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"Juan Bautista Soto," returned McBain defiantly, "was born in Caborca, Sonora, on the twenty-fourth day of June, eighteen sixty. I have a copy of the records of the parish church to prove he is Mexican-born. And in the third place " "And in the third place," burst out Rimrock, raising his voice to a yell, "that proves conclusively that you've set out to steal my mine.
"I'm going over to see Aunt Eliza Mrs. McBain, you know and I can't put it off. I haven't been near her for a fortnight, and she'll he awfully offended if I don't go." "Then it must be Tuesday," said Roger, with an air of making a concession. Nan felt that nothing could save her from Tuesday, and agreed meekly.
So he came at last to the distant camp of his subordinate comrades. He was greeted by the harsh voice and hard, weather-stained features of McBain wreathed in a smile which was a mere distortion, yet which augured well. "I haven't opened the letters, sir," he said, "but I've questioned Jones close. I guess it's right, all right." Fyles was once more the man of business.
Rimrock Jones had returned in a Christmas spirit and had taken Gunsight by storm. He had rewarded his friends and rebuked his enemies and all those who grind down the poor. He had humbled L. W. and driven McBain into hiding; and now this girl, this deaf, friendless typist, had snatched the cup from his lips.
He paused, and as the clacking stopped a woman who had been reading a novel on the veranda rose up noiselessly and listened over the railing. The new typist was really quite deaf one could hear every word that was said. She was pretty, too, and well, she dressed too well, for one thing. But McBain was not making love to his typist.
But he told Hassayamp, as one friend to another, that there would soon be a dead dog in camp; and if Andy McBain ever crossed his path he would shoot him down in his tracks. With all this on his mind he made very poor company and Gunsight had just about decided he had failed on his mine when it awoke to a sudden miracle.
McBain and Sandy come to dwell in Cornwall, and since this, their third summer there, had brought his adored Nan Davenant once more to Mallow Court on a lengthy visit, Sandy's cup of joy was filled to the brim. Mrs.
"And there's mighty few things worth having in this world that aren't obtained at a risk," averred Mrs. McBain stoutly. "You've always been for wrapping Nan up in cotton wool, St. John shielding her from this, protecting her from that! Sic' havers! She'd be more of a woman if you'd let her stand on her own feet a bit." Lord St. John sighed.
There was nothing, after that, for the ladies to do but retire in the best form they could; but as Mary Fortune came out in an auto' bonnet with a veil and coat to match they tore her character to shreds from behind the Venetian blinds. So that was her game she had thrown over McBain and was setting her cap for Rimrock Jones. And automobile clothes!
"It would never have been this colour if I'd had a say in the matter." Eliza surveyed her offspring with disfavour. "It's an ill thing, Sandy McBain, to question the ways of the Almighty who made you." "I don't. It's you who seem far more disposed to disparage the completed article than I." He beamed at her seraphically. Eliza's thin lips relaxed into an unwilling smile.
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