“I’m going to send it back.”
Chilton made a gesture of impatience. “That’s what you can’t do. As we know, the cattle-men had a committee at Cedar a day or two ago, and now here’s a packet stuffed with something going to the Sheriff. Doesn’t it strike you yet that it’s quite likely there’s a roll of dollar bills and a letter telling him what he has to do inside it?”
“Well?” said Grant, seeing that he must face the issue sooner or later.
“We don’t want their dollars, but that letter’s worth a pile of them to us. We could get it printed by a paper farther east, with an article on it that would raise a howl from everybody. There are one or two of them quite ready for a chance of getting a slap at the legislature, while there’s more than one man who would be glad to hawk it round the lobbies. Then his friends would have no more use for the Sheriff, and we might even get a commission sent down to straighten things up for us.”
“The trouble is that we can’t make any use of it,” said Grant.
“No?” said Chilton, and the men looked at each other steadily.
“No,” repeated Grant. “It wasn’t meant that I should get it, and I’m going to send it back.”
“Then, while I don’t want to make trouble, I’ll have to mention the thing to my committee.”
“You’ll do just what you believe is right. Any way, we’ll have supper now. It will be ready.”
Chilton stood still a moment. “You are quite straight with us in this?”