Bob rose. "If anything further happens down there, I'm afraid there'll be an accident on this side of the line. It was merely that you might be prepared in advance that I dropped in this morning to make you a present of this." He tossed the paper on Jenkins' desk and went out. Reedy picked up the receipt. The undertaker, after Rogeen's recovery, had facetiously written on the back: This receipt is still good for one first-class funeral--and it is negotiable. Reedy felt all the sneer go out of his lips and a sort of coldness steal along his sweaty skin. Underneath this writing was another line: Transferred for value received to Reedy Jenkins. BOB ROGEEN. CHAPTER XIV It was five minutes after Bob Rogeen had gone out of the door before Reedy Jenkins stirred in his chair. Then he gave his head a vicious jerk and swiped the angling wisp of hair back from his forehead. "Oh, hell! He can't bluff me." He sat gritting his teeth, remembering the insulting retorts he might have made, slapped his thigh a whack with his open hand in vexation that he had not made them; got up and walked the floor. No, he was not afraid of Rogeen, not by a damned sight. Afraid of a twenty-dollar hardware clerk? _Not much!_ He would show him he had struck the wrong town and the wrong man for his cheap bluffs. And yet Reedy kept remembering a certain expression in Rogeen's eye, a certain taut look in his muscles. Of course a man of Reedy's reputation did not want to be mixed up in any brawls. Whatever was done, should be done smoothly--and safely. He telephoned for Madrigal, the Mexican Jew. Madrigal could manage it. While waiting for his agent, Reedy lighted a cigar, but became so busily engaged with his thoughts that he forgot to puff until it went out. Jenkins was taking stock of the situation. He had boasted of his influence with the Mexican authorities; but like most boasters he was talking about the influence he was going to have rather than what he had. Just now he was not sure he had any pull across the line at all. Of course as a great ranch owner and a very rich man--as he was going to be inside of three years--he could have great influence. And yet he remembered that the present Mexican Governor of Baja California was an exceedingly competent man. He was shrewd and efficient, and deeply interested in the development of his province. Moreover, he was friendly to Americans, and seemed to have more than an ordinary sense of justice toward them. Reedy shook his head. He did not believe he could have much chance with the Governor--not at present, anyway. But perhaps some minor official might help put over his schemes. Anyway, Madrigal would know. The Mexican Jew came directly, dressed in light flannels, a flower in his buttonhole. Debonairly he lifted his panama and bowed with exaggerated politeness to Jenkins. "What great good has Senor Reedy clabbering in his coco now?" He grinned impudently.