He went at once to the post-office, and after receiving permission from Miss Pickett, screwed into the wall of the post-office lobby what appeared to Miss Pickett to be two pictures, framed. When he had left, she came out of her sanctum and discovered that one of the frames contained a certified copy of a marriage license issued to Robert McGraw and Donna Corblay on October 17th,----, together with a neat typewritten statement of the reasons why interested parties had not been able to discover the record of the issuance of the license at the county seat. It appeared that the minister who had performed the ceremony, after forwarding the license to the State Board of Health for registration, had neglected to return it thereafter to the two most interested parties, which, coupled with Mrs. McGraw's ignorance of the procedure to be followed under the circumstances, had resulted in more or less embarrassment. The other frame contained a typewritten invitation to the public to earn five hundred dollars by convicting the undersigned of stage robbery. The “undersigned” was Robert McGraw, who would remain in San Pasqual all day long and would be delighted to answer questions. From the post-office Bob went to the public telephone station and called up T. Morgan Carey in Los Angeles. He requested an interview at ten o'clock the following morning for the purpose of adjusting a compromise with him. Needless to state, Mr. T. Morgan Carey granted the request with cheerful alacrity. “I'm coming to do business” Bob warned him. “No third parties around--understand!” “Certainly, certainly” responded Carey. “And in order to save time, Mr. McGraw, I'll have the assignment of your water right made out, ready for your signature. I'll have a notary within hailing distance.” Bob could hear him chuckling as he hung up, for to Carey the thought of his revenge on the man who had cuffed him in the State Land Office was very sweet, indeed. His amiable smile had not yet worn off when his office boy ushered Bob McGraw into his private office at ten o'clock next morning. He waved Bob to a chair and looked him over curiously. “Been too busy lately to dress up, eh?” he queried, as he noted Bob's corduroy trousers tucked into his miner's boots. “Pretty busy” assented Bob, and smiled. “Rather spectacular removal--that of our friend Hennage” Carey continued. “From what I learn he was a little slow on the draw.” “O'Rourke beat him to it.” “If I may judge by the single exhibition of your proficiency with a gun which I was privileged to observe, Mr. McGraw, the issue would have been different had you been in Hennage's boots.” “Possibly. But I didn't come here to gossip with you, Carey. I don't like you well enough for that. I want to finish my business and get back to San Pasqual to-night.”