assigned it to me and had the assignment recorded.  Of course, when I was reported killed in Siberia, Loustalot’s attorneys naturally informed him that my judgment had died with me unless I had left a will in favor of my father.  But when my father died intestate and there were no known heirs, Loustalot doubtless felt that at last the curse had been lifted and probably began doing business in his own name.  He’s a thrifty fellow and, I dare say, he made a great deal of money on sheep during the war.  I hope he has.  That old judgment has been accumulating interest at seven per cent. for more than a quarter of a century, and in this state I believe the interest is compounded.”

“But why did Loustalot hate your father so?” the girl queried.

“We had good fences on our ranch, but somehow those fences always needed repairing whenever Andre Loustalot’s flock wandered over from the San Carpojo.  In this state, one cannot recover for trespass unless one keeps one’s fences in repair—­and Loustalot used to trespass on our range quite frequently and then blame his cussedness on our fences.  Of course, he broke our fences to let his sheep in to water at our waterholes, which was very annoying to us, because sheep befoul a range and destroy it; they eat down to the very grass-roots, and cattle will not drink at a water-hole patronized by sheep.  Well, our patience was exhausted at last; so my father told Pablo to put out saltpeter at all of our water-holes.  Saltpeter is not harmful to cattle but it is death to sheep, and the only way we could keep Loustalot off our range without resorting to firearms was to make his visits unprofitable.  They were.  That made Loustalot hate us, and one day, over in the Agua Caliente basin, when Pablo and his riders found Loustalot and his sheep there, they rushed about five hundred of his sheep over a rocky bench and dropped them a sheer two hundred feet into a canon.  That started some shooting, and Pablo’s brother and my first cousin, Juan Galvez, were killed.  Loustalot, wounded, escaped on the pack-mule belonging to his sheep outfit, and after that he and my father didn’t speak.”

Kay turned in her seat and looked at Farrel curiously.

“If you were not so desperately situated financially,” she wanted to know, “would you continue to pursue this man?”

He smiled grimly.

“Certainly.  My father’s honor, the blood of my kinsman, and the blood of a faithful servant call for justice, however long delayed.  Also, the honor of my state demands it now.  I am prepared to make any sacrifice, even of my life, and grasp eagerly at all legal means—­to prevent your father putting through tins monstrous deal with Okada.”

She was troubled of soul.

“Of course,” she pleaded presently, “you’ll play the game with dad as fairly as he plays it with you.”

“I shall play the game with him as fairly as he plays it with this land to which he owes allegiance,” he corrected her sternly.