“Hush,” warned Eden. The door opened and Madden, followed by Thorn, entered the room. For a moment the millionaire stood regarding them intently.
“Good morning, Mr. Holley,” he said. “I’ve got your interview here. You’re wiring it to New York, you say?”
“Yes. I’ve queried my friend there about it this morning. I know he’ll want it.”
“Well, it’s nothing startling. I hope you’ll mention in the course of it where you got it. That will help to soothe the feelings of the boys I’ve turned down so often in New York. And you won’t change what I’ve said?”
“Not a comma,” smiled Holley. “I must hurry back to town now. Thank you again, Mr. Madden.”
“That’s all right,” said Madden. “Glad to help you out.”
Eden followed Holley to the yard. Out of earshot of the house, the editor stopped.
“You seemed a little het up about that gun. What’s doing?”
“Oh, nothing, I suppose,” said Eden. “On the other hand—”
“What?”
“Well, Holley, it strikes me that something queer may have happened lately on this ranch.”
Holley stared. “It doesn’t sound possible. However, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“I’ve got to. It’s a long story, and Madden mustn’t see us getting too chummy. I’ll come in this afternoon, as I promised.”
Holley climbed into his car. “All right,” he said. “I can wait, I guess. See you later, then.”
Eden was sorry to watch Horace Greeley stagger down the dusty road. Somehow the newspaper man brought a warm, human atmosphere to the ranch, an atmosphere that was needed there. But a moment later he was sorry no longer, for a little speck of brown in the distance became a smart roadster, and at its wheel he saw the girl of the Oasis, Paula Wendell.
He held open the gate, and with a cheery wave of her hand the girl drove past him into the yard.
“Hello,” he said as she alighted. “I was beginning to fear you weren’t coming.”
“I overslept,” she explained. “Always do in this desert country. Have you noticed the air? People who are in a position to know tell me it’s like wine.”
“Had a merry breakfast, I suppose?”
“I certainly did. At the Oasis.”
“You poor child. That coffee.”
“I didn’t mind. Will Holley says that Madden’s here.”
“Madden? That’s right—you do want to see Madden, don’t you? Well, come along inside.”
Thorn was alone in the living-room. He regarded the girl with a fishy eye. Not many men could have managed that, but Thorn was different.
“Thorn,” said Eden. “Here’s a young woman who wants to see Mr. Madden.”
“I have a letter from him,” the girl explained, “offering me the use of the ranch to take some pictures. You may remember—I was here Wednesday night.”
“I remember,” said Thorn sourly. “And I regret very much that Mr. Madden cannot see you. He also asks me to say that unfortunately he must withdraw the permission he gave you in his letter.”
“I’ll accept that word from no one but Mr. Madden himself,” returned the girl, and a steely light flamed suddenly in her eyes.
“I repeat—he will not see you,” persisted Thorn.
The girl sat down. “Tell Mr. Madden his ranch is charming,” she said. “Tell him I am seated in a chair in his living-room and that I shall certainly continue to sit here until he comes and speaks to me himself.”
Thorn hesitated a moment, glaring angrily. Then he went out.
“I say—you’re all right,” Eden laughed.
“I aim to be,” the girl answered, “and I’ve been on my own too long to take any nonsense from a mere secretary.”
Madden blustered in. “What is all this—”
“Mr. Madden,” the girl said, rising and smiling with amazing sweetness, “I was sure you’d see me. I have here a letter you wrote me from San Francisco. You recall it, of course.”
Madden took the letter and glanced at it. “Yes, yes—of course. I’m very sorry, Miss Wendell, but since I wrote that certain matters have come up—I have a business deal on—” He glanced at Eden. “In short, it would be most inconvenient for me to have the ranch overrun with picture people at this time. I can’t tell you how I regret it.”
The girl’s smile vanished. “Very well,” she said, “but it means a black mark against me with the company. The people I work for don’t accept excuses—only results. I have told them everything was arranged.”
“Well, you were a little premature, weren’t you?”
“I don’t see why. I had the word of P. J. Madden. I believed—foolishly, perhaps—the old rumour that the word of Madden was never broken.”
The millionaire looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Well—I—er—of course I never break my word. When did you want to bring your people here?”
“It’s all arranged for Monday,” said the girl.
“Out of the question,” replied Madden. “But if you could postpone it a few days—say, until Thursday.” Once more he looked at Eden. “Our business should be settled by Thursday,” he added.
“Unquestionably,” agreed Eden, glad to help.
“Very well,” said Madden. He looked at the girl, and his eyes were kindly. He was no Thorn. “Make it Thursday, and the place is yours. I may not be here then myself, but I’ll leave word to that effect.”
“Mr. Madden, you’re a dear,” she told him. “I knew I could rely on you.”
With a disgusted look at his employer’s back, Thorn went out.
“You bet you can,” said Madden, smiling pleasantly. He was melting fast. “And the record of P. J. Madden is intact. His word is as good as his bond—isn’t that so?”
“If anyone doubts it let him ask me,” replied the girl.
“It’s nearly lunchtime,” Madden said. “You’ll stay?”
“Well—I—really, Mr. Madden—”
“Of course she’ll stay,” Bob Eden broke in. “She’s eating at a place in Eldorado called the Oasis, and if she doesn’t stay, then she’s just gone and lost her mind.”
The girl laughed. “You’re all so good to me,” she said.
“Why not?” inquired Madden. “Then it’s settled. We need someone like you around to brighten things up. Ah Kim,” he added, as the Chinese entered, “another place for lunch. In about ten minutes, Miss Wendell.”
He went out. The girl looked at Bob
