“That being the case” he announced cheerfully but in a low tone of voice, “our friend, the janitor, will immediately proceed to release Mr. T. Morgan Carey and bring him into court. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Robert McGraw, and I have you by the short hair, you crooked little sneak. You should have looked up and down the corridor and noticed all the witnesses I had posted to observe you letting me into your office before it was officially opened. Oh, I'm not worried about what you can do now. It's only nine-thirty and I can easily prove that it is a physical impossibility for one man to do the work you've done this morning, and do it in one short half hour. You have entered fifty instruments of abandonment, so there are that number of bases open to permit of the exchange of fifty sections of lieu land, the filing receipts for which I hold in my hand. Old-timer, I dare you to attempt the job of falsifying a public record, even at the command of our esteemed old friend, T. Morgan Carey. By the way, here he is. Gracious, what a hurry we're in! Howdy, T. Morgan?” T. Morgan Carey had fairly leaped into the room. “You--you scoundrel!” he cried, and shook his fist at Bob McGraw. “I'll get you for this” he said in low trembling tones, “if it takes my last dollar.” “No, you won't” retorted the smiling Bob, “at least, not after you've had a heart-to-heart talk with your obliging friend here. I've waited here to square him with you, Carey. He isn't to blame. I just bluffed him out of his boots. You mustn't be hard on him, T. Morgan. You know how easily I bluffed you. Be reasonable. Charity covers a multitude of sins, and there's a lot of land still left in the lower part of Owens Valley, although my friends have had their pick of it. There's your little old bag with your applications still untouched, although I will admit that I was mean enough to help you file some of those instruments of abandonment from your dummy entrymen. I must hurry along now. Thank you so much--” The janitor entered. In his hand he held Mr. McGraw's suspenders. “You might need these” he interrupted, “more particular if you're goin' to do any runnin', an' I'll bet you are.” “Thank you” murmured Mr. McGraw. “You're very thoughtful,” and quite calmly he proceeded to remove his coat and vest and replace the suspenders. When he was once more arrayed for the street he thrust his sun-tanned hand through the grilled window to the trembling deputy; he smiled his gay lazy whimsical inscrutable smile. “_Buenos dias,_ amigo” he said; and so astounded was the unhappy deputy that he actually accepted the proffered hand and shook it limply. “You scoundrel!” hissed T. Morgan Carey, “you--” and then he applied to Bob the unpardonable epithet.