“Then I’m out of luck, I dare say.”

“Strikes me that way, Mr. Parker.”

“Very well.  You force me to talk business.  What will that quit-claim deed cost me?”

“Six hundred thousand dollars.  I’ve raised the ante since last night.”

“I’ll not pay it.”

“What will you pay?”

“About fifty per cent. of it.”

“I might consider less than my first figure and more than your last.  Make me a firm offer—­in writing—­and I’ll give you a firm answer the instant you hand me the document.  I’m a poor bargainer.  Haggling irritates me—­so I never haggle.  And I don’t care a tinker’s hoot whether you buy me off or not.  After nine o’clock this morning you will have lost the opportunity, because I give you my word of honor, I shall decline even to receive an offer.”

He reached over on his bureau and retrieved therefrom a sheet of paper.  “Here is the form I desire your offer to take, sir,” he continued, affably, and handed the paper to Parker.  “Please re-write it in ink, fill in the amount of your offer and sign it.  You have until nine o’clock, remember.  At nine-one you will be too late.”

Despite his deep annoyance, Parker favored him with a sardonic grin. 
“You’re a good bluffer, Farrel.”

Don Mike turned from the mirror and regarded his guest very solemnly.  “How do you know?” he queried, mildly.  “You’ve never seen me bluff.  I’ve seen a few inquests held in this country over some men who bluffed in an emergency.  We’re no longer wild and woolly out here, but when we pull, we shoot.  Remember that, sir.”

Parker felt himself abashed in the presence of this cool young man, for nothing is so disconcerting as a defeated enemy who refuses to acknowledge defeat.  It occurred to Parker in that moment that there was nothing extraordinary in Farrel’s action; for consideration of the sweetness of life cannot be presumed to arouse a great deal of interest in one who knows he will be murdered if he does not commit suicide.

John Parker tucked the paper in his pocket and thoughtfully left the room.  “The boy distrusts me,” he soliloquized, “afraid I’ll go back on any promise I make him, so he demands my offer in writing.  Some more of his notions of business, Spanish style.  Stilted and unnecessary.  How like all of his kind he is!  Ponderous in minor affairs, casual in major matters of business.”

An hour later he came up to Don Mike, chatting with Kay and Mrs. Parker on the porch, and thrust an envelope into Farrel’s hand.

“Here is my offer—­in writing.”

“Thank you, sir.”  Don Mike thrust the envelope unopened into the breast pocket of his coat and from the side pocket of the same garment drew another envelope.  “Here is my answer—­in writing.”

Parker stared at him in frank amazement and admiration; Kay’s glance, as it roved from her father to Don Mike and back again, was sad and troubled.