Bob sat up with a jerk, and then, remembering, sank back and turned a page, though his hands shook with excitement.
"Faith Henderson, born a Saunders—" The words of the old bookshop man, Lockwood Hale, who had told Bob about his mother's people, came back to him.
"I do believe it is the very same place," he said to himself. "There couldn't be two farms in the oil section owned by different families of the name of Saunders. If it is the right farm, and they're my aunts, perhaps Betty's uncle will know where it is."
He strained his ears, hoping to gather more information, but having heard of this desirable farm, Fluss and Blosser were apparently unwilling to discuss it further. In reality, had Bob only known, they were mulling the situation over in their respective minds, and Carson knew they were. That night, over a game of cards, a finished proposition would doubtless be perfected, and a partnership formed.
"What about you?" Fluss did say.
"Who? Me?" asked Carson inelegantly. "Oh, I'm sorry, but I can't go in with you. I'm going right on through to the coast. Oklahoma isn't healthy for me for a couple of months. All I'll charge you for the information is ten per
