you going to pick up an oil farm for a song? Old maids are sure to have a nephew or something hanging round to keep 'em posted."
"Now you mention it—" Carson fumbled in his pocket. "Now you mention it, boys, I believe I've got the very place for you. I've been prospecting around quite a bit in Oklahoma, and this summer I ran across a farm that for location can't be beat. Right in the heart of the oil section. Like this—"
He took an envelope from his pocket and, resting it on his knee, began to draw a rough diagram. The three heads bent close together and the busy tongues were silent save for a muttered question or a word or two of explanation.
Bob began to think that he had heard all he was to hear, and certainly he was no longer in doubt as to the character of the men he had followed. He had decided to go back to Betty when the older of the two gray-suited men, leaning back and taking off his glasses to polish them, addressed a question to Carson.
"Widow own this place?" he asked casually.
"No, couple of old maids," was the answer. "Last of their line, and all that. The neighbors know it as the Saunders place, but I didn't rightly get whether that was the name of the old ladies or not."
The Saunders place!
