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“Suppose you get less than ten inches–what then?”

“Then it’s all to be mine; but I’m to deed him the land all the same.”

“How many inches of water have you from your spring now?”

“About ten, as near as I can guess.”

“Well, suppose he locates the tunnel so it will drain your spring; are you to have the expense of the work and the privilege of giving him half the water and twenty acres of land–is that it?”

John rubbed the back of his neck and reflected.

“The professor laughs at the idea of ten inches of water. He says we’ll get at least a hundred, maybe more. You see, if we were to get that much, I’d have a lot of water to sell to the settlers below. It ‘u’d be a big thing.”

“So it would; but there’s a big ‘if’ in there, Dysart. Do you know anything about this man’s record?”

“I asked about him down in Los Angeles. Some folks believe in him, and some don’t. They say he struck a big stream for them over at San Luis. I don’t go much on what people say, anyway; I size a man up, and depend on that. I like the way the professor talks. I don’t understand all of it, but he seems to have things pretty pat. Don’t you think he has?”

“Yes; he has things pat enough. Most swindlers have. It’s their business. Not that I think him a deliberate swindler, Dysart. Possibly he believes in himself. But I hope you’ll be cautious.”

“Oh, I’m cautious,” asserted John. “I’d be a good deal richer man to-day if I hadn’t been so cautious. I’ve spent a lot of time and money looking into things. I’ll get there, if caution’ll do it. Now, Emeline she’s impulsive; she has to be held back; she never examines into anything: but I’m just the other way.”

In spite of Palmerston’s warning and Mrs. Dysart’s fears, temporal and spiritual, negotiations between Dysart and Brownell made rapid progress. The newcomer’s tent was pitched upon the twenty acres selected, and gleamed white against the mountain-side, suggesting to Palmerston’s idle vision a sail becalmed upon a sage-green sea. “Dysart’s ship, which will probably never come in,” he said to himself, looking at it with visible indignation, one morning, as he sat at his tent door in that state of fuming indolence which the male American calls taking a rest.

“Practically there is little difference between a knave and a fool,” he fretted; “it’s the difference between the gun that is loaded and the one that is not: in the long run the unloaded gun does the more mischief. A self-absorbed fool is a knave. After all, dishonesty is only abnormal selfishness; it’s a question of degree. Hello, Dysart!” he said aloud, as his host appeared around the tent. “How goes it?”

“Slow,” said John emphatically, “slow. I’m feeling my way like a cat, and the professor he’s just about as cautious as I am. We’re a good team. He’s been over the canyon six times, and every time that machine of his’n gives him a new idea. He’s getting it down to a fine point. He wanted to go up again to-day, but I guess he can’t.”

“What’s up?” inquired Palmerston indifferently.

“Well, his daughter wrote him she was coming this afternoon, and somebody’ll have to meet her down at Malaga when the train comes in. I’ve just been oiling up the top-buggy, and I thought maybe if you”–

“Why, certainly,” interrupted Palmerston, responding amiably to the suggestion of John’s manner; “if you think the young lady will not object, I shall be delighted. What time is the train due?”

“Now, that’s just what I told Emeline,” said John triumphantly. “He’d liever go than not, says I; if he wouldn’t then young folks has changed since I can remember. The train gets there about two o’clock. If you jog along kind of comfortable you’ll be home before supper. If the girl’s as smart as her father, you’ll have a real nice visit.”