first, approaching heavily and sleepily the spot where the engineer
waited. He had not put on coat or collar; his short figure appeared
more than ever obese; his sweeping white moustache divided his plump,
shiny brown face; and his air was that of one who must put up with
vexatious interruptions because of the important position he filled.

"You wish to speak with me?" he asked, shortly.

"That's why I'm here," Bryant returned.

Menocal gazed at him owlishly for a time.

"You're the man who threw my son's money back at the ford day before
yesterday, aren't you?" he questioned.

"The same."

"Why did you throw it back?"

"Why did he throw it at me in the first place? You should train him to
use better judgment. You yourself wouldn't have done it."

"No," Menocal said. Then, as if the subject were dismissed, he asked,
"What do you wish to see me about?"

"About the mortgage on the Stevenson place: I've bought the ranch.
Stevenson moves off in a few days."

Menocal's brows lifted and remained so, as if fixed in their new
elevation. He slowly rubbed the end of his nose with his forefinger.