Garry Knapp was silent and showed confusion. The major went on with some grimness of expression:
“But if your conscience troubles you and you wish to call the deal off, now is your chance to return the check.”
Instantly Garry pulled his wallet from his pocket and produced the folded green slip, good for a thousand dollars at the Desert City Trust Company.
“There you are, sir,” he said quietly, and laid the paper upon the arm of the major’s chair.
The old gentleman picked it up, identified it, and slowly tore the check into strips, eyeing the young man meanwhile.
“Then,” he said, calmly, “that phase of the matter is closed. But you still wish to sell your ranch?”
“I do, Major Dale. But I can’t accept what anybody out there would tell you was a price out of all reason.”
“Except my lawyers,” suggested the major.
“Well——”
“Young man, you have done a very foolish thing,” said Major Dale. “A ridiculous thing, perhaps. Unless you are shrewder than you seem. My lawyers have had your land thoroughly cruised. You have the best wheat land, in embryo, anywhere in the Desert City region.”