It was later than that, however, before Don Miguel Jose Federico Noriaga Farrel dismissed her from his thoughts and succumbed to the arms of Morpheus.  For quite a while after retiring to his room he sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his toes with one hand and holding Bill Conway’s promissory note before him with the other.

“That girl and her mother are my secret allies,” he soliloquized.  “Bless their dear kind hearts.  Kay has confided in Conway and for reasons best known to himself he has secretly accepted of her aid.  Now I wonder,” he continued, “what the devil actuates her to double-cross her own father in favor of a stranger?”

He tucked the note back in his pocket, removed a sock and rubbed the other foot thoughtfully.  “Well, whatever happens,” he decided eventually, “I’ve got to keep my secret to myself, while at the same time effectually preventing this young lady from advancing Bill Conway any further funds for my relief.  I cannot afford her pity or her charity; I can accept her sympathy, but not her aid.  Conway cannot have so soon spent much of the money he borrowed from her, and if I insist on the cessation of operations in the Basin he’ll promptly give her back her fifty thousand dollars in order to save the interest charges; in the meantime I shall mail Kay the note in a plain white envelope, with the address typewritten, so she will never know where it came from, for of course she’ll have to hand Bill back his canceled note when he pays it.”

He blew out the light and retired, not to sleep, but to revolve plan after plan for the salvation of the ranch.  To float a new loan from any source in San Marcos County he dismissed for the hundredth time as a proposition too nebulous for consideration.  His only hope of a bank loan lay in an attempt to interest outside bankers to a point where they would consent to have the property appraised.  Perhaps the letter from Parker which he held would constitute evidence to cautious capitalists of the sufficiency of the security for the loan.  It was for that purpose that he had cunningly inveigled Parker into making him that offer to clear out and leave him a fair field and no litigation.  However, Don Mike knew that between bankers there exists a certain mutual dependence, a certain cohesiveness that makes for mutual protection.  If, for instance (he told himself), he should apply to a San Francisco bank for a loan on the ranch, the bank, prior to wasting either time or mental energy on his application, would first ascertain from sources other than him, whether it was remotely worth while considering the loan up to a point of sending a representative down to appraise the land.  Their first move, therefore, would be to write their correspondent in El Toro—­John Parker’s bank, the First National—­for information regarding the Farrel family, the ranch and the history of the mortgage.  Don Mike was not such an optimist as to believe that the report of Parker’s bank would be such as to encourage the outside bank to proceed further in the deal.