Charlie's attention became more lively as he listened to his father's
directions to the man, and when García had departed he asked, "Who are
you after? Who's this young fellow you speak of as being at the Perro
Creek ranch? Didn't Stevenson deed the place back?"

Menocal senior twisted an end of his flaring moustache.

"May a thousand damnations fall on him! No, he didn't," he responded,
wrathfully.

"But that only means you'll have to foreclose the mortgage. It will
take longer, that's all."

Charlie was vice-president of his father's bank--his name was so
printed on the stationery, at least--and was familiar with his
parent's affairs, though he was averse to anything like industry. He
much preferred the pursuit of pleasure to work, and his automobile to
the grille of the bank. He was accurately aware, too, of his father's
weakness for him, an only child, and of his father's inclination to
indulge his desires; and shrewdly played upon the fact. Nevertheless,
in matters of business he possessed a certain sharpness.

"Stevenson sold the ranch to this young man Bryant, who just now paid
off the mortgage," Menocal explained.

"Then he was stung," Charlie averred.

"Wait, you don't know all, my son. He plans to build a dam and a canal
and use that old water right out of the Pinas, taking the water with