a hundred
thousand dollars, and," he laughed, "I lack considerable over
ninety-nine thousand of having that much."

"Lend it to yourself out of money you are lending for old Crill,"
suggested Noah.

After Bob dropped Noah at the Greek restaurant--"Open Day and
Night--Waffles"--he drove down the street, stopped in front of an
office building, and went up to see a lawyer that he knew.

"T. J.," he began at once, "I want you to see what is the lowest dollar
that will buy the Red Butte Ranch and its equipment. Reedy Jenkins
can't farm it, and he can't afford to pay $15,000 rent and let it lie
idle. You ought to be able to get it cheap. Get a rock-bottom offer,
but don't by any means let him know who wants it."

As Bob went down the stairs his head was fairly whizzing with plans.
This thing had taken strong hold of him. He had longed for many months
to get possession of that ranch but had never seriously thought of it
as a possibility. But if Jim Crill would risk the money, it would be
the great opportunity. Five thousand acres of cotton might make a big
fortune in one year.

"Of course"--doubt had its inning as he drove north toward El
Centro--"if he failed it would mean, instead of a fortune, a lifetime
debt." Yet he was so feverishly hopeful he let out the little machine
a few notches beyond the speed limit. At El Centro he went direct to
the Crill bungalow.

Mrs. Barnett opened the door when he knocked, opened it about fourteen
inches, and stood looking at him as though he were a leper and had
eaten onions besides.

"Is Mr. Crill in?" Bob asked.

"Mr. Crill is not in." She bit off each word with the finality of a
closed argument and shut the door with a whack so decisive it was
almost a slam.

Bob found Jim Crill in the lobby of the hotel, smoking; he sat down by
him, and concentrated for a moment on the line of argument he had
thought out.

"Mr. Crill, cotton is selling at six cents now. It won't go any lower."

"It doesn't need to as far as I'm concerned." The old gentleman puffed
his pipe vigorously.

"It will be at least ten cents this fall." Bob was figuring on the
back of an old envelope. "Much more next year."

Then he opened up on the Red Butte Ranch. Bob never did such talking
in his life. He knew every step of his plan, for he had thought out
fifty times just what he would do with that ranch if he had it. He
outlined this plan clearly and definitely to Jim Crill. He carefully