“I don’t care to tell you anything about my business,” Bond snarled. “I——”
“You might have to tell somebody about it one of these days,” Robin interrupted.
Bond stared at him uneasily.
“There’s something queer about this T Bar S brand,” Robin went on. “I sometimes dabble in queer things. I want to own it. I’m offerin’ you a good price—I’ll take my chances on gatherin’ what I pay for. In fact I sort of want that brand for a bait. Will you sell? Better sell out than get froze out. Forty-six hundred is a nice bunch of coin all in a lump.”
“I’d like to take you up,” Bond declared. “But I can’t.”
“That brand’s registered in your name,” Robin challenged. “You’re goin’ to get into trouble over it.”
“No I ain’t,” Bond defended. “I don’t own it. Never did.”
“Who does?” Robin demanded.
“I can’t tell you.”
“You might have to tell a judge and jury,” Robin said bluntly.