"Say anything else?"
"Nope."
For a moment Hurley frowned at him thoughtfully, irritation gone before puzzled wonderment. Then, reaching for the telephone on his table, he said shortly:
"Stick around for further orders."
Turk nodded and went out. Hurley, sitting very still, his hand upon the telephone instrument, for a little seemed in doubt. Then with a suddenness which was like an attack on the line he was about to employ, rang the one long bell which was a call at headquarters for Beatrice Corliss.
"Yes?" came a voice not too sleepy to sound decidedly cross. "Who is it?"
"It's Hurley," said the man in pajamas briefly, "One of my men has just come in with the report that Steele is at the Goblet, that he refuses to move off …"
Beatrice Corliss was wide awake now; Hurley could imagine how his words had made her sit bolt upright, could even fancy a quick flash in her eyes.
"I told you," came her words with unmistakable emphasis, "not to allow that man on my property. I don't want reports; I want Steele put off my ranch. Forcibly, if necessary."
"But," returned Hurley, "he sends back word that he is not trespassing; that he is on his own land; that he owns eighty acres at the Goblet."
A little gasp from Miss Corliss as her leaping fancy sought to measure those supreme heights of impudence
