“Thot’s better,” Bob heard the Irishman mutter as he twisted uneasily in his chair.
“If you can prove that in court, of course all the timber which we cut on the tract will belong to you, so you will not lose anything no matter how much we get down,” Bob explained.
“That’s not the point,” Ben broke in angrily. “I tell ye the land’s mine and I forbid ye to cut another tree on it.”
“And if we do?” Bob asked in even tones.
“I’ll drive ye off,” and the big man evidently meant what he said.
“Thanks,” Bob said dryly. “I just wanted to be sure where we stand.”
“Well, I guess ye know now,” the other snapped.
For a moment no one spoke; then, as if he had come to a definite conclusion, Bob said:
“Mr. Donahue, we do not wish to have trouble with you if it can be avoided, but you have already gone too far. Now,” as the man was about to interrupt, “let me finish and then we’ll listen to what you have to say. Last summer Father beat you in a fair bid for the contract with the Great Northern Star Company, and you have been doing your best to try to delay our work. First you tried to scare our men with a ghost, then you got some of them drunk, and finally you, or someone in your employ, put arsenic in our oats and killed two of our horses.” Bob was sorry the minute he mentioned the arsenic, but it was too late now and he went on. “And only last night two men burglarized the safe here, but they didn’t get what they were after.”
“It’s all a——” the big man began, his face red with anger, but he stopped short as Tom rose from his chair. “I had nothing to do with all that,” he substituted.