"And you wouldn't try to influence her?"
John shook his head emphatically.
"Buying is out of the question, Phil. That's one reason I want to help her—so no man can ever come in and take advantage of her circumstances, force a sale and ruin this plan."
"She's converted you to her idea all right!"
"By Jove, Rowe, she has that! I'd as soon lose my right arm as see that stuff cut now."
"You inspire me!"
They parted and Rowe went inside to stand by the window watching John swing along the sidewalk.
"Your right arm, eh? Well—by making that crack—about your right arm, you may lose your birthright."
He examined the time table hanging beside the desk and then entered the telephone booth. His call was for Miss Marcia Murray, at Windigo Lodge.
That afternoon Jim Harris and Philip Rowe drove north from Pancake. They did not stop at the Harris development project, though they left the main road there. They went on, along a seldom used trail, coming eventually to the southwest corner of Foraker's Folly. They left the car and crossed the fire line and within the shelter of the ranks of pine trees Rowe took a small camera from his pocket. They walked three miles or more through the forest, stopping now and then where the light and perspective were right to preserve for the discontented eyes of Luke Taylor the things which theirs could see.
They were together that night at supper, together when the nine-ten arrived, bringing the small, silent Tolman,
