“And here’s a letter to take to Jim Moran,” said English Ed, handing Lovely an envelope. “You see that he gets it.”
“Yea-a-a-ah? And I owe you forty dollars, eh?” Lovely sat up straight and glared at the gambler. “Say! You cold-jawed card-slicker, do you think I’ll ever pay that? Pay you forty dollars for busted glasses! Why, I wouldn’t give forty dollars for everythin’ in your place, even if they’d throw in your hide and taller.
“You think you’re runnin’ this town, don’tcha? You runs Jim Randall out, but the rest of us has kinda got our heels braced, sabe? You’ve got a couple gunmen dealers over there. Mack Ort and Keno Smiley, I’m meanin’. You had three, until Mallette got hung on the hot end of a bullet.
“Well, you tell ’em to cut loose any old time. See if they can tear forty dollars’ worth out of my hide, English; and that’s the only way you’ll ever collect. Yeah, I know all about the warnin’ you sent to Jim Randall. You scared him out; but you ain’t scared old Judge Beal out yet. And if I was you, I’d turn right around and go back to my little playmates, knowin’ well that old man Lucas’ little boy ain’t never goin’ to give you that forty dollars. What do you think?”
English Ed did not change expression, no matter what he felt. It was no place for him to protest Lovely’s decision. These three hard-bitted cowboys were closer than brothers and, judging from their expressions, welcomed any argument he might start. So he merely nodded coldly, turned and walked away.
Lovely grinned widely and looked at the envelope. It was unsealed, and Lovely did not hesitate to open it and take out the enclosure. It read:
Jim Moran: Your I.O.U.’s, aggregating over twelve hundred dollars, are long past due. These must be met at once, or I shall be obliged to levy an attachment on the Stumbling K.
—EDWARD HOLMES
“Twelve hundred dollars!” exploded Lovely. “Jimmy shore played high and handsome, didn’t he! Whooee! Levy an attachment, eh? What kind of a thing is that, Roarin’?”
“Some law thing. I told you English Ed would shut down on Jimmy.”
“And Jimmy can’t pay it,” declared Wind River Jim. “Why, he ain’t got it. Every time pay-day came around he had to sell enough cows to pay us off. Betcha he ain’t got fifty head of stock left. The Black Horse Saloon has got rich off of Jimmy Moran. He owes the bank, too. They’ve got a mortgage for a couple thousand.”