and that will nullify my suit for foreclosure. It also nullifies my
lease to Loustalot."

"I'm quite certain that fiery Don Mike will never consent to the lease,
John," his wife remarked.

"If he declines to approve the lease, I shall be quite embarrassed I
fear, Kate. You see, dear, Loustalot bought about fifteen thousand
sheep to pasture on the Palomar, and now he's going to find himself in
the unenviable position of having the sheep but no pasture. He'll
probably sue me to recover his loss, if any."

"It's too bad you didn't wait ten days before signing that lease, John."

"Yes," he replied, a trifle testily. "But we all were convinced that
young Farrel had been killed in Siberia."

"But you hadn't completed your title to this ranch, John?"

"You wouldn't murder a man who was going to commit suicide, would you?
The ranch was as good as mine. If I had waited to make absolutely
certain Farrel was dead, the wait might have cost me fifty thousand
dollars. I rented the ranch at fifty cents per acre."

"One hundred thousand acres, more or less, for two years, at fifty
cents per acre per annum. So, instead of making fifty thousand you've
lost that sum," his wife mused aloud.

"I've lost one hundred thousand," he corrected. "A one-year lease is
not desirable; Loustalot was my sole client, and I've lost him for