Ferdinand P. Putney drew up three chairs, after shaking hands with Cloudy McGee.
“I—we were looking for you, Mr. McGee,” said Putney. “Mr. Rooney, the editor of the Lost Hills Clarion, said you were coming to—er—see him soon.”
Cloudy McGee nodded indifferently, and Amos mentally decided that the killing of an editor was merely an incident in the life of such a man as Cloudy McGee.
“You are a man of action,” said Putney, looking upon McGee with considerable favor. “What would you do for a thousand dollars?”
McGee grinned. “All depends.”
“I’m going to lay my cards on the table,” said Putney. “A man of your caliber appreciates honesty.”
“Such is my reputation,” nodded McGee.
“All right.” Putney stretched out his legs and squinted at Amos, who was not at ease. “Our friend here, is cashier of the Lost Hills bank. Some time ago he stumbled upon a flattering oil proposition.”
“Now, don’t lie about it, Put,” wailed Amos. “You advised me to put every cent⸺”
“If you will pardon me, I will tell Mr. McGee the story, Amos.”