"I have," he answered calmly.
"You know, then, that a later governor of the territory, Manuel Armijo, illegally carved half a million acres out of the former grant and gave it to José Moreño, from whom your grandfather bought it."
The miner's face froze to impassivity. He was learning news. The very existence of such a grant was a surprise to him. His grandfather and his mother had been dead fifteen years. Somewhere in an old trunk back in Kentucky there was a tin box full of papers that might tell a story. But for the present he preferred to assume that he knew what information they contained.
"I object to the word illegal, Don Manuel," he answered curtly, not at all sure his objection had any foundation of law.
Pesquiera shrugged. "Very well, señor. The courts, I feel sure, will sustain my words."
"Perhaps, and perhaps not."
"The law is an expensive arbiter, Señor Gordon. Your claim is slight. The title has never been perfected by you. In fifteen years you have paid no taxes. Still your claim, though worthless in itself, operates as a cloud upon the title of my client, the Valdés heir."
Dick looked at him steadily and nodded. He began to see the purpose of this visit. He waited silently, his mind very alert.
"Señor, I am here to ask of you a relinquishment. You are brave; no doubt, chivalrous----"
"I'm a business man, Don Manuel," interrupted Gordon. "I don't see what chivalry has got to do with it."
"Señorita Valdés is a woman, young and beautiful. This little estate is her sole possession. To fight for it in court is a hardship that Señor Gordon will not force upon her."
"So she's young and beautiful, is she?"
"The fairest daughter of Spain in all New Mexico," soared Don Manuel.
"You don't say. A regular case of beauty and the beast, ain't it?"
"As one of her friends, I ask of you not to oppose her lawful possession of this little vineyard."
"In the grape business, is she?"
"I speak, señor, in metaphor. The land is barren, of no value except for sheep grazing."
"Are you asking me to sell my title or give it?"
"It is a bagatelle--a mere nothing. The title is but waste paper, I do assure. Yet we would purchase--for a nominal figure--merely to save court expenses."
"I see," Dick laughed softly. "Just to save court expenses--because you'd rather I'd have the money than the lawyers. That's right good of you."
Pesquiera talked with his hands and shoulders, sparkling into animation. "Mr. Gordon distrusts me. So? Am I not right? He perhaps mistakes me for what you call a--a pettifogger, is it not? I do assure to the contrary. The blood of the Pesquieras is of the bluest Castilian."