The
last week the lessees have both been much annoyed; the one on the south
one especially.

"Now, of course, we can kill Madrigal and any other Mexican that keeps
up that annoyance. But instead, I suggest that you call them off. For
the Chandlers have fully made up their minds not to sell, and so have
I."

Bob rose. "If anything further happens down there, I'm afraid there'll
be an accident on this side of the line. It was merely that you might
be prepared in advance that I dropped in this morning to make you a
present of this." He tossed the paper on Jenkins' desk and went out.

Reedy picked up the receipt. The undertaker, after Rogeen's recovery,
had facetiously written on the back:

This receipt is still good for one first-class funeral--and it is
negotiable.

Reedy felt all the sneer go out of his lips and a sort of coldness
steal along his sweaty skin. Underneath this writing was another line:

Transferred for value received to Reedy Jenkins.
BOB ROGEEN.

CHAPTER XIV

It was five minutes after Bob Rogeen had gone out of the door before
Reedy Jenkins stirred in his chair. Then he gave his head a vicious
jerk and swiped the angling wisp of hair back from his forehead.

"Oh, hell! He can't bluff me."

He sat gritting his teeth, remembering the insulting retorts he might
have made, slapped his thigh a whack with his open hand in vexation
that he had not made them; got up and walked the floor.

No, he was not afraid of Rogeen, not by a damned sight. Afraid of a
twenty-dollar hardware clerk? _Not much!_ He would show him he had
struck the wrong town and the wrong man for his cheap bluffs. And yet
Reedy kept remembering a certain expression in Rogeen's eye, a certain
taut look in his muscles. Of course a man of Reedy's reputation did
not want to be mixed up in any brawls. Whatever was done, should be
done smoothly--and safely.

He telephoned for Madrigal, the Mexican Jew. Madrigal could manage it.

While waiting for his agent, Reedy lighted a cigar, but became so
busily engaged with his thoughts that he forgot to puff until it went
out. Jenkins was taking stock of the situation. He had boasted of his
influence with the Mexican authorities; but like most boasters he was
talking about the influence he was going to have rather than what he
had. Just now he was not sure he had any pull across the line at all.
Of course as a great ranch owner and a very rich man--as he was