hope to alter the
immigration laws of the entire United States? Can we hope to keep the
present Japanese population of California confined to existing areas?"

"No, I suppose not."

"I had a wild hope this afternoon--guess I was a bit theatrical--but it
was a hope based on selfishness. I'm only twenty-eight years old,
Bill, but you are nearly sixty. I'm too young to sacrifice my old
friends, so I've waited here to tell you that you are released from
your promise to support me. Settle with Parker and pull out in peace."

Conway pondered. "Wel-l-l-l," he concluded, finally, "perhaps you're
right, son. Nevertheless, I'm going to enter suit and attach. Foolish
to hunt big game with an empty gun, Miguel. Parker spoke of an
amicable settlement, but as Napoleon remarked, 'God is on the side of
the strongest battalions,' and an amicable settlement is much more
amicably obtained, when a forced settlement is inevitable." And the
cunning old rascal winked solemnly.

Farrel stood up. "Well, that's all I wanted to see you about, Bill.
That, and to say 'thank you' until you are better paid."

"Well, I'm on my way, Miguel." The old contractor shook hands with
Father Dominic and Farrel, cranked his car, turned it and headed back
up the San Gregorio, while Father Dominic guided Don Mike into the
Mission refectory, where Father Andreas and the lay brothers sat around
the dinner table, discussing a black scale which had lately appeared on
their olive trees.

At the entrance to the palm avenue, Bill Conway stopped his car and
proceeded afoot to the Farrel hacienda, which he approached cautiously
from the rear, through the oaks. A slight breeze was blowing down the
valley, so Conway manoeuvred until a short quick bark from one of
Farrel's hounds informed him that his scent had been borne to the
kennel and recognized as that of a friend. Confident now that he would
not be discovered by the inmates of the hacienda, Bill Conway proceeded
boldly to the barn. Just inside the main building which, in more
prosperous times on El Palomar, had been used for storing hay, the
touring car stood. Conway fumbled along the instrument board and
discovered the switch key still in the lock, so he turned on the
headlights and discovered the limousine thirty feet away in the rear of
the barn. Ten minutes later, with the spark plugs from both cars
carefully secreted under a pile of split stove wood in the yard, he
departed as silently as