I thought he would choke to death before he got the words wrenched out of him.
“You haven’t bought it. You couldn’t buy it! There is no money passed. There’s no deed. You’re a thief!”
I had dropped the bunch of contracts when I grabbed him. I released my clutch on one arm and picked up the packet.
“Here’s something to show I am not a thief, sir. You’ve got to look at ’em. And the middle of the road is no place for our business.”
Furthermore, I noticed all at once that the choppers were giving up work and starting for the highway.
Probably the most sensible way was for me to go along to his house, exhorting him to keep his mouth shut till he understood the matter. But a row with him in his own house would be exposing myself to Celene. I held his arm and hurried him across the road and into the woods opposite. He protested angrily, but I kept him on the move until we were in a little clearing which the red western skies still lighted enough for my purpose.
I flapped the contracts under his nose. “You advertised the land—you gave me a price, Judge Kingsley. I know I have been irregular. I cannot stop now to explain why, but I have sold all the wood. Here are the contracts. Hunt up the men and make sure, if you don’t believe writing and signatures. I’ll let you go and collect your two thousand dollars before a dollar comes to me.” I shoved the papers into his hands and he pawed them over without seeming to understand very well. “Contracts?”
“Yes, sir! Contracts with responsible concerns.”
“I’ll have you arrested,” he insisted, but his anger was dying out and he sort of whined, “It’s my land; you haven’t any right to make contracts.”
All at once his legs bent under him and he sat down on the ground. There was plainly something special the matter with Zebulon Kingsley!