The other remained where he was, moodily gazing out at the hills where his beloved ranch lay.
"You'd think not—but there is," Mallinsbee went on. "You graft an organization when you're needin' something from them which they ain't under obligation to themselves to do. That's buying and selling, and, as things go, there ain't much kick coming. But when you've done that, and their favor's fixed right, it's blackmail if their servants come along and refuse to carry out their work if you don't pay their price. This feller Slosson is a servant of the railroad. I'm ready to graft all they need. He's out for blackmail. That feller wants to be paid something for nothing. He don't do a thing for us. He's got to do the work I'm paying the railroad for. See? Say, Gordon, boy, happen what likes I won't do it. That feller don't make one cent out of me. I'm on the buck, an' I don't care a curse."
Mallinsbee had turned about to deliver his irrevocable decision, and, as Gordon met the man's serious, obstinate expression, he realized something of the psychology lying behind a big financial transaction.
If Slosson had been a man of reasonable grafting disposition, if he had been a pleasant, amiable personality, if he had been a—man, if Silas Mallinsbee had been used to affairs such as his father dealt in—well—. But it was useless to speculate further. He only saw a troublous situation growing up for him to contend with.
"We've got to get him playing our game," he hazarded.
"That we'll never do. We're playing a straight bid for a win. He couldn't play a straight bid for anything."
"No." There was a great cordiality in Gordon's negative.
"It's us who've got to play him—someways."
"It's some proposition," mused Gordon.
"It surely is. There's ways." Mallinsbee laughed shortly. "Maybe I'll hand him over to Hazel." Then he gave another short laugh. "Guess the ranch 'll interest him some—too."