“Then I’d advise him not to buy here,” said Gilbert, much to Pell’s amazement.

“Why?”

“It’s too near the border,” Jones answered.  “The bandits come over and steal all your cattle.  It’s a rotten situation.  I’m sorry I ever came down here.”

“That makes it all the better,” Pell was shrewd enough to say.  “Then he’d lose his money quick, and be satisfied.”  And he laughed at what he thought a witticism.

Uncle Henry’s wheel chair crossed the sill at that moment.  His face was full of news.  “Hardy’s coming!” he informed those in the room.

“A man to see me on a matter of business,” Gilbert remembered.  “Will you excuse me?” He turned to Pell.

“But I want to talk to you myself,” the latter reminded him.

But young Jones had gone to the door.  “I’m sorry.  This is imperative, and I must see him.”  He turned definitely as if to go.

“But I was here first,” Morgan Pell argued.  He hated to be beaten by this stripling.

“I regret that I must insist,” Gilbert said.  And there was a duel of eyes, as well as of wits, before Jones turned away, easily the victor.  After all, it was his own house, his own ranch.  His visitor was wise enough to realize that.  He walked over to the table and took the tequila bottle up again.  “I’ll have another drink, if you don’t mind,” he said, to Gilbert’s back.

“Drink?” yelled Uncle Henry from his chair, frantic at the thought of any more of their precious liquor being consumed.  It was hard enough to get, even when one had plenty of money.

“Help yourself,” said Gilbert, not a little ashamed of the protest in Uncle Henry’s voice.

“While I’m waiting,” Pell laughed; and, taking the bottle, he went out.

Uncle Henry could scarcely control himself.  He switched his chair in his nephew’s direction.  “Say,” he wanted to know, “have you been holding out on me?”

“It’s only tequila,” Gilbert tried to pacify him.

“I don’t care if it’s only varnish!” cried Uncle Henry, his voice rising high and shrill.  “And you let him go and take the whole bottle!” He pounded the arm of his chair, always his last resort.

Gilbert paid no attention to him.  He went over to the table, as though he hadn’t said a word, and began looking for a letter in one of the drawers.  Almost immediately he laid his hand on it, and, turning to Lucia, said: 

“If you’ll excuse me?”

“Certainly.  I must go and pack anyway.”  And she started toward the steps that led upstairs.

Gilbert went through the alcove; and no sooner had his broad shoulders disappeared than Uncle Henry turned to Lucia Pell and cried: 

“Hey!  Wait a minute.”

Lucia was astonished.  She had one foot on the step, and she turned about to see if Uncle Henry was actually addressing her.  There was, obviously, no one else to address; but she thought the cook must have come in when her back was turned.  She glared at the invalid, and said nothing.