“Proceed.  You’re on the target, son, and something tells me you’re going to score a bull’s-eye in a minute.”

“When you had acquired the mortgage following such patient steps, my father checkmated you by making and recording a deed of gift of the ranch to me, subject of course to the encumbrance.  The war-time moratorium, which protected men in the military or naval service from civil actions, forced you to sit tight and play a waiting game.  Then I was reported killed in action.  My poor father was in a quandary.  As he viewed it, the ranch now belonged to my estate, and I had died intestate.  Probate proceedings dragging over a couple of years were now necessary, and a large inheritance tax would have been assessed against the estate.  My father broke under the blow and you took possession.  Then I returned—­and you know the rest.

“I knew you were powerful enough to block any kind of a banking loan I might try to secure and I was desperate until Bill Conway managed to arrange for his financing.  Then, of course, I realized my power.  With the dam completed before the redemption period should expire, I had something definite and tangible to offer the competitor of the power company in which you might be interested.  I was morally certain I could save my ranch, so I disabused my mind of worry.”

“Your logical conclusions do credit to your intelligence, Miguel.  Proceed.”

“I purchased, through my attorney, a fat little block of stock in each company.  That gave me entree to the company books and records.  I couldn’t pick up your trail with the first company investigated—­the Central California—­but before my attorney could proceed to Los Angeles and investigate the list of stockholders and directors of the South Coast Power Corporation, a stranger appeared at my attorney’s office and proceeded to make overtures for the purchase of the Agua Caliente property on behalf of an unknown client.  That man was in conference with my attorney the day we all motored to El Toro via La Questa Valley, and the instant I poked my nose inside the door my attorney advised me—­in Spanish,—­which is really the mother tongue of El Toro—­to trail his visitor.  Out in the hall I met my dear friend, Don Nicolas Sandoval, the sheriff of San Marcos County, and delegated the job to him.  Don Nicolas trailed this stranger to the First National Bank of El Toro and observed him in conference with the vice-president; from the First National Bank of El Toro Don Nicolas shadowed his man to the office of the president of the South Coast Power Corporation, in Los Angeles.

“We immediately opened negotiations with the Central California Power Company and were received with open arms.  But, strange to relate, we heard no more from the South Coast Power Corporation.  Very strange, indeed, in view of the fact that my attorney had assured their representative of my very great desire to discuss the deal if and when an offer should be made me.”