“I ain't foolin'.”
“Pshaw!”
“You kin 'pshaw' till the cows come home,” cried the other heatedly. “I got it straight.”
“Who from?”
“Sim Barkis, him what's cookin' for Beckett's crew.”
“Good man, Sim. Never caught him in a lie yet. You are beginning to sound reasonable, Josh,” and Mr. Sherwood put down his knife and fork and looked shrewdly at his informant. “Now tell me,” he said, “how much is Sim going to get for helping to pay Ged Raffer's debts?”
“Har!” ejaculated the other man. “You know Sim ain't that kind.”
“All right, then. How much does he say the gang's going to split between 'em after they've done me up brown according to contract?” scoffed Uncle Henry, and Nan realized that her giant relative had not the least fear of not being able to meet any number of enemies in the open.
“Sim come away before they got that far. Of course Ged didn't say right out in open meetin' that he'd give so many dollars for your scalp. But he got 'em all int'rested, and it wouldn't surprise him, so Sim said, if on the quiet some of those plug-uglies had agreed to do the job.”
Nan shuddered, and had long since stopped eating. But nobody paid any attention to her at the moment.