"Leaving all those questions of ethics aside," he said. "It wouldn't work. You might actually kill the man, but you'd never get his signature. Nobody could ever force him to do anything. He's a fighter. I know the type."
And such was the respect of these ranchmen for the intuitive knowledge of mankind in this their one creative artist, that they accepted his dictum as a fact, and instantly abandoned Bill Hunter's gorgeous wild-west idea.
For ten minutes longer they discussed possibilities but arrived nowhere. Then Carlson went out to find Ken.
"I think I can fix things up better with him alone than having him in here before us all as though he were getting a verdict," he said. "You know, after all, the situation is rather hard on him."
They were only too glad to agree; for, like all men, they hated the idea of a possible open display of sentiment or emotion.
VI
Early the following morning the party took horse to a man and moved back to Arguello. Kenneth's renewed expressions of confidence in his ability to arrange matters were received without open scepticism. Nevertheless, it was felt desirable that Colonel Peyton's friends should be on hand to receive an immediate report. That was the way they put it. Kenneth agreed to interview his father at once, and then to meet the Sociedad no matter what the hour, in the little room back of the Fremont bar. Accordingly he rode on into town and directly to his home. He cast a longing eye on the cross roads leading up to the Bungalow. It would not take very long to gallop up there, greet Daphne and hurry on. He desired to do so with a great desire, but put the thought from him.
It was not until after the evening meal, however, that Patrick Boyd would touch on business.
"I know; I've got something to tell you, too," he informed Kenneth; "but let's talk it over in the den. I want to hear about you, since I've been gone."
Once settled in a big easy chair and his cigar alight, Boyd said:
