“And you could do worse, Big Joe, believe me. I’m gonna stick close too until I know what’s what. But we’ll talk about that then.”
An insistent knock sounded on the door. Tully blanched and looked about for some means of escape. But Skippy, braving himself to the task, swung open the door to get it over with.
A man stood outside, bowing graciously and smiling. He stepped inside at Skippy’s invitation.
“Beasell’s the name, boys,” he said. “Yuh heard how Marty Skinner’s runnin’ the works for Buck Flint?”
“Sure we been hearin’ it too much, I’ll be tellin’ ye,” Big Joe snapped as he came ponderously out of his bunk and stood on the floor.
“It’s all jake then, big boy, you an’ me won’t waste no time,” Beasell said unruffled.
“You’ve come to tell us....” Skippy began fearfully.
“Marty says all yuh squatters in this Basin’ll have tuh scram by sundown tomorrow, get me? He’s had all the rough stuff he’s goin’ for and that goes double for the warehouse guys. So it’s scram in twenty-four hours, see? If yuh can’t take these lousy scows out we’ll blow ’em up, get me? Just a nice little Fourth uh July party, see?” He chuckled as if at a great joke.
“You can’t blow up the Minnie M. Baxter!” Skippy cried. “Even a guy like Skinner can’t take her from me ’cause, ’cause....”
“Lissen, punk, and you too, big boy, it’s scram by sundown tomorrow,” Beasell snarled. “Yuh better get me. I ain’t kiddin’ believe yuh me!” He scowled as he left to spread the bad news to the Dinky O. Cross.