“Well — maybe,” Windrow agreed doubtfully as Shayne stopped in the doorway.
“Maybe, hell,” growled Shayne. “Yes or no?”
“He means yes,” Strenk chattered, pulling at Shayne’s coat sleeve. “No use gettin’ mad.”
Shayne let himself be drawn back into the office. “It’ll be my way or not at all.” He stared at Windrow coldly, planting his feet wide apart. “Cash on the barrelhead along with a written notation to the effect that it is a fee paid me outright for my services, with no strings attached.”
Beads of sweat formed on Windrow’s forehead. “I can’t raise that much cash.”
“How much can you raise?”
“Not more than a few hundred — until we can realize something on the mine.”
“I heard that Pete turned down a cold hundred thousand for his one-third share.”
“That’s true, but—”
“Tell you what,” offered Shayne generously. “I’ll take a gambler’s chance. You two make over a tenth share in the property to me. I’ll take it in lieu of cash.”