“I know what you want, Jim,” said Freeman. He seemed to have aged greatly in a few months, and the blue-veined hands, which toyed with a pencil, were not steady.
“You know what I want, John?” queried Kelton.
“Yes, I know; you want to renew your mortgage.”
“Well?”
Freeman shook his head sadly, his fine old eyes turned away from his friend’s face.
“I can’t do it, Jim. I’ve had my orders. The bank has decided that Painted Valley ranch property is too big a risk; so we are not to renew any mortgages. I’m sorry. It isn’t like the old Medicine Bank to do a thing like that. We’ve always carried the folks along, taking the lean with the fat. But it’s different now.”
“Since Kendall Marsh got control, eh?”
Freeman sighed deeply, but did not deny it.
“If I only had the money, Jim; but I haven’t. The bank never did pay me a very big salary. It isn’t big enough to pay much. But it has been my job and my pleasure—until now. Now it’s just a job.”
“I’ve got about thirty days,” said Kelton slowly.