“Then you’ve reopened negotiations, father,” she demanded, accusingly.

He nodded.  “Our host has a persuasive way about him, Kay,” he supplemented.  “He insisted so on my making him an offer that finally I consented.”

“And now,” Farrel assured her, “negotiations are about to be closed.”

“Absolutely?”

“Absolutely.  Never to be reopened, Miss Kay.”

Parker opened his envelope and read.  His face was without emotion.  “That answer is entirely satisfactory to me, Mr. Farrel,” he said, presently, and passed the paper to his daughter.  She read: 

I was tempted last night.  You should have closed then.  I have changed my mind.  Your offer—­whatever it may be—­is declined.

“I also approve,” Kay murmured, and in the swift glance she exchanged with Don Miguel he read something that caused his heart to beat happily.  Mrs. Parker took the paper from her daughter’s hand and read it also.

“Very well, Ajax.  I think, we all think a great deal more of you for defying the lightning,” was her sole comment.

Despite his calm, John Parker was irritated to the point of fury.  He felt that he had been imposed upon by Don Mike; his great god, business, had been scandalously flouted.

“I am at a loss to understand, Mr. Farrel,” he said, coldly, “why you have subjected me to the incivility of requesting from me an offer in writing and then refusing to read it when I comply with your request.  Why subject me to that annoyance when you knew you intended to refuse any offer I might make you?  I do not relish your flippancy at my expense, sir.”

“Do you not think, sir, that I can afford a modicum of flippancy when I pay such a fearfully high price for it?” Don Mike countered smilingly.  “I’ll bet a new hat my pleasantry cost me not less than four hundred thousand dollars.  I think I’ll make certain,” and he opened Parker’s envelope and read what was contained therein.  “Hum-m!  Three hundred and twenty-five thousand?”

Parker extended his hand.  “I would be obliged to you for the return of that letter,” he began, but paused, confused, at Farrel’s cheerful, mocking grin.

“All’s fair in love and war,” he quoted, gaily.  “I wanted a document to prove to some banker or pawn-broker that I have an equity in this ranch and it is worth three hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars, in the opinion of the astute financier who holds a first mortgage on it.  Really, I think I’d be foolish to give away this evidence,” and he tucked it carefully back in his pocket.

“I wonder,” Kay spoke up demurely, “which ancestor from which side of the family tree put that idea in his head, father?”

Don Mike pretended not to have heard her.  He turned kindly to John Parker and laid a friendly hand upon the latter’s arm.

“I think Bill Conway will drift by about ten o’clock or ten-thirty, Mr. Parker.  I know he will not cause you any more inconvenience than he finds absolutely necessary, sir.  He’s tricky, but he isn’t mean.”