Instantly, Loustalot wrote his check
and rushed again to the paying-tellers window.
"Too late, Mr. Loustalot. Your account has been attached," that
functionary informed him.
Meanwhile, Don Nicolas had joined his friend on the sidewalk.
"Here is his automobile, Don Nicolas," Farrel said. "I think we had
better take it away from him."
Don Nicolas climbed calmly into the driver's seat, filled out a blank
notice of attachment under that certain duly authorized writ which his
old friend's son had handed him, and waited until Loustalot came
dejectedly down the bank steps to the side of the car; whereupon Don
Nicolas served him with the fatal document, stepped on the starter, and
departed for the county garage, where the car would be stored until sold
at auction.
"Who let you out of my calaboose, Loustalot?" Don Mike queried amiably.
"That high-toned Jap friend of Parker's," the Basque replied, with
malicious enjoyment.
"I'm glad it wasn't Mr. Parker. Well, you stayed there long enough to
serve my purpose. By the way, your sheep are trespassing again."
"They aren't my sheep."
"Well, if you'll read that document, you'll see that all the sheep on the
Rancho Palomar at this date are attached, whether they belong to you or
not. Now, a word of warning to you, Loustalot: Do not come on the Rancho
Palomar for any purpose whatsoever. Understand ?"
Loustalot's glance met his unflinchingly for fully ten seconds, and, in
that glance, Kay thought she detected something tigerish.
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