“All right,” Crosley sniffed angrily. “You’re taking advantage of us. I don’t believe you can earn seventy-five dollars for a day’s work. But you have us at a disadvantage—the Lord knows who else we could get to our rescue in this unfrequented channel.”
“So and that’s all the thanks I get,” said Tully. “Comin’ way out o’ me way....”
“All right,” Skinner interposed. “Give it to him, Crosley. I know who this fellow is. We’re at his mercy. But I’ll remember this, Tully—you’re occupying the mud banks at Brown’s Basin. You and this boy, Dare, may want some consideration when you people have to get out of the Basin. And I’ll remember who’s living on the Minnie M. Baxter!”
“You oughta!” Skippy shouted angrily, rising to his feet. “Your cheatin’ boss what’s dead put it there, that’s what, an’ my father’ll never see the sun on the river again on account of it too! So try an’ take it away.”
Skinner’s cold dignity seemed unruffled. He averted his gaze while Crosley counted out seventy-five dollars to Big Joe Tully. Skippy stood by, his heart full of hate, and at that moment he thought that he could cheerfully see the Minnehaha sink to the bottom of the Channel while Skinner begged to be saved.
While leisurely chugging back toward the Basin that afternoon he and Tully talked it over seriously.
“Well, and we got seventy-five bucks aisy money out o’ the tightwads,” Tully chuckled in conclusion.
“Seventy-five bucks an’ the promise of trouble from Skinner, Big Joe,” Skippy reminded him with a note of apprehension in his voice.
Tully’s face darkened.
“I hate Skinner for sayin’ what he did, so I do,” he said ominously. “Sufferin’ swordfish if he do be makin’ ye scared and drivin’ ye outa the only home ye got—well, he better be lettin’ ye ’lone. Me, I don’t care much where I live, but you ... I’ll be fixin’ him if he....”