into high-heeled boots. A flowing sandy moustache covered his mouth.
“Yes, Ma’am, and what kin I do fer you?” the official asked, taking his feet from his desk and removing his sombrero in greeting.
Doris looked around for a chair, at which the man jumped up and offered his.
“I’ll sit on the desk,” he said.
Doris explained that she wished to establish title to three tracts of land, the deeds of which had been stolen.
“They were bought about thirty years ago—not less than twenty-nine, not more than thirty-one,” she said. “The owners’ names are Azalea and Iris Gates, unmarried, and a Mr. John Trent.”
“I’m not expert at this job yet,” the official said. “I only been here since last November’s election. I’ll look up the books.”
He opened an old-fashioned safe with a huge key, and removed some ledgers.
“Lucky thing nobody buys much land here, ever,” he said. “These two books got the history of every parcel of land in the county. Now, let’s see.”
He pored over the volumes, while a silence broken only by the buzz of a fly and the crackle of the turning pages settled down upon the room.
At last he turned to Doris.
Her heart sank as he shook his head slowly.
“No, Ma’am,” the registrar said. “There ain’t no record of any property under them names at all.”
CHAPTER XI
Unpleasant Encounters—And Others
“What does that mean?” Dave asked, seriously.
“It means that whoever has the deeds in his possession can establish ownership,” Doris sighed, as she settled back into the car after leaving the registrar.
“But surely you can warn the county official that whoever tries to register the deeds is acting fraudulently,” Mrs. Mallow said.
“We should have to prove it,” Doris replied. “I talked all that over with the registrar. He seems to be a sort of political job-holder, not very ambitious or smart. But he did suggest that someone might have bought the deeds in good faith from whomever stole them, in order to complicate matters.”
Gloomily the five sat in the parked car, its nose to the hitching rack in front of a store which dealt in saddles, drugs, ammunition and radios.
“Not even an ice cream soda in this burg,” Marshmallow groaned. “Warm pop, that’s all.”
Doris glanced listlessly along the hot, dusty street. Half a dozen ponies were hitched here and there, standing with drooping heads. One other car, yellow with alkaline dust, stood in front of the structure which advertised itself as the “Raven Rock Ritz—Meals at All Hours.”
A man emerged from the restaurant and stood for a moment vigorously manipulating a toothpick.
He climbed into the car and backed violently into the road, describing a wide arc.
“Oh! Look out!” Doris cried.
“Hey, you—you—” Marshmallow shouted in alarm.
Crash!
The rear of the automobile struck Marshmallow’s rented car.
Dave leaped out, furious at the stranger’s carelessness.
“No harm done,” he cried. “The bumpers met, thank goodness. Say, stranger, do you think you’re in the middle of the prairie?”
“Whadda you want to park in the middle of the road for?” snarled the stranger, as he shifted gears noisily and tore off up the street.
As Dave watched him go, he clenched his fists, and fumed.
“I’d like to teach him a lesson in driving courtesy, and I will if I ever meet him again.”
“Oh, come on, no harm done,” said the more easygoing Marshmallow. “You’ll never see him again.”
Marshmallow was thoroughly mistaken, although none of the party realized it then. Doris’s intuition suddenly made her remark:
“That man looked downright vicious. I hope he is not connected with any crooked land deals. He seems to be unscrupulous.”
“Let’s go back to the ranch,” Mrs. Mallow said. “I think this village is depressing. And perhaps Mr. Corlies may have called up about the lost handbag.”
Silently and glumly Marshmallow turned the car about and headed it toward the ranch.
“Oh, Marshall, not so fast on this narrow road,” his mother cautioned him.
“Look, there’s a road that goes off to the left,” Doris pointed. “It may be a short cut, and then again it may go some other interesting place. You see, we don’t know the country.”
“Can’t be any worse than the highway,” Marshmallow replied, sending the car into the side road with a twist of the wheel.
It was a rough drive, but fascinating. Twisting in and out between the weirdly shaped buttes and mesas, fording dry streams, skirting deep arroyos, the twisting route soon made everyone lose all sense of direction.
“I think we are getting farther away from the ranch,” Mrs. Mallow said. “Perhaps you had better turn back, Marshall.”
Kitty agreed, too.
“No place to turn,” Marshall said. “I’d hate to get mixed up in that cactus and sand. I shouldn’t even want to meet another car.”
The road twisted out of sight under the face of a gaudy orange cliff, and when the car negotiated the bend everyone sat up straight at the sight of a huge herd of cattle, not only on both sides of the road but on it as well.
“Whew, there must be thousands,” Dave whistled.
Marshmallow stopped the car and honked violently to clear the road.
“The big stupids,” he cried in dismay. “They are doing just the opposite!”
The cattle, smelling the wat£r in the radiator of the automobile, crowded around the car.
“Ooh, Marshmallow!” Kitty cried. “They scare me! Chase them away.
“Why, Doris,” she said, looking at her chum, “you aren’t a bit afraid.”
Doris merely smiled calmly.
“I’m no bull-fighter,” Marshmallow retorted.
A huge white-faced steer laid its chin on the side of the tonneau and stared gloomily at the three feminine autoists in the back seat.
“Shoo!” cried Mrs. Mallow, shaking her finger at the calm-eyed beast.
