Desert Conquest; or, Precious Waters

by A. M. Chisholm

"No objection in the world," the other replied coolly. "We wanted to interview McHale."

"Is that so? Well, Tom isn't here to-night Mr. Dade. By the way, unless you really like it you needn't wear that transformation scheme across your face. Same remark applies to the other gentlemen. I like to know my visitors."

Dade laughed, removing the handkerchief. "Take a good look. You may see me again."

"Any time you like, Mr. Dade. And what did you want with McHale?"

"Well," Dade answered calmly, "we figured that he'd help us take the stretch out of a new rope."

"Nobody else would do?" queried Casey.

"We wanted him."

"I see. And had our mutual friend, Mr. Cross, anything to do with your desire? By the way, how is Mr. Cross? Or should I say the late Mr. Cross?"

"Not yet," Dade replied. "He's got a chance."

"Then aren't you too previous?"