A front page story of the usual type, emanating from the Pacific Coast, related that a woman claiming to be Krutzmacht’s lawful widow, married to him several years before in a small southern California town, was about to institute legal proceedings to recover the remnants of the dead promoter’s scattered fortune. At the time of Krutzmacht’s death, so the story ran, it was supposed that his large fortune had been completely swallowed up in his unsuccessful enterprises, but recently through a series of extraordinary events a very considerable amount of unsuspected assets had been discovered, to which the widow now laid claim. Eminent counsel had been retained in the case, and sensational developments were promised, involving a capitalist well known in New York and Arizona. As Brainard having finished the story laid the newspaper down with a slight smile, Farson observed: “So it’s on!” “Apparently. . . . It took her some time to get into action. I suppose she was collecting her properties.” “She’ll produce a son in court lisping ‘Pap Krutz,’” the secretary growled. He could not forgive Brainard for what he called his “weak” manner of handling the affair. “Now we shall have an opportunity of seeing what sort of story she can put up,” Brainard remarked, proceeding unconcernedly with his breakfast. “Perhaps this action, through the notoriety it will give to Krutzmacht’s affairs, will serve to produce the real heir,” he added hopefully. But after a visit to his lawyers Brainard was less optimistic. They pointed out to him that undoubtedly the first legal move would be to tie up the great Melody mine by an injunction. Whether the so-called widow could prove her marriage to the satisfaction of the court or not, the mine must remain idle. And the case might drag on for a couple of years or more, depending upon the resources the widow could command. During all this time there would be no income from the property; instead it would greatly deteriorate. The lawyers’ prediction was quickly fulfilled. Brainard found himself without the large monthly income from the flow of the sulfur wells, with an expensive law suit on his hands, and two greedy theatrical companies to be provided for. “As Hollinger warned me, Lorilla _is_ a Rattler,” Brainard said to the secretary when the two went over the situation. “It looks very much, my boy, as if this law suit would be the final curtain for the great Idea. I’m tied up short. The Chicago theater has taken a lump of money. I don’t believe I could lay my hands on fifty thousand dollars cash, all told.” “I wonder where she is getting her money to fight the case,” Farson said. “Perhaps Hollinger is putting it up—as a promising speculation!” “You don’t think he would do that?” “Why not? It goes with his philosophy. He gave me my chance to compromise—” “If you’d only taken it!”