"Seventeen," said Mr. McGinity, idly creasing his hat.
Again Mr. Braden conferred with Parks. He raised the bid five hundred, and again the stranger tilted it. The latter did so nonchalantly. Between bids he conversed with his friend. But when Mr. Braden had bid nineteen thousand, five hundred, he shot it to twenty-one thousand.
Though the perspiration stood upon Mr. Braden's brow, his pedal extremities began to suffer from cold. He had not expected any opposition. The conditions of sale were stringent, as he had intended them to be, with a view of choking off others; but just then, though few knew it, certain unfortunate speculations had strained his credit very badly. Twenty-one thousand was a large sum, more than he could count on with certainty unless he had time to raise more on the security of the property itself, even though part of it was his mortgage claim. But he wanted the property very badly—needed it, in fact. Who the deuce was this McGinity?
And then, suddenly, he saw light. "McGinity" was the translation of certain hieroglyphics appended to letters he had received from the Northern Airline. He had translated them into "McKinley," but with considerable doubt. So his competitor for possession of the Mackay ranch was the Airline itself!
So that was what he was up against! Mackay, somehow, must have gotten wind of his intentions, and himself entered into negotiations with the railway; and these must have reached a definite point.
It was a difficult situation for Mr. Braden. He saw his dream of carving up a choice townsite—of seeing it grow in value by leaps and bounds—go glimmering. He hated to drop out. But what was the use of going on? McGinity would bid up to whatever he thought the proposition worth, and not a dollar more. More than that, if he, Braden, overtopped that figure, they would let him keep the land, and they would make a townsite elsewhere. Mr. Braden was under no delusions. He had known landowners who had held the mistaken belief that a strong corporation could be forced to adopt a certain location for a townsite merely because it was the best. The said landowners still owned the land, but it was not a town.
"Twenty-one thousand!" the sheriff repeated. "Any advance? A very valuable property, gentlemen." He looked at Mr. Braden. That gentleman sadly shook his head. No, he was out of it. "Then," said the sheriff, "if there is no higher bid, I—"
"Twenty-two thousand!"
It was Chetwood, and the effect was explosive. Mr. Braden stared, open-mouthed. McGinity and Floyd turned and eyed him. Faith gasped, clutching Angus' arm.
"Why—why," she whispered, "how can he—you told me he had lost all his money!"