“I’m making the law right here, young feller,” says the man, “and I tell you to git.”
“Do you own this land?” says Catty.
“No, but my boss has leased it, and he’s put me here to chase folks off.”
“Oh, leased it, eh? Who’s your boss?”
“Don’t know that it’s any of your business, but his name is Mr. House.”
“Um....” says Catty. “Kind of a slick trick,” says he to me. “Wonder if it’s true.”
“Don’t seem to make much difference to you and me whether it’s true or not,” says I; “this feller can throw us off whether he’s got a right or not.”
“I’m not so sure,” says Catty, and his jaw stuck out with that stubborn way it’s got when he thinks somebody is trying to put it on him.
“Try it and see,” says the man, taking a step toward us. “Skedaddle. Git. Vamose the ranch.”
“Hold on,” says Catty; “when did Mr. House lease this land?”