He read silently, slowly, craggy brows drawn down. His cold blue eyes widened, and the large nostrils of his pitted Bourbon nose spread angrily. "Moffat, listen here!" he boomed at last. "You, too, Bolar." "Yes, be sure to listen, Bolar," laughed Jessamy. "But if you don't wish to, go down into the cañon of the American." "'Adam Selden, Esquire,'" Selden boomed on, unheeding the girl's bantering. "'Poison Oak Ranch, Halfmoon Flat, Californy:' "'My dear Mr. Selden.' Get that, Moffat! 'My dear Mr. Selden!' Say, who's that Ike think he's writin' to? His gal? Huh! 'My _dear_ Mr. Selden:' "'I rode to the county seat on Wednesday, this week, and looked over the records in the office of the recorder of deeds. I found that you are entirely mistaken in the matter that you brought to my attention on Tuesday. The forty acres known as the Old Ivison Place are recorded in my name, the date of the recording being January fifth, this year. It appears that Nancy Fleet sold the place years ago to my father, but that the transfer was not placed on record until the date I have mentioned.' "'With kindest regards,' "'Yours sincerely, Oliver Drew.'" Selden came to an ominous pause and glared about the table. "Writ with a typewriter, all but his name," he announced impressively. "And he's a liar by the clock!" Jessamy threw back her head in that whole-souled laughter that made every one who heard her laugh. "He's crazy," complacently mumbled Bolar, still at war on the biscuits. "Jess'my"--Selden's eyes were fixed sternly on his step-daughter--"What're ye laughin' at?" "At humanity's infinite variety," answered Jessamy. "Does that mean me?" "Me, too, Pete!" she rippled. "Looky-here"--he leaned toward her--"there's some funny business goin' on 'round here. Two times ye been seen ridin' with that new fella down on the Old Ivison Place." "Two times is right," she slangily agreed. "And ye rode with 'im to the county seat when he went to see the records. Just so!" "Your informer is accurate," taunted the girl. "What for?" "What for?" She levelled her disconcerting gaze at him. "Well, I like that, Mr. Selden! Because I wanted to, if you must pry into my affairs." "Ye wanted to, eh? Ye _wanted_ to! Did ye see the records?" "I did." "Is this here letter a lie?" He spanked the table with it. "It is not." He rose from his chair and bent over her. "D'ye mean to tell me yer maw's sister don't own that prop'ty?" "Exactly. It belongs to Mr. Oliver Drew, according to the recorder's office. May I suggest that I am rather proud of my biscuits tonight, and that they're growing cold as lumps of clay?" "It's a lie!" roared Selden. "Now, just a moment," said Jessamy coolly. "Do I gather that you are calling me a liar, Mr. Selden? Because if you are, I'll get a cattle whip and do my utmost to make you swallow it. I'll probably get the worst of it, but--" "Shut up!" bawled Selden. "Ye know what I mean, right enough! The whole dam' thing's a lie!"