“I’ll give a hundred dollars—” began Barrett, seeing the advantage swinging his way; but Withee broke in with indignation.
“No more of that talk, Mr. Barrett!” he cried. “I’ll run my own crew when it comes to pay or to orders. Now, Warden Lane, what are you going to do with this man when you get him where you want to take him?”
“I don’t know!” snapped Lane, to the amazement of his listeners. And he added, enigmatically, “I can tell better after I’ve asked him some questions.”
“Ain’t you ready to tell us that you’ll use him man-fashion?” persisted Withee.
The deep emotion which “Ladder” Lane had been trying to hide whetted the bitterness of his usual attitude towards mankind.
“I’m not ready to let any fool mix himself into my affairs. We’ve argued this question long enough, John Barrett. Now you—step—out!” He leaped aside from the door, cocked the rifle, and motioned angrily with its muzzle.
“Stay right where you are, Mr. Barrett,” said the old operator, resolutely. “I’ll stand for fair play.”
“And you’ll get your pay for it, Withee, my friend!” stuttered his creditor, eagerly. “I don’t forget favors. You stand by me, and you’ll get your pay.”
“I haven’t anything to sell, Mr. Barrett,” said Withee, doggedly.
“But I’ve got something to give you,” persisted the frightened magnate, edging near him, and striving to hint confidentially. “You stand by me, and when it comes to contracts—”