The turpentine operator gave Lockwood a hearty greeting.
“Feeling all right this morning? You looked plumb played out last night. I am shorely indebted to you, Lockwood. I reckon you couldn’t identify that fellow that held you-all up?”
“Well, I saw that it was a white man—that’s about all,” said Lockwood carefully. “Between his hat and his coat collar you could hardly see his face. Do you suppose it might be one of Blue Bob’s gang?”
“Them? Naw! None of them water rats has got sand enough for a real desperate job. I can’t think of nobody round here that could have done it. Anyway, I’d be out about twelve hundred dollars only for you, and I’d like to do something——”
“So you can. You can do something right now,” returned Lockwood promptly. “I want you to ride over with me to Power’s place, and back me up in what I say to old Henry.”
“Hey? What for?” exclaimed the turpentine man, looking surprised and uneasy. “I wouldn’t, if I was you, Lockwood. Lemme tell you, Tom Power came down here, a-rearin’ and a-tearin’ yesterday, and swearing he’d put a bullet into you if you ever showed up here again. ’Course, he was some drunk, but I dunno what had got at him.”
“That wasn’t Tom Powers speaking, not whisky either,” said Lockwood dryly. “They were his words, but it was the voice of his friend Mr. Hanna. Hanna is trying to put across a high-class swindle on the Powers. When I found it out and blocked him he tried to put me away. He nearly did, too, but I’ll tell you about that later. Just now I want the facts put straight before Henry Power, if it isn’t too late.”
He rapidly detailed the history of the oil stock. Craig listened intently, frowning.
“I never did think much of that cuss Hanna,” he commented. “If it’s all as you say——”
“Don’t take what I say!” Lockwood cried. “Just get Power to get a report from some reliable business man in Mobile or Pascagoula before he does anything. That’s all I want.”