Colonel Joe finishes his Larose. He takes a stiff brandy with his cigar, and carelessly remarks:
"How's your mine, Judge?"
"Doing well, doing well," is the reply.
"Better let me put it on the market for you. You are getting old for that sort of bother."
"Woods, I will see you by and by. I am trustee for the Valois estate. He left no will, and I can't give a title to the ranch till the time for minor heirs runs out. So I am running the mine on my own account. Some outside parties may claim heirship."
"Didn't he leave a daughter?" says Woods.
"There is a girl—she's East now, at school; but, between you and me, old fellow, I don't know if she is legitimate or not. You know what old times were."
Colonel Joe grins with a twinge of conscience. He has had his "beaux-jours."
"I will hold on till the limitation runs out. I don't want to cloud the title to my mine, with litigation. It comes through Valois."
"You never heard of any Eastern heirs?" Joe remarks, gulping a "stiffener" of brandy.