"Sit down," said the big man. "Can't you see this here Kitsap's got the floor?"
"As I understand it," continued Kitsap, turning to the men who had signed the contract to sell to the raiders, "unless Mr. Lamson has already delivered his hops to the buyers under his contract, the very agreement is void, and you are all released."
"You bet your life that's right," said the big man with the gun, and from all parts of the crowd came words of confirmation.
Lamson, for the first time during the encounter, felt uneasy. He looked blankly at the three buyers. One of the gentlemen from St. Louis drew the contract from his pocket.
"The young man is right," said the gentleman from St. Louis, in a conciliatory tone. "Here is the contract, and I can safely assure our friends that Mr. Lamson has carried out his part of the agreement."
"You bet," shouted Lamson, recognizing a very pretty bluff on the part of the buyer.
"May I see the contract?" asked Kitsap.
The buyer passed it to him. Kitsap read the contract aloud, and then tossed it over his head into the hands of the men who had signed it. The buyers and Lamson came to their feet.
"Worthless paper," said Kitsap. "Lamson has not delivered his hop receipts and therefore there is no contract."
A yell of delight went up from the crowd, and a shower of tiny bits of white papers showed the fate of the instrument. Kitsap pointed his finger at the enraged Lamson, and as the shower of paper fell about him fairly shouted his denunciation: