The bars were an inch in diameter and too thick to be cut with the bolt-clippers, but Okada did not despair.  With the tool he grasped the adobe window-ledge and bit deeply into it.  Piece after piece of the ancient adobe came away, until presently the bases of the iron bars lay exposed; whereupon Okada seized them, one by one, in his hands and bent them upward and outward, backward and forward, until he was enabled to remove them altogether.  Then he stole quietly back to the blacksmith shop, restored the bolt-clippers, went to the Basque’s automobile, and waited.

Presently, Loustalot appeared warily round the corner.  A glance at his automobile showed that the flat tire had been shifted; whereupon he nodded his thanks to the Japanese, who stared impassively while the Basque climbed into his car, threw out his low gear, let go his brakes, and coasted silently out of the yard and into the avenue.  The hacienda screened him from Pablo’s view as the latter, all unconscious of what was happening, dozed before the door of the empty settlement-room.  Once over the lip of the mesa, Loustalot started his car and sped down the San Gregorio as fast as he dared drive.

XIV

Following his illuminating interview with Pablo and Loustalot, John Parker returned to a chair on the porch patio, lighted a fresh cigar, and gave himself up to contemplating the tangle in his hitherto well-laid plans.  An orderly and methodical man always, it annoyed him greatly to discover this morning that a diabolical circumstance over which he had no control and which he had not remotely taken into consideration should have arisen to embarrass and distress him and, perchance, plunge him into litigation.  Mrs. Parker, having possessed herself of some fancy work, took a seat beside him, and, for the space of several minutes, stitched on, her thoughts, like her husband’s, evidently bent upon the affairs of Miguel Farrel.

“Who is this gory creature Pablo just brought in?” she demanded, finally.

“His name is Andre Loustalot, Kate, and he is a sheep-man from the San Carpojo country—­a Basque, I believe.  He hasn’t a particularly good reputation in San Marcos County, but he’s one of the biggest sheepmen in the state and a heavy depositor in the bank at El Toro.  He was one of the reasons that moved me to buy the Farrel mortgage from the bank.”

“Explain the reason, John.”

“Well, I figured that eventually I would have to foreclose on old Don Miguel Farrel, and it would require approximately two years after that before my irrigation system would be completed and the valley lands ready for colonization.  I was tolerably certain I would never restock the range with cattle, and I knew Loustalot would buy several thousand young sheep and run them on the Palomar, provided I leased the grazing-privilege to him for two years at a reasonable figure.  I was here, under authority of a court order, to conserve the estate from waste, and my attorney assured me that, under that order, I had authority to use my own judgment in the administration of the estate, following the order of foreclosure.  Now young Farrel shows up alive, and that will nullify my suit for foreclosure.  It also nullifies my lease to Loustalot.”