illegally carved half a million acres out of the former grant and gave
it to José Moreño, from whom your grandfather bought it."

The miner's face froze to impassivity. He was learning news. The very
existence of such a grant was a surprise to him. His grandfather and his
mother had been dead fifteen years. Somewhere in an old trunk back in
Kentucky there was a tin box full of papers that might tell a story. But
for the present he preferred to assume that he knew what information
they contained.

"I object to the word illegal, Don Manuel," he answered curtly, not at
all sure his objection had any foundation of law.

Pesquiera shrugged. "Very well, _señor_. The courts, I feel sure, will
sustain my words."

"Perhaps, and perhaps not."

"The law is an expensive arbiter, Señor Gordon. Your claim is slight.
The title has never been perfected by you. In fifteen years you have
paid no taxes. Still your claim, though worthless in itself, operates as
a cloud upon the title of my client, the Valdés heir."

Dick looked at him steadily and nodded. He began to see the purpose of
this visit. He waited silently, his mind very alert.

"_Señor_, I am here to ask of you a relinquishment. You are brave; no
doubt, chivalrous----"

"I'm a business man, Don Manuel," interrupted Gordon. "I don't see what