CHAPTER IV
THE LONG ARM OF POWER
Presently Corrigan lit a cigar, biting the end off carefully, to keep it from coming in contact with his bruised lips. When the cigar was going well, he looked at Braman.
“What is Trevison?”
Pale, still dizzy from the effects of the blow on the head, Braman, who was leaning heavily on the counter, smiled wryly:
“He’s a holy terror—you ought to know that. He’s a reckless, don’t-give-a-damn fool who has forgotten there’s such a thing as consequences. ‘Firebrand’ Trevison, they call him. And he lives up to what that means. The folks in this section of the country swear by him.”
Corrigan made a gesture of impatience. “I mean—what does he do? Of course I know he owns some land here. But how much land does he own?”
“You saw the figure on the check, didn’t you? He owns five thousand acres.”
“How long has he been here?”
“You’ve got me. More than ten years, I guess, from what I can gather.”