“Even when you’re dealing with friends?”

“Especially when you’re dealing with friends,” corrected the older man.  “Otherwise you’re likely not to have your friends long.”

“Don’t believe I want to be a financier,” decided Sanders.

“It takes the hot blood out of you,” admitted Graham.  “I’m not sure, if I had my life to live over again, knowing what I know now, that I wouldn’t choose the outdoors like West and Crawford.”

Sanders was very sure which choice he would like to make.  He was at present embarked on the business of making money through oil, but some day he meant to go back to the serenity of a ranch.  There were times when he left the conferences with Graham or his lieutenants sick at heart because of the uphill battle he must fight to protect his associates.

From Denver he went East to negotiate for some oil tanks and material with which to construct reservoirs.  His trip was a flying one.  He entrained for Malapi once more to look after the loose ends that had been accumulating locally in his absence.  A road had to be built across the desert.  Contracts must be let for hauling away the crude oil.  A hundred details waited his attention.

He worked day and night.  Often he slept only a few hours.  He grew lean in body and curt of speech.  Lines came into his face that had not been there before.  But at his work apparently he was tireless as steel springs.

Meanwhile Brad Steelman moled to undermine the company.  Dave’s men finished building a bridge across a gulch late one day.  It was blown up into kindling wood by dynamite that night.  Wagons broke down unexpectedly.  Shipments of supplies failed to arrive.  Engines were mysteriously smashed.

The sabotage was skillful.  Steelman’s agents left no evidence that could be used against them.  More than one of them, Hart and Sanders agreed, were spies who had found employment with the Jackpot.  One or two men were discharged on suspicion, even though complete evidence against them was lacking.

The responsibility that had been thrust on Dave brought out in him unsuspected business capacity.  During his prison days there had developed in him a quality of leadership.  He had been more than once in charge of a road-building gang of convicts and had found that men naturally turned to him for guidance.  But not until Crawford shifted to his shoulders the burdens of the Jackpot did he know that he had it in him to grapple with organization on a fairly large scale.

He worked without nerves, day in, day out, concentrating in a way that brought results.  He never let himself get impatient with details.  Thoroughness had long since become the habit of his life.  To this he added a sane common sense.

Jackpot Number Four came in a good well, though not a phenomenal one like its predecessor.  Number Five was already halfway down to the sands.  Meanwhile the railroad crept nearer.  Malapi was already talking of its big celebration when the first engine should come to town.  Its council had voted to change the name of the place to Bonanza.