"Put down that hand, Mr. Balasco," said Owen, a strange gleam in his eyes, and the hand fell in spite of the lumber dealer's effort to threaten. "There is no need of our having a fight over this thing. Either you'll agree to do as I say, or I shall call in the sheriff."
"The sheriff?"
"Exactly. Your business connection with Mr. Foxy Hildan is well known, and does not in the least reflect to your credit. I don't know exactly how far Mr. Wilbur wishes to go in the case, but if I were you I wouldn't stir him up too much."
Ulmer Balasco's jaw dropped, and now he actually leaned against the desk for support.
"I—I haven't had anything to do with Hildan," he stammered weakly.
"We can prove otherwise," put in Dale. "You and he are plotting to ruin Mr. Wilbur, but the scheme won't work, and the best thing you can do is to drop Foxy Hildan, and help finish that railroad contract on time."
"Didn't I say I was doing all I could on the contract?"
"And we know better."
"Mr. Balasco, are you going to recognize my authority or not?" demanded Owen. "I'll give you ten minutes in which to make up your mind."