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take it?”
    â€œThe terms of this sale are cash.”
    â€œCash?” Old Slick-ear’s face was purple with rage. “My script’s as good as cash! Any bank will take it. The government recognizes it as legal tender.”
    The crowd had quickly sensed that something was amiss. They swarmed up the steps, the Bar S men alert and the others on guard.
    â€œYou’re not quite right about that. The government has accepted your script as legal tender, but it has never expressly recognized it as such.”
    â€œSay, don’t be a damned fool, Montana!” Reb Russell exclaimed angrily. “You know the Bar S script is as good as cash. We ain’t goin’ to let you get away with any nonsense like that.”
    Jim was well acquainted with the freckle-faced foreman of Furnace Creek.
    â€œListen, Reb,” he said, and his voice was velvety, “I got an awful idea you’re trying to force my hand. If that’s the case, you’d better forget it. You ought to know by this time that I don’t bluff worth a cent. My business is with Mr. Stall—and it’s almost finished.” He turned to the old man again. “You insisted on the full letter of the law. Now it’s my turn. I know your script is all right; but it isn’t cash, and I refuse to accept it.”
    A cheer arose from the Squaw Valley men. Even Quantrell dared to join in it.
    â€œWhy, you young fool, I’ll run you out of the country for this!” old Slick-ear roared. “There’s courts in this state that will protect me. I bought this land in good faith, and I want my rights.”
    â€œYou’re getting your rights, the same as any other man here.”
    â€œWell, give me ten minutes then. I’ll make Longyear open the bank. He’ll cash my script.”
    â€œI won’t give you one minute, Mr. Stall!” Montana answered unhesitatingly. “I told you upstairs I would do anything I could to keep you out of Squaw Valley. I meant it . . . The sale will go on!”
    â€œYou idiot, you!” the old man trembled as though he had the palsy. “Do you realize what you’re doing?”
    â€œI think I do,” Jim answered tensely.
    â€œI don’t think so! You talk about befriending these people. I warn you you’ll never do it this way. The minute the courts recognize my rights in Squaw Valley, I’m moving in—and I’m moving in to stay! You’re forcing a war to the finish on all of us!”
    â€œThat may be,” Jim admitted. “God knows they’d rather go down fighting than wait for you to crush them.” He picked up his yardstick again. “The sale will continue!” he cried. “Section one, the northeast quarter! What am I bid?”
    Joe Tracey, Judd Case and Reb gathered about the old man and Letty.
    â€œThe sale won’t go on if you want it stopped,” Reb informed him. “We can stampede this crowd.”
    The old man was biting his mustache nervously. For once he seemed not to know his own mind.
    â€œFather—we’re going!” Letty exclaimed. “I can’t stand any more of this!” She got her arm around his. “Please——”
    â€œMight as well,” he decided grudgingly. “I’ll fight this in my own way. We’ll let this smart aleck have his little party to-day.”
    If Montana noticed that the Bar S was leaving en masse, he gave no sign of it. The sale proceeded satisfactorily. Everybody seemed to get what they wanted, except Quantrell. He had to be satisfied with half a loaf. But prices were cheap, the land good. They knew they’d never give it up without a struggle.
    Finding himself near a post-office, old Slick-ear had to tarry to write his usual stack of letters, included in which were his voluminous epistles to his foremen, apprising them when and where to meet him, or not to expect him at all, and going into the minutest details about