JIM THE CONQUEROR

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 61, Issue 111, 20 February 1941, Page 7

JIM THE CONQUEROR

Don Jaime parked in front ol tlic* hank, excused himself to Roberta, entered and sought the cashier. “-Ed,” he said, “yesterday ten thousand dollars was wired hero to the credit of the Estate of Thomas Antrim, as a first payment on account oi the purchase, by one Blodgett, of the Antrim sheep. That young lady outside in my car is Antrim’s heir, Miss Roberta Antrim. I want to know what New York bank wired it.” “Certainly. I don’t think I violate any confidence. The Twelfth National.” “Who ordered the transfer?” “A man by the name of Glenn Hackett.” “Thanks,” said Don Jaime, and climbed back into tlie car with Roberta. When they were half-way back * to y a lle Verde.lie said to her very casually, “do you know a man in New York by the name of Glenn Hackett?” Roberta jerked erect with surprise. “Why, yes! He’s one of my dearest friends and my Uncle Bill s attoiuoy. Do yon know Glenn, Jimmy?’ & _ “Nb—and I hope I never do. I dislike him very much.” “You shouldn’t. He’s a very fine gentleman.” * “He’s in love with you?” “That’s none of your business,, and besides, if he were, Jimmy, you couldn’t expect me t'o discuss the subject with you. What has been telling you about Glenn Hackett?” ,» . . “The fairies,” Don Jaime replied enigmatically. And though Roberta pressed him to tell her more and employed every feminine wile to break down bis resolve not to, he refused, and in the end, incensed at tho failure of her powers, Roberta lapsed into a somewhat sullen silence. As they alighted at the hacienda the outrageous man still further mystified her by saying: “And I don’t think so much of your old Uncle Bill, either.” This statement, when there was not apparently any reason why Uncle Bill should ever be the subject of thought, was the final feather that broke tlie back of Roberta’s curiosity. “Jimmy,” she pleaded, “would you care to save a human life?” “Some humans. You, for instance.” “Theij tell me what has lowered my innocent Uncle Bill in your estimation.” “He’s crooked.” “Oh, Jimmy, he isn’t! His friends call him Crooked Bill because he’s — well, rather joyously sly, cunning and prudent. But dishonest—never!” “He’s out to boost the stock of this Glenn Hackett person to you and to depress mine.” Roberta smiled a small and knowing smile, but said nothing. The extent of this man’s occult powers fascinated her. “No, he doesn’t play fair,” Don Jaime protested. “He says one thing and means something else, so just for that, one of these bright days in tho near future I’m going to take your Uncle Bill’s conceit down a couple of notches.” “How do you know he doesn’t play fail'?” He laid finger on lip. “Hush! It’s a secret.” “Evidently,” Roberta replied bitterly, after waiting about twenty seconds for him to impart the secret. “I think I’ll go back to Los Algodones,” he announced suddenly. “There is something about the atmosphere of that town that aids my powers of divination.” “Am I invited to ride hack with you?

By PETER B. KYNE, Adventure and Love in Texas.

(Copyright). ,

Or must I mope around the house until you return?” “I think you had better mope. I have need to do some thinking—and you ditch my train of thought.’’ He looked at her keenly, earnestly, and without the slightest flicker of lovelight in his eves. “Are you enjoying your visit at Valle Verde, Bobby?” “Jimmy, I have never bad Snell a good time in all my life. It’s so radically different—and so are you. It’s all so dolce far niente. When I arise in the morning, you’re gone, and 1

wonder what makes you get on the job at six o’clock. Generally you are not home for luncheon, so everybody’s genuinely glad to sec you when you show up for dinner. And wo do have such jolly times in the evening. I like to have you discuss your ranch problems with mo—your-calf-branding, your cotton crop, the haying, the canal and irrigation system. I think there’s poetry in making the ; desert bloom.” “There’s a lot of hard work in it,” he answered grimly, “I have to spend considerable time with Ken Hobart, my new general manager, showing him all over the ranch, getting him acquainted with the details of his job and telling him how I like things done. You see, next year I’m gxoing to play more . . . I’ve wondered if you didn’t feel a bit lonely and neglected here.” “Oh, no, Jimmy! You’re such a friendly, comfortable person when you are around the house. Will you return from Los Algodones in time for dinner, Jimmy?” “I don’t .know. I’ll do mv best to complete my business and be back iu time. I don’t relish driving around this country at night because just at present, for me, at least, the night has' a number of eyes.” “You mean—” “I mean that your foreman, Bill Dingle, has been across the Line, and something tells me he went there to hire some renegade to bump me off. I don’t particularly blame him for that. A man acts according to his and I gave Dingle and his men lirpretty tough deal.” “But you went to town to-day unarmed, Jimmy?” He shook his head, half removed his tropical whipcord coat and displayed a gun under each arm, in a shoulder holster. “I try to appear non-poisonous off the ranch,’ he explained. “Well, I have a few friends who keep me advised on matters in which I am interested. I’m pretty safe in daylight, but coming home in the dusk I’d just as lief have a good man for company. So you stay home, Roberta, and I’ll take Ken Hobart with me. He’s very reliable.” Her eyes were wide with apprehension. “Please wait until morning,” she pleaded, but he shook his head and with a nod left her, to drive over to the men’s quarters for his foreman. Roberta stood in the entrance and watched him—saw Ken Hobart come out of the saddle room, receive his orders and go to his own adobe bungalow for his coat and a couple of carbines and ammunition belts. Then the two drove away, and Roberta, with terror in her heart, went to her room and wept,' as her lively imagination pictured Don Jaime Miguel Higuenes, all bloody and limp, lying in the dust of the road to Los Algodones. (To be Continued.)