"Your ranch—everything you possess is held on first mortgage."
"Not all." Bunning-Ford's answer came swiftly. The abruptness of the other's announcement nettled him. The tone of the words conveyed a challenge which the younger man was not slow to accept.
Lablache shrugged his shoulders with deliberation until his fleshy jowl creased against the woolen folds of his shirt front.
"It comes to the same thing," he said; "what I—what is not mortgaged is held in bonds. The balance, practically all of it, you owe under signature to Pedro Mancha. It is because of that—latest—debt I am here."
"Ah!"
Bill rolled a fresh cigarette and lit it. He guessed something of what was coming—but not all.
"Mancha will force you to meet your liabilities to him. Your interest is shortly due to the Calford Loan Co. You cannot meet both."
Lablache gazed unblinkingly into the other's face. He was thoroughly enjoying himself.
Bill was staring pensively at his cigarette. One leg swung pendulum fashion beside the desk. His indebtedness troubled him not a jot. He was trying to fathom the object of this prelude. Lablache, he knew, had not come purposely to make these plain statements. He blew a cloud of smoke down his nostrils with much appreciation. Then he heaved a sigh as though his troubles were too great for him to bear.
"Right—dead right, first time."