“I want to know what you mean by cutting on my property,” he demanded.
“Sure and I’d like ter know who’s been a cuttin’ on yer property. I hain’t,” Tom replied in a pleasant tone.
“Aw, what’s the use of lying about it. You——”
But he got no farther for Tom stepped toward him and there was that in the Irishman’s eyes which caused the big man to stop.
“Hold on thar right what ye are. I’m Irish clean ter the bone and the man don’t live thot can call me thot and get away wid it.”
“All right,” Big Ben said hastily. “No offense intended, but you know that you’ve been cuttin’ on the tract just below here?”
“Sure and now yer’re talkin’ so’s I kin understand yer. I did start ter cuttin’ on the tract jest forninst here. What about it?” and Tom resumed his seat, leaving the other standing.
“This about it,” the big man snapped. “I own that piece of timber and I warn ye to keep off it.”
“As I told you yesterday, Mr. Donahue,” Bob broke in, “we’ve got a paper which says that the tract belongs to Father.”
“And as I told ye then, I tell ye now, that I don’t believe a word of it. Of course,” he hastened to add, as he noticed the red blood mounting to Tom’s face, “I don’t doubt but that you’ve got a paper which you think proves it, but just the same the property is mine.”