At nine the next morning the Silver City bank telephoned Sandy Mackintavers over long distance regarding a check for ten thousand dollars issued to one Thady Shea, and properly indorsed, which had been presented for payment by Mrs. Crump. Promptly and delightedly Mackintavers gave it his O. K. Quite naturally, he considered that Abel Dorales had carried his mission to success, and that Number Sixteen now belonged to the Empire State Chemical Company.
But that evening, when Dorales arrived with new tires on the flivver, Mackintavers learned what had really taken place. Then he telephoned to Silver City in all haste, only to find that he was out ten thousand big round dollars. He had gambled, and he had lost his stake.
Dorales spent a most unpleasant evening. Despite everything, even the monetary loss, which rankled to the very bottom of his soul, Mackintavers had a deep grain of humour. This was the first time he had ever known Abel Dorales to be put absolutely down and out; he gave his humour full vent until Dorales, who had no humour whatever, writhed under the lash.
“It’s your loss most of all,” growled Dorales, white lipped and venomous.
“Aiblins, yes.” Mackintavers fell grave. “We’ll leave Mrs. Crump alone for the present; never fear, I’ll get that money back, with interest! I’ve a scheme in the back of my head that will work on her a bit later. Are ye going to hide out till the laughing’s done with?”
“Hide—hell!” snarled Dorales, viciously. “The first man that laughs to my face, except you, gets something to remember. And,” he added, slowly, “I’m not so sure about excepting you, Sandy.”
“There, there, cannot ye take a joke?” returned Mackintavers, hastily. “I’ve suffered the most, but leave Mrs. Crump be for the present. I want to get the matter o’ those stone idols settled, and under cover o’ the noise it will make when I become a scientist, then we’ll take over this strontianite mine.
“I want ye to go up to Santa Fé, and get a big sack o’ silver dollars. I’ve me eye on two or three o’ them Cochiti redskins and I think ye can bribe ’em. If——”
“What about this man Shea?” snapped Dorales. “I’m going to get him if it takes me ten years! I’m going to write my name in his hide with a knife!”
“Ye shall; he’ll be here when ye get back from Santa Fé,” soothed Mackintavers. “He can’t hide out long, Abel. I’ll have him held for ye.”