Jerry motioned with his hand that Isaacs was to lift the window sash. The Jew obeyed, and the crooked form of the hunchback floundered into the room. “He’s bought his ring, has he, Abe?” asked Jerry. “Yah, so,” murmured the Jew, “he has bought der ring.” “Well, you get those paste stones in a hurry and bring them to me. Hurry, Abe. He left his saddle and saddlebags at the corral. It’s a good chance, Abe, for me to do what I’m planning.” “Ach, Cherry,” said Isaacs, clutching his hands, “he looks like a goot poy.” “Never you mind about that, Abe,” snapped Jerry. “If you want to collect the rest of what’s coming from Lige, get you those bogus stones. Hustle! Sim Pierce is talking with Dunbar, and Dunbar may leave for home before he intended. Hurry up, Abe.” With a stifled groan, the harassed Jew turned and left the room, taking his precious satchel with him. He returned in a few moments with the false stones, and the designing Jerry got through the window with them and moved in the direction of the corral.