Woods has departed for a fortnight, to look at a new ranch in San Joaquin. He does not tell Peyton that he lingers around Lagunitas. He knows Hardin is at San Francisco. A few hours at the county seat. A talk with his lawyer in Stockton completes Joe's investigations. No will of Maxime Valois has ever been filed. The estate is held by Hardin as administrator after "temporary letters" have been renewed. There are no accounts or settlements. Joe smiles when he finds that Philip Hardin is guardian of one "Isabel Valois," a minor. The estate of this child is nominal. There is no inventory of Maxima Valois' estate on file. County courts and officials are not likely to hurry Judge Philip Hardin. On the train to San Francisco, Woods smokes very strong cigars while pondering if he shall hire a lawyer in town. "If I could only choose one who would STAY bought when I BOUGHT> him, I'd give a long price," Joe growls. With recourse to his great "breast-pocket code," the Missourian runs over man after man, in his mind. A frown gathers on his brow. "If I strike a bonanza, I may have to call in some counsel. But I think I'll have a few words with my friend Philip Hardin." Woods is the perfection of rosy good-humor, when he drags Hardin away from his office next day to a cosey lunch at the "Mint." "I want to consult you, Judge," is his excuse. Hardin, now counsel for warring giants of finance, listens over the terrapin and birds, to several legal posers regarding Joe's affairs. Woods has wide influence. He is a powerful friend to placate. Hardin, easy now in money matters, looks forward to the United States Senate. Woods can help. He is a tower of strength. "They will need a senator sometime, who knows law, not one of those obscure MUD-HEADS," says Hardin to himself. Colonel Joe finishes his Larose. He takes a stiff brandy with his cigar, and carelessly remarks: "How's your mine, Judge?" "Doing well, doing well," is the reply. "Better let me put it on the market for you. You are getting old for that sort of bother." "Woods, I will see you by and by. I am trustee for the Valois estate. He left no will, and I can't give a title to the ranch till the time for minor heirs runs out. So I am running the mine on my own account. Some outside parties may claim heirship." "Didn't he leave a daughter?" says Woods. "There is a girl--she's East now, at school; but, between you and me, old fellow, I don't know if she is legitimate or not. You know what old times were." Colonel Joe grins with a twinge of conscience. He has had his "beaux-jours." "I will hold on till the limitation runs out. I don't want to cloud the title to my mine, with litigation. It comes through Valois." "You never heard of any Eastern heirs?" Joe remarks, gulping a "stiffener" of brandy. "Never," says Hardin, reaching for his hat and cane. "The Judge died during the war. I believe his boy died in Paris. He has never turned up. New Orleans is gone to the devil. They are all dead."