“And so—­”

“I must investigate this N.C.O. outfit and block it if possible—­and it should be possible.”

“How, for instance?”

“I haven’t considered the means, my dear.  Those come later.  For the present I am convinced that the N.C.O. is a corporate joke, sprung on the dear public by the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company to get the said dear public excited, create a real-estate boom, and boost timber-values.  Before the boom collapses—­a condition which will follow the collapse of the N.C.O.—­the Trinidad people hope to sell their holdings and get from under.”

“Really,” said Shirley, demurely, “the more I see of business, the more fascinating I find it.”

“Shirley, it’s the grandest game in the world.”

“And yet,” she added musingly, “old Mr. Cardigan is so blind and helpless.”

“They’ll be saying that about me some day if I live to be as old as John Cardigan.”

“Nevertheless, I feel sorry for him, Uncle Seth.”

“Well, if you’ll continue to waste your sympathy on him rather than on his son, I’ll not object,” he retorted laughingly.

“Oh, Bryce Cardigan is able to take care of himself.”

“Yes, and mean enough.”

“He saved our lives, Uncle Seth.”

“He had to—­in order to save his own.  Don’t forget that, my dear.”  Carefully he dissected a sand-dab and removed the backbone.  “I’d give a ripe peach to learn the identity of the scheming buttinsky who bought old Cardigan’s Valley of the Giants,” he said presently.  “I’ll be hanged if that doesn’t complicate matters a little.”

“You should have bought it when the opportunity offered,” she reminded him.  “You could have had it then for fifty thousand dollars less than you would have paid for it a year ago—­and I’m sure that should have been sufficient indication to you that the game you and the Cardigans had been playing so long had come to an end.  He was beaten and acknowledged it, and I think you might have been a little more generous to your fallen enemy, Uncle Seth.”

“I dare say,” he admitted lightly.  “However, I wasn’t, and now I’m going to be punished for it, my dear:  so don’t roast me any more.  By the way, that speckled hot-air fellow Ogilvy, who is promoting the Northern California Oregon Railroad, is back in town again.  Somehow, I haven’t much confidence in that fellow.  I think I’ll wire the San Francisco office to look him up in Dun’s and Bradstreet’s.  Folks up this way are taking too much for granted on that fellow’s mere say—­ so, but I for one intend to delve for facts—­particularly with regard to the N.C.O. bank-roll and Ogilvy’s associates.  I’d sleep a whole lot more soundly to-night if I knew the answer to two very important questions.”

“What are they, Uncle Seth?”

“Well, I’d like to know whether the N.C.O. is genuine or a screen to hide the operations of the Trinidad Redwood Timber Company.”