And Gallito had gazed out over the desert and considered the matter with due deliberation.  “Sweeney’s been writing to me considerable,” he said at last.  “He’s made a good deal better proposition that he did last year.”

“I told your daughter I’d double any offer Sweeney made,” Hanson said, and then expatiated on the advantage of the wider circuit and increased advertising that he proposed to give.

Gallito nodded without comment.  Again he seemed to turn the matter over in his mind.  “I’ll write to Sweeney,” he said finally, “and get him to give me a statement in writing of just what he proposes to do, a complete outline of his plans down.”

The manager could not restrain the question which rose to his lips:  “But your daughter, is she willing that you should make all these arrangements?”

Gallito looked at him sharply from under his beetling brows.  There was surprise in his glance and a touch of cynical scorn:  “She knows that I look out for her interests.”

Another query crossed Hanson’s mind, one he had no disposition to voice.  Was the understanding between father and daughter, and this apparent and most uncharacteristic submission to his judgment on her part, based on a common passion, acquisitiveness?  He thought of Pearl’s jewels.  More than once he had seen her lift her fingers and caress the gems on her hand, just as the Spaniard sat and shook his buttons and nuggets of gold together, pouring them from one palm to another, his frowning gaze fixed on the ground before him.

“Yes, I’ll write to Sweeney,” continued Gallito.  “It’ll take a few days, though, before I can get his answer.”  He looked at the other man questioningly.  “It might be a week in all.  I don’t want to keep you here that time.  I could write you.”

“Nothing to do just now,” said Rudolf easily.  “Left things in good hands, business running easily.  Came down here to stay a while, needed a vacation.  And, Lord!  This air makes a man feel like he never wanted to leave.”

To this Gallito made no comment and, as there was nothing further to say, the subject was, for the time, dropped between them.

Hanson had made known his reasons, obvious reasons, for his presence in Paloma, so, as he would have expressed it, he let it go at that and left the observer to draw any conclusions he pleased as to his almost constant presence at the Gallito home, and yet, after all, his visits were only a little more frequent than those of a number of others, and no more so at all than those of Bob Flick.

There were long evenings when Hughie played the piano, and when Pearl, now and then, touched the guitar, when Mrs. Gallito indulged in her querulous monotonous reminiscences, while Gallito and various men sat and smoked cigarettes about the card table; but always, no matter who came or went, there was Flick, silent, impassive, polite, but, as Hanson realized with growing irritation, ever watchful.