ng fog of cigar smoke. "I'm
quite aware of it, Wade. But here it is: We don't want to sell. Even if
they gave us a fair present price, we would be losers, for land out
there is going to double in value in the next couple of years. And what
they intend to do is simply to freeze us out and force us to sell at
dry-land prices. Therefore, we've _got_ to fight. Go ahead and try for
an injunction. If that is refused, bring an action as soon as you can.
And meanwhile we'll hang on to our water somehow."

"Don't do anything to prejudice your case in the courts," Wade warned.

"According to you York will do that, anyway," said Dunne. "No, Wade,
that's flat, final, whatever. We won't let go till we have to. We won't
be skinned out of the profit we are entitled to by foresight and hard
work. Speaking for myself, I've put my whole stack on this bet, and
with a straight deal it's a sure winner. And if the deal's going to be
crooked I'll break up the game any way that comes handy."

"Go to it, my friend," said the lawyer. "It's your affair. I've told
you what I think, and I'll not add to it. I hope you have water when I
come out this summer to make you that long-promised visitation." He
changed the subject abruptly. "You and Clyde Burnaby seemed to be
getting on swimmingly."

"Clyde--is that her name?" said Dunne. "Seems like a nice girl."

"She's all of that. You know who she is, of course?"

"Not a bit. Just her name."

"Niece of old Jim Hess, with a fortune of her own."

"Pretty_ lucky_," Dunne commented.

"Pretty _and_ lucky," said his host. "Old York hates Hess like poison,
a sentiment which Hess returns, according to rumour. I don't suppose
you've told Clyde Burnaby your troubles?"

Dunne stared at him. "Of course not! What do you take me for?"

"That's all right, my son; don't swell up so. Why don't you tell her?"

"Why the deuce should I? Do you think I go yawping my business affairs
to every female I meet?"

"Well, Clyde Burnaby's good stuff," said Wade. "She has a level head.
If it comes up that way, Casey, tell her all about it. She'll
sympathize with you."

"I'm not looking for sympathy."

"And she might give you some good advice."

"Rats!" Casey Dunne commented, inelegantly but forcibly, and Wade said
no more.

Dunne was glad when the cigars were ended. He found Clyde Burnaby at
the piano, barely touching the keys. A faint melody seemed to flow from
her finger's tips.

"Do you sing, Mr. Dunne?"