Dark forebodings took possession of Drew Lane’s mind once more. He knew full well the power of the forces of evil in this great city. There were millions of dollars at stake. A man such as the Chief, sitting in a place of high authority as he was, might be rich if he but turned his back upon the gambling houses and peddlers of poison labeled strong drink.
Until now, Drew had admired and respected his Chief. Had the lure at last grown too strong for him? Had he fallen?
He knew the Chief’s great ambition. In a moment of relaxation he had taken the boy into his confidence.
“Drew, old son,” he had once said, “when I was a boy of sixteen I was not very strong. Like the great Roosevelt, I was sent west for my health. For one whole year I lived on the range. I came to love it.
“You know, the wild, free life. The cattle feeding. The sunset across the green of spring, the brown of summer. The tents, the roasting steaks. The wild, free out-of-doors.
“And, in winter, the big, roomy ranch house. Cards, dances, and all the good times. I want enough money to retire on a ranch like that. Who wouldn’t?”
“Yes,” Drew sighed, “Who wouldn’t? But the price!” He sighed again.
“It looks easy,” he mused. “Just turn your back. Hundreds have done so before you.”
“Johnny Thompson,” he said quite abruptly, “who is the meanest man in the world?”
“A professional criminal.”