“What does he say?”
“Not much of anything,” replied Eph, who saw the advantage he possessed and did not mean to let go of it.
“How is he going to pay the money? Has he got it with him?”
“Of course not; but he explained that he would give you a draft—I b’lieve they call it—that is, a piece of paper with writin’ on it, which you can hand over to Mr. Lord in Santone, and he’ll pay you a thousand dollars—which shows what a fool Mr. Lord is, for how can a piece of paper be worth anything like that?”
“You’re asking me to trust them a good way,” said Rickard, who had hoped that the parties would be able to produce the funds, “for they may get word to the banker and he won’t pay it. Then I’ll be out with no way to help myself.”
“As I figger it,” said the trapper, wrinkling his brow with thought, and anxious to display his knowledge, “thar aint no way of fixin’ it without takin’ a risk like that. You’ve knowed me and Ard Strubell and Baker Lattin for a good many years, and you know that when we give our promise we’ll stick to it. Aint that so?”
“I don’t dispute it.”
“Wal, then, we three, includin’ likewise the younker as is to pay the money, give you our promise that if you’ll send this one with you back to them, with his hoss, gun, an’ everything right, they’ll give you that paper, which will bring you one thousand dollars the minute you hand it to Mr. Lord in Santone.”
“That seems to be straight, though I ought to have more.”