Briskow looked up at the tone of this inquiry. "One of the fellers from Wichita Falls. I s'pose he knowed the option was about run out; anyhow, he's been holdin' me off from day to day till it's too late now fer me to—"
"What is his name?" Gray broke in, sharply. "Name's Nelson. Bell
Nelson's son. Bell's hard-boiled, but—"
"Henry Nelson?"
"That's him."
Gray rose from his chair and strode swiftly to the window. He stood there staring down into the street for a moment before saying, curtly, "Go on!"
"You know them Nelsons?"
"I know—Henry."
"He's hard-boilder 'n his old man. They got a lot o' money behind 'em—too much money to act like he done with me. I sure hate to see him git that Evans lease for next to nothin', after the way he done. I'd call it cheat-in', but—well, I can't han'le it."
The man at the window wheeled suddenly and his face was white, his brows were drawn down. "By God!" he cried, tensely. "He won't get it. Where's that option?"
"I got it right here." Briskow handed over a paper. "An' I got the hull title abstrack, too. Had it all ready for Nelson."