"But to nobody else. Who would care a curse if you died?"
Offhand, Mr. Braden could not answer this blunt question. French grinned at the expression of his face. "You don't like to face the inevitable, Braden. Well, since it is the inevitable it doesn't matter whether you like it or not." He tossed three fingers of straight liquor down his throat. A shade of color came into his lean cheeks and his eyes brightened. "Have you heard anything fresh lately?"
Mr. Braden shook his head. "Nothing authoritative. I know the Airline people are running trial lines east of here. I had a reply to my letter from the head of their real estate department—McKinley, as near as I could make out the signature—and he says just about half a page of nothing."
"He doesn't want to tip their hand."
"That's what I think, I know they are coming through here, and when they do it will kill this town, because they won't come within fifteen miles of it. Well, in a week or so I'll own the Mackay ranch, and be in shape to make them a definite townsite proposition whenever they do come. There isn't a better natural townsite anywhere."
"No hold-up," French warned. "They won't stand for it. Give them a good slice if they want it."
"I'll do that because I can't help myself. It's lucky I've been able to bring on the sale so soon. You were wrong in thinking it would stop the girl from marrying Mackay, though."
"I thought she would have more sense than to marry him under the circumstances."
"You've heard nothing about the—er—deeds since you gave them to her?" Mr. Braden asked.
"Nothing at all."