have you got against the property?”
A somber glow came into his eyes as he opened his lips to speak, and then he veiled his smouldering hate behind a crafty smile.
“The parties that I represent,” he said deliberately, “are looking for a mine. But the man that puts his money into the Paymaster property is simply buying a lawsuit.”
“What do you mean?” demanded the Widow, rousing up indignantly in response to this sudden thrust.
“I mean, no matter how rich the Paymaster may be–and I hear the whole district is worked out–I wouldn’t even go up the hill to look at it until you showed me the title was good.”
The Widow sat and glowered as she meditated a fitting response and then she rose to her feet.
“Well, all right, then,” she sulked, “if you don’t want to consider it–but you’re missing the chance of your life.”
“Very likely,” he muttered and reached for his hat. “Much obliged for cooking my dinner.”
He started for the door, but she flew swiftly after him and snatched him back into the room.
“Now here!” she cried, “I want you to listen to me–I’ve got tired of this everlasting waiting. I waited around for ten years on the Colonel, to settle this matter up, and now that he’s gone I’m going to settle it myself and get out of the cussed country. Maybe I don’t own the mine, but I own a good part of it–I’ve got two hundred thousand shares of stock–and I could sell it to-morrow for twenty thousand dollars, so you don’t need to turn up your nose. There must be something there after all these years, to bring an offer of ten cents a share; but I wouldn’t take that money if it was the last act of my life–I just hate that Honest John Holman! He cheated my husband out of everything he had–and yet he did it in such a deceitful way that the Colonel would never believe it. I’ve called him a coward a thousand times for tolerating such an outrage for an instant, and now that he’s gone I’m going to show Honest John that he can’t put it over me!”
She shook her head until her heavy black hair flew out like Medusa’s locks and then Wiley laughed provokingly.
“All right,” he said, “but you can’t rope me in on your feuds. If you want to give me an option on your stock in the company for five or ten cents a share I may take a look at your mine. But I’ll tell you one thing–you’ll sign an agreement first to leave the country and never come back. I’m a business man, working for business people, and these shotgun methods don’t go.”
“Well, I’ll do it!” exclaimed the Widow, passing by his numerous insults in a sudden mad grab at release. “Just draw up your paper and I’ll sign it in a minute–but I want ten cents a share!”
“Ten cents or ten dollars–it makes no difference to me. You can put it as high as you like–but if it’s too high, my principals won’t take it. I can’t stop to inspect it now, because I’m due up north, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You give me an option on all your stock, with a written permission to take possession, and if the other two big owners will do as much I’ll come back and consider the mine. But get this straight–the first time you butt in, this option and agreement is off!”
“What do you mean–butt in?” demanded the Widow truculently, and then she bit her lip. “Well, never mind,” she said, “just draw up your papers. I’ll show you I’m business myself.”
“Huh!” he grunted and, whipping out a fountain pen, he sat down and wrote rapidly at a table. “There,” he said tearing the leaf from his notebook and putting it into her hands, “just read that over and if you want to sign it we’ll close the deal, right here.”
The Widow took the paper and, turning it to the light, began a labored perusal.
“Memorandum of agreement,” she muttered, squinting her eyes at his handwriting, “hmm, I’ll have to go and get my glasses. ‘For and in consideration of the sum of ten dollars–to me in hand paid by M. R. Wiley,’ and so forth–oh well, I guess it’s all right, just show me where to sign.”
“No,” he said, “let me read it to you–you ought to know what you’re signing.”
“No, just show me where to sign,” protested the Widow petulantly, “and where it says ten cents a share.”
“Well, it says that here,” answered Wiley, putting his finger on the place, “but I’m going to read it to you–it wouldn’t be legal otherwise.”
He wiped the beaded sweat from his brow and glanced towards the kitchen door. In this desperate game which he was framing on the Widow the luck had all come his way, but as he cleared his throat and commenced to read Virginia came bounding in. She was carrying a kitten, but when she saw the paper between them she dropped it on the floor.
“Virginia!” cried her mother, “go and hunt my glasses. They’re somewhere in my bedroom.”
“All right,” she responded, but when she came back she glanced inquiringly at the paper.
“You can go now,” announced the Widow, adjusting her glasses, but Virginia threw up her head.
“Do you know who that is?” she demanded brusquely, pointing an accusing finger at Wiley.
“Why–er–no,” returned the Widow, now absorbed in the agreement.
“Well, all right,” she said after a hasty perusal, “but where’s that sum of ten dollars? Now you hush, Virginia, and go–into–the–kitchen! Now, it says right here–oh, where is that place? Oh yes, ‘the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged’! Virginia!”
She stamped her foot, but Virginia’s blood was up and she made a grab at the paper.
“Now, listen!” she screamed, stopping her mother in her rush. “That man there is Wiley Holman! Yes–Holman! Old Honest John’s son! What’s this you’re going to sign?”
She backed away, her eyes fixed on the agreement, while the Widow stood astounded.
“Wiley Holman!” she shrieked, “why, you limb of Satan, you said your name was Wiley!”
“It is,” returned Wiley with one eye on the door, “the rest of my name is Holman.”
“But you signed it on this paper–you wrote it right there! Oh, I’ll have the law on you for this!”
She clutched at the paper and as Virginia gave it to her mother she turned an accusing glance upon Wiley.
“Yes, that’s just like you, Mr. M. R. Wiley,” she observed with scathing sarcasm. “You were just that way when you were a kid here in Keno– always trying to get the advantage of somebody. But if I’d thought you had the nerve─” She glanced at the paper and gasped and Wiley showed his teeth in a grin.
“Well, she crowded me to it,” he answered with a swagger. “I’m strictly business–I’ll sign up anybody. You can just keep that paper,” he nodded to the Widow, “and send it to me by mail.”
He winked at Virginia and slipped swiftly out the door as the Widow made a rush for her gun. She came out after him, brandishing a double-barreled shotgun, just as he cranked up his machine to start.
“I’ll show you!” she yelled, jerking her gun to her shoulder. “I’ll learn you to get funny with me!”
She pulled the trigger, but Wiley was watching her and he ducked down behind the radiator.
Clank, went the hammer and with a wail of rage the Widow snapped the other barrel.
“You, Virginia!” she cried in a terrible voice, “have you been monkeying with my shotgun?”
The answer was lost in a series of explosions that awoke every echo in Keno, and Wiley Holman leapt into his machine. He jerked off his brake and stepped on the foot throttle