McDonough looked up at him in unfeigned surprise.
“Are you Abner Pickett?” he asked.
“That’s my name.”
“I don’t understand what you mean by this conduct, Mr. Pickett. I have your agreement of sale here, conveying a right of way through the graveyard to this company. It was duly signed, sealed, and delivered. I don’t know that you have any right whatever to interfere with us now.”
“There are several things about this business that I reckon you don’t know,” replied the old man. “For instance, you don’t know that that agreement was got from me by deception and fraud, and ain’t worth the paper it’s written on. I repeat that I intend to hold possession of this lot.”
McDonough continued to protest.
“I cannot help any misunderstanding between you and the company, Mr. Pickett. If they’ve done you any damage, they’re good for it. I’ve taken this section to grade, and I’ve got to begin there in that graveyard; so you might as well clear the way for us. We intend to proceed.”
“And I intend you shan’t.”
The old man laid his hand significantly on the barrel of his gun as he spoke.
“Do you mean to say you would shoot?”