“Yes, sir.  ’Scuse, please.  Yes, sir, I zink I go very quick, sir.”

“Three cheers!  The sooner the quicker—­the next train, let us say.  I’ll be at the station to see you off.”

He was as good as his word.  The Potato Baron, mounting painfully the steps of the observation car, made hasty appraisal of the station platform and observed Bill Conway swinging his old legs from his perch on an express truck.  He favored Okada with a very deliberate nod and a sweeping, semi-military salute of farewell.

When the train pulled out, the old contractor slid off the express truck and waddled over to his automobile.  “Well, Liz,” he addressed that interesting relic, “I’ll bet a red apple I’ve put the fear of Buddha in that Jap’s soul.  He won’t try any more tricks in San Marcos County.  He certainly did assimilate my advice and drag it out of town muy pronto.  Well, Liz, as the feller says:  ’The wicked flee when no man pursueth and a troubled conscience addeth speed to the hind legs.’”

As he was driving out of town to the place of his labors at Agua Caliente basin, he passed the Parker limousine driving in.  Between John Parker’s wife and John Parker’s daughter, Don Miguel Jose Farrel sat with white face and closed eyes.  In the seat beside his chauffeur John Parker sat, half turned and gazing at Don Miguel with troubled eyes.

“That girl’s sweeter than a royal flush,” Bill Conway murmured.  “I wonder if she’s good for a fifty thousand dollar touch to pay my cement bill pending the day I squeeze it out of her father?  Got to have cement to build a dam—­got to have cash to get cement—­got to have a dam to save the Rancho Palomar—­got to have the Rancho Palomar before we can pull off a wedding—­got to pull off a wedding in order to be happy—­got to be happy or we all go to hell together. . . .  Well . . .  I’m going down to Miguel’s place to dinner to-night.  I’ll ask her.”

The entire Parker family was present when the doctor in El Toro washed and disinfected Farrel’s wound and, at the suggestion of Kay, made an X-ray photograph of his head.  The plate, when developed, showed a small fracture, the contemplation of which aroused considerable interest in all present, with the exception of the patient.  Don Mike was still dizzy; because his vision was impaired he kept his eyes closed; he heard a humming noise as if a lethargic bumble bee had taken up his residence inside the Farrel ears.  Kay, observing him closely, realized that he was very weak, that only by the exercise of a very strong will had he succeeded in sitting up during the journey in from the ranch.  His brow was cold and wet with perspiration, his breathing shallow; his dark, tanned face was now a greenish gray.

The girl saw a shadow of deep apprehension settle over her father’s face as the doctor pointed to the fracture.  “Any danger?” she heard him whisper,

The doctor shook his head.  “Nothing to worry about.  An operation will not be necessary.  But he’s had a narrow squeak.  With whom has he been fighting?”