Moran’s eyes glinted.
“You’ll get logs as we’re able to ship them. Our first business is to supply our own mill. You’re a side issue.”
“That’s your attitude, is it? The obligation of contract means very little to you.”
“That contract was none of my making, Ashe. And if you don’t like the way we carry it out, you have your redress. Go to the courts.”
“I guess I’ve smoked out the reason we aren’t getting what we’re entitled to,” said Jim, his voice rising with his anger. “Its name is Moran—a pretty unsavory reason, from all I gather.”
Moran glared.
“You can’t talk to me like that, young man. You can’t bulldoze me.” He started to move away. Jim reached out swiftly, caught the man by the shoulder, and slammed him against the side of the depot.
“I’m not through talking with you,” he said, evenly, his eyes beginning to glow. “When I want to talk to a man I don’t consider it good manners for him to walk off. Now, Mister Man, you stay put till I’ve mentioned a few things to you. If you budge I’ll fetch you back again.”
Moran struggled, cursed, and struck at Jim.
“I don’t want to thrash you, Moran,” said Jim, “but I can—and I may have to. It depends on you. Stand still!”