and the water turned into
the canals at once."

This was also promised as soon as legal papers could be prepared. In
leaving the office Bob dropped the telegram from the consul,
accidentally.

"It apparently will not be needed," he said to himself as he left the
office, "but it won't hurt to lose it."

The telegram left in the office read:

Present your situation to the governor, and if immediate relief is not
given I'll close the border within twenty-four hours so tight that not
a man, a mule, nor a machine can cross it either way.

LANIER, _Consul._

Two hours later a secretary who spoke good English and a Mexican
captain appeared at the Chinese hotel where Bob was waiting.

"We have here," the secretary presented Bob with two papers, "an
attachment for Senor Jenkins' cotton and an order that the water must
be turned into the canals at once, and at the old rate. El Capitan and
I will accompany you in the governor's own machine to see these orders
are obeyed."

Rogeen requested that no message be sent to Mexicali regarding these
attachments, as that would give Reedy a chance to dodge.

"Can we go back over the Mexican road, and come into the valley round
the Laguna Salada?" Bob asked. Reedy might already be rushing his
cotton on those trucks down to the waiting boat on the Gulf, and by
going this route they would intercept them.

The road over the mountains was not completed, said the secretary, but
they could have another machine from the valley to meet them, and in
that machine make the circuit as proposed.

At ten o'clock that night Rogeen, the captain, and the secretary left
the machine and the chauffeur at the top of the mountain grade, and
began the two-mile descent to the ancient bed of the sea--the desert
round the Laguna Salada.

Bob's satisfaction at winning the governor was more than overbalanced
by the torturing fear that it would all be too late. He believed they
would be in time to stop Reedy from getting away with his four hundred
thousand dollars' worth of cotton. Jenkins would not start until he
had lost hope of getting that $150,000 from the ranchers for water.
But Bob feared he was already too late to save his own cotton and
Chandler's.

The point on the mountain where they left the machine was almost a mile
high. The descent to the valley was by a steep and precarious trail.
The captain who was familiar with it took the lead.

It was twelve-thirty when they reached the