h had just been formed
under the title of "The Desert Scorpion," and he really judged from the
behavior of his machine that a remarkable pool underlaid the tract. He
was willing to risk his reputation upon the guaranty that the first
well would produce not less than three thousand barrels a day. He was
interested in the out-come only from a scientific standpoint; he owned
not one single share of stock. Then McWade resumed his sway over the
crowd, and soon shares in "The Desert Scorpion" were selling rapidly.

Shortly after lunch, Mallow and the two partners were seated in the
office upstairs, their work done for the day. Another successful
promotion had gone to the credit of McWade and Stoner; all three were
in a triumphal mood. Mallow was recounting a story that had just come
to his ears.

"Remember that old silver tip that took a stand in front of the Owl
Drug Store a few days back? He called his company 'The Star of Hope.'"

Stoner nodded. "He had a good piece of ground, right adjoining the Moon
Petroleum tract--three wells down to the sand. I wondered how he ever
got hold of it."

"He didn't. That's the big laugh. He didn't own that land at all. He
just had himself a map drawn, with the numbers changed. His ground was
a mile away. He sold his stock in two days, thirty-five thousand
shares, then he blew. Some Coal-oil John, who had plunged for about
three shares, got to studying his own map, found there was something
wrong and let up a squawk. But Silver Tip had faded like the mists of
early morn--thirty-five stronger than he was. Snappy work, eh?"

McWade frowned his disapproval. "Something ought to be done to stop
those crooks or they'll kill us legitimate promoters. You can't sting a
crowd too often in the same spot."

There came a knock at the door, and in answer to an invitation to enter
it opened. The next instant both McWade and Stoner sat erect in their
chairs, with eyes alert and questioning, for at sight of the stranger
Mallow had leaped to his feet with a smothered exclamation, and now
stood with his back to the desk and with his head outthrust in a
peculiar attitude of strained intensity.

CHAPTER X

"Well, well, Mallow!" The caller's face broke into an engaging smile as
he crossed the threshold. "Still wearing dark glasses, eh? I'm afraid
you didn't heed my instructions."

Mallow spoke huskily, "What the hell you doing here?"

"Following the excitement, merely. I shall open an office and