Noah Ezekiel pulled a long face. "You sound like my dad. And I ain't fully persuaded you are enough of a saint to preach." "You are incorrigible, Zeke," Bob laughed. "And I think I'll go with you to-night to the Red Owl." Noah shook his head. "I wouldn't advise it. Gamblin' ain't to be recommended to employers. It's liable to put wages in japordy." "I am not going to gamble," said Bob. "I am looking for a man--a couple of them, in fact." Reedy Jenkins had returned to his office about two o'clock after making a complete circuit of his leases. The crop looked fine--so everybody told him. He knew little about cotton, but Ah Sing was a wonderful farmer--he knew how to handle the Chinese labourer. Then he looked at his watch and frowned. He wished that blankety-blank Mexican would be more prompt in keeping his appointments. He wanted to get away. He was to drive to El Centro for a visit with Mrs. Barnett and then to-night he would return for a little recreation across the line. It was nearly four when Madrigal finally appeared, wearing an expensive white summer suit and a jaunty straw hat. "He is a handsome devil," thought Reedy, eying him with disfavour because of his lateness. The Mexican took off his straw hat attached to a buttonhole by a silk cord, and pushed up his black pompadoured hair. "Have you got the Chandler ranch yet?" Jenkins came directly to the point. "Not yet, senor." Madrigal's bold, dark eyes smiled with supreme confidence. "Not yet--but soon." The Mexican stood up and returned his hat to his head. He put up his hands as though strumming a guitar, turned up his eyes languishingly, and hummed a flirting air. "If this, senor," he said, breaking off, "does not win the senorita, we will try--what you call hem--direct action. You shall have your ranch, never fear." "And that damned Rogeen--what of him?" The Mexican smiled sinisterly. "He get news tonight that make heem lose much sleep. "Now may I trouble Senor Jenkins for fifty dollar?" Reedy grumbled, but paid. The Mexican lifted his hand, pressed it to his heart, and bowed with mocking gallantry. "Until to-night, senor." [Illustration: Lolita tries her wiles on Percy.] CHAPTER IX Reedy Jenkins and Mrs. Barnett sat in a cool, shadowed corner of the porch. Reedy took a plump yellow cigar from his vest pocket, and with a deferential bow: "Will you permit me?" "Certainly, Mr. Jenkins." Mrs. Barnett spoke in a liberal-minded tone. "I do not object at all to the fragrance of a good cigar--especially out of doors." "It is a vile habit," said Jenkins, deprecatingly, as he began to puff. "But after a fellow has worked hard on some big deal, and is all strung up, it seems to offer a sort of relaxation. Of course, I think a man ought to smoke in reason. We are coarse brutes at the best--and need all the refining influences we can get."