“There’s two thousand plunks due me to-day on that there agreement.”
“And there’s the money, my bonnie boy!”
Jim threw Hannington’s marked cheque on the table. Phil followed with ten one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Make out your receipt, son,––quick!”
Rattlesnake Jim turned a sickly white and looked at the two before him in a blank kind of way, then his eyes travelled to the three men by the window and over to the crowd at the door, none of whom had any sympathy for him, but, on the contrary were all aching for the pleasure of dipping him––or anyone else for that matter––into the nearby horse-trough.
Slowly Dalton opened his drawer, took out his receipt book, made out the necessary document and handed it over.
“Guess you’ve won!” he said, picking up the cheque and money.
“Call off your dogs now, and get to hell out of this!”
“Gee, Rattler, but you’re polite with your customers,” remarked Phil with a smile.