“Yes.” Trevison shoved the paper into a pocket. “Looks like you’re not going to be skinned alone, Lefingwell. Well, so-long; I’ll see you later.”
He strode out, leaving Lefingwell slightly stunned over his abrupt leave-taking. A minute later he was in the squatty frame courthouse, towering above Judge Lindman, who had been seated at his desk and who had risen at his entrance.
Trevison shoved the summons under Lindman’s nose.
“I just got this,” he said. “What does it mean?”
“It is perfectly understandable,” the Judge smiled with forced affability. “The plaintiff, Mr. Jefferson Corrigan, is a claimant to the title of the land now held by you.”
“Corrigan can have no claim on my land; I bought it five years ago from old Buck Peters. He got it from a man named Taylor. Corrigan is bluffing.”
The Judge coughed and dropped his gaze from the belligerent eyes of the young man. “That will be determined in court,” he said. “The entire land transactions in this county, covering a period of twenty-five years, are recorded in that book.” And the Judge indicated a ledger on his desk.
“I’ll take a look at it.” Trevison reached for the ledger, seized it, the Judge protesting, half-heartedly, though with the judicial dignity that had become habitual from long service in his profession.
“This is a high-handed proceeding, young man. You are in contempt of court!” The Judge tried, but could not make his voice ring sincerely. It seemed to him that this vigorous, clear-eyed young man could see the guilt that he was trying to hide.
Trevison laughed grimly, holding the Judge off with one hand while he searched the pages of the book, leaning over the desk. He presently closed the book with a bang and faced the Judge, breathing heavily, his muscles rigid, his eyes cold and glittering.