Bancroft walked back to his place of business with brows knitted and mouth drawn into grim lines. His mind was acting rapidly and ruthlessly. The sudden collapse of his house of cards, the knowledge that danger was still as imminent as ever, left him savage with desire for Curtis Conrad's death, or, rather, for the delectable land that lay beyond it. Nobody but this young hothead with his insensate desire for revenge knew or cared anything about that old affair now. With him out of the way there would be no danger from anybody or anything. Why wasn't the man sensible enough to take the money he was willing to pay, and be satisfied? Perhaps the receipt of another check or two would soften his purpose; it was worth trying. And--there was still the Mexican! Baxter had surely said something to him, and the fellow seemed to understand that he, also--but he had said nothing about it, and whatever the creature suspected was his own inference. Evidently the Mexican did suspect something and had some purpose in his mind. With Conrad so intent upon his destruction had he not every right to protect himself and his child? Of course he had, he told himself fiercely, and what means he might use were his own affair. At the door of the bank Rutherford Jenkins met him with a smiling salutation: "Good-morning, Mr. Bancroft; this is lucky! I was waiting for you here, but I've got so much to do that I'd begun to be afraid I wouldn't be able to see you before I go back." Bancroft greeted him pleasantly. "What do you mean, Jenkins," he went on, "by deserting to Martinez? Hadn't you better think again about that? We need you on our side." "That's exactly what I want to see you about," said Jenkins in a confidential tone. "Can't you come over with me to Bill Williams's hotel for a few minutes? I want to have a talk with you." They went back together, Bancroft wondering if Jenkins, who was regarded as a desirable ally by both parties, notwithstanding his character, was about to make overtures to him for deserting the Martinez fold and coming back to Baxter's. "Perhaps that spanking Curt gave him has set him against the whole Martinez following," he thought. "Baxter will be mighty glad to get him back, and I'll do my best to cinch the bargain so he can't crawl." When they entered the hotel room Jenkins moved leisurely about, got out a bottle of whiskey, and hunted up some cigars, talking all the time glibly about other matters and jumping inconsequently from one subject to another. Bancroft made several attempts to bring the conversation to the point, but each time Jenkins either blandly ignored or skilfully evaded his leading. Finally Bancroft said, looking at his watch: "Well, Jenkins, I've got to be at the bank very soon, and if there's anything particular you want to say suppose we get down to business."