ifornia,
all admits he is a governor. When he speaks in person or by messenger
there is never any hesitancy about obedience.

The captain read his orders to the chauffeur and commanded him to turn
round. The four climbed on, and the truck started back.

The driver told them that only two trucks had gone on ahead; sixteen
were behind, with Senor Jenkins on the last, and each truck carried
twenty bales of cotton.

They stopped the next truck when they met it, and then waited until all
seventeen were backed up the road.

Reedy Jenkins leaped from the rear one, nervous and violent of temper,
swore, and hurried forward to see what was the trouble. To his
unutterable wrath he saw the end truck headed about.

"What the hell! you damned greasers." But then he quit. Something was
wrong here. He strode forward angrily.

"Rogeen, get off that truck and do it damn quick."

"I'm getting off," said Bob. With a quick leap he landed in the road
and went straight for Reedy. The secretary and the captain followed.

"I have a writ of attachment here," said Bob, bringing out the paper
issued by the governor, "for your cotton in favour of Ah Sing. I have
further orders from the governor to deliver the cotton to the compress
on the American side and sell it in the open market.

"Captain," Bob turned to the officer, "order the drivers to turn back.
You ride on the front one with the driver, and I'll ride on the back
one with my kind friend Senor Jenkins."

That night after Bob Rogeen had left her with the telegram Imogene
Chandler was too wrought up to sleep. And the longer she thought of
it, the more determined she became to take action herself. She had
some faith that the telegram would bring results, but not much faith
that those results would come in time to save their crop. While Bob
was riding through the days and nights, fighting for them, she and the
other ranchers were doing nothing but watch their cotton burn for water.

About eleven o'clock Imogene went to the corral and bridled and saddled
a horse. With the bridle reins in her left hand and her revolver in
her right, she galloped off north toward Rogeen's ranch to consult Noah
Ezekiel.

A mile up the road she met Noah riding south.

"What's the matter? Your dad not sick?" He was much astonished to see
her riding out at this time of night.

"No," replied the girl, "it is our cotton that is sick. And I'm going
after a doctor. Noah, I want you to g