"I'll get a monkey-wrench, my friend; you rattle," Brent chuckled. "But you get out of my way! I'm going!"
Tusk regarded him in sullen silence. His face was black with passion and Brent saw the necessity of more affable tactics.
"What's on your mind?" he asked. "Tell me so I can understand!"
"Nothin' ain't on my mind," Potter answered, with more truth than he realized. "Tom says you owe me a hund'ed dollars for buhnin' down my cabin; an' he says to leave that an' the hund'ed you owes him on the schoolhouse steps tomorrer night; an' if you don't hand 'em over now I'm to put it up to the Cunnel!"
It was disconnected, but Brent understood the last part well enough. Also, it had flashed across his mind that if Tusk were really burned out, Tom had done it and concocted a plausible tale in order to gain this fellow as an ally. So he sat for a minute trying to grasp the dangling threads of this surprising situation.
"Tusk," he said, "I didn't know you were burned out, and, of course, I didn't do it; but I will buy your land if you'll come in town Monday and sign—that is, if Dulany finds the title clear. He's getting some other pieces for me, and can put yours in. How much do you own?"
"Acre," Tusk answered. "Th' ain't no trick 'bout this?"
"Certainly not. But land up there where you are isn't worth a hundred dollars an acre! What are you trying to put over on us, Tusk?"
"Don't make no difference," he growled. "I had a cabin, an' a bed, an blanket; an' stove, too, sech as 'twas!"
"All right," Brent laughed. "I'll give you the hunner if you're at Dulany's office Monday." A hundred was the exact maximum price he and Dulany had decided on offering Potter for that little strip.