Then he paused. He wiped the beaded drops from his forehead, and he coughed and shook himself. His big fists unclosed. Passion gave place to dignity. "Neuman, it's a pity you an' men like you can't see the truth. That's the mystery to me--why any one who had spent half a lifetime an' prospered here in our happy an' beautiful country could ever hate it. I never will understand that. But I do understand that America will never harbor such men for long. You have your reasons, I reckon. An' no doubt you think you're justified. That's the tragedy. You run off from hard-ruled Germany. You will not live there of your own choice. You succeed here an' live in peace an' plenty.... An', by God! you take up with a lot of foreign riffraff an' double-cross the people you owe so much!... What's wrong with your mind?... Think it over.... An' that's the last word I have for you." Anderson, turning to his desk, took up a cigar and lighted it. He was calm again. There was really sadness where his face had shown only fury. Then he addressed Dorn. "Kurt, it's up to you now," he said. "As my superintendent an' some-day partner, what you'll say goes with me.... I don't know what bein' square would mean in relation to this man." Anderson sat down heavily in his desk chair and his face became obscured in cigar smoke. "Neuman, do you recognize me?" asked Dorn, with his flashing eyes on the rancher. "No," replied Neuman. "I'm Chris Dorn's son. My father died a few days ago. He overtaxed his heart fighting fire in the wheat ... Fire set by I.W.W. men. Glidden's men! ... They burned our wheat. Ruined us!" Neuman showed shock at the news, at the sudden death of an old friend, but he did not express himself in words. "Do you deny implication in Glidden's plot to kill Anderson?" demanded Dorn. "Yes," replied Neuman. "Well, you're a liar!" retorted Dorn. "I saw you with Glidden and my father. I followed you at Wheatly--out along the railroad tracks. I slipped up and heard the plot. It was I who snatched the money from my father." Neuman's nerve was gone, but with his stupid and stubborn process of thought he still denied, stuttering incoherently. "Glidden has been hanged," went on Dorn. "A vigilante band has been organized here in the valley. Men of your known sympathy will not be safe, irrespective of your plot against Anderson. But as to that, publicity alone will be enough to ruin you.... Americans of the West will not tolerate traitors.... Now the question you've got to decide is this. Will you take the risks or will you sell out and leave the country?" "I'll sell out," replied Neuman. "What price do you put on your ranch as it stands?" "One hundred thousand dollars." Dorn turned to Anderson and asked, "Is it worth that much?" "No. Seventy-five thousand would be a big price," replied the rancher. "Neuman, we will give you seventy-five thousand for your holdings. Do you accept?" "I have no choice," replied Neuman, sullenly.