"If we don't get it some one else will," said York. "I wish you'd look into their affairs, and see what sort of a legal bill of health they have. I am putting our accountants on their finances."
"All right," said Rapp. "I'll give 'em a bill of health like a pest-house record. Their bonded indebtedness is shocking, and they have all sorts of litigation pending against them."
"I'll tell you one thing," York said. "They have a large land grant."
"Which they got because the land was worthless."
"Supposed to be worthless," York amended.
Rapp cocked his head like a terrier that suddenly discerns a large and promising rat hole. "Come through," he said.
"This land," York explained, "is in the dry belt. It was supposed to be worth nothing when the P.S. charter was granted, and so the government of that day was generous with it. As a matter of fact, the land is good when irrigated; and it can be irrigated—or most of it can."
"How do you know it's any good?"
"There are some first-class ranches down there."
"If that is so, why don't P.S. put the lands on the market? They need the money."