Craig believed he was hitting Latisan five solid jolts to the jaw when he named the recreant operators.
However, the young man had heard rumors of what the bludgeoning methods of the Comas had accomplished; he surveyed Craig resolutely through the pipe smoke.
He had come down from the Walpole tract that day in a spirit of new confidence which put away all weariness from him. He was armed with a powerful weapon. In his exultation, fired by youth’s natural hankering to vaunt success in an undertaking where his elders had failed, he was willing to flourish the weapon.
Craig waggled a thick forefinger. “What are you going to saw, Latisan?”
“Two million feet from the Walpole tract—where no ax has chipped a tree for twenty-five years.”
It was a return jolt and it made the Comas man blink. “But nobody can buy the right to cut there.”
“I have bought the right, Mr. Craig. An air-tight stumpage contract—passed on by the best lawyer in this county—a clear title.”
“Latisan, the Comas has never been able to round up those heirs—and what we can’t do with all our resources can’t be done by you.”
“The Latisans know this region better than the Comas folks know it, sir. Five cousins by hard hunting—two gravestones by good luck! All heirs located! Why don’t you congratulate me?”
Just then the Comas director was thinking instead of talking.