“Be damned to you.  Two thousand for a certain seven?  Not me.  Say, what d’ye do with the skin when you eat a bananny?  Sole your boots with it?  Gee-whiz!  You do fling your bills around.”

The Mexican laughed derisively as he jammed the papers back into his pocket.  But he knew that he would have to sell at the other’s price.

Lablache moved heavily towards his desk.  Selecting a book he opened it at a certain page.

“You can keep them if you like.  But you may as well understand your position.  What’s Bunning-Ford worth?  What’s his ranch worth?”

The other suggested a figure much below the real value.

“It’s worth more than that.  Fifty thousand if it’s worth a cent,” Lablache said expansively.  “I don’t want to do you, my friend, but as you said we’re talking business now.  Here is his account with me, you see,” pointing to the entries.  “I hold thirty-five thousand on first mortgage and twenty thousand on bill of sale.  In all fifty-five thousand, and his interest twelve months in arrears.  Now, you refuse to part with those papers at my price, and I’ll sell him up.  You will then get not one cent of your money.”

The money-lender permitted himself to smile a grim, cold smile.  He had been careful to make no mention of Bunning-Ford’s further assets.  He had quite forgotten to speak of a certain band of cattle which he knew his intended victim to possess.  It was a well-known thing that Lablache knew more of the financial affairs of the people of the settlement than any one else; doubtless the Mexican thought only of “Lord” Bill’s ranch.  Mancha shifted his position uneasily.  But there was a cunning look on his face as he retorted swiftly,—­

“You’re a’mighty hasty to lay your hands on his reckoning.  How’s it that you’re ready to part two thou’ for ’em?”

There was a moment’s silence as the two men eyed each other.  It seemed as if each were endeavoring to fathom the other’s thoughts.  Then the money-lender spoke, and his voice conveyed a concentration of hate that bit upon the air with an incisiveness which startled his companion.

“Because I intend to crush him as I would a rattlesnake.  Because I wish to ruin him so that he will be left in my debt.  So that I can hound him from this place by holding that debt over his head.  It is worth two thousand to me to possess that power.  Now, will you part?”

This explanation appealed to the worst side of the Mexican’s nature.  This hatred was after his own heart.  Lablache was aware that such would be the case.  That is why he made it.  He was accustomed to play upon the feelings of people with whom he dealt—­as well as their pocket.  Pedro Mancha grinned complacently.  He thought he understood his employer.

“Hand over the bills.  Guess I’ll part.  The price is slim, but it’s not a bad deal.”