“I don’t know on how solid a foundation their case rests,” Browning said as they walked along Turkey Creek Avenue. “But it never does to underestimate your opponents. First, we’ll check up and try to learn if the claims ever were patented. Then we’ve got to find out all about that contract, the circumstances under which it was signed, whether there was any record of it made at Austin. We ought to be able to discover if old Singlefoot showed any evidence of having money immediately after it was signed. Think I’ll go to Austin and make some investigations.”
“Yes, let’s get to the bottom of it,” Scot agreed. “It looks fishy to me that they’d pay Singlefoot three thousand for claims not worth a cent then.”
“Especially when he had no valid title and all they had to do was to relocate them,” added Hugh.
“Not like the Dodson way of doing business,” admitted Browning. “I don’t know where the nigger in the woodpile is, but he’s there somewhere.”
“Think you’d better go to Austin with Mr. Browning, Scot,” Hugh said. “You have so many friends there you might be able to find out something important.”
Scot dropped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Want to cut me out of the fun here, do you? Couldn’t think of leaving yet. But I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll join Browning at Austin soon as we’ve taken the next trick.”
“Which is——?”
“To get possession of the Ground Hog and the other claims.”
“You ought not to figure in that, Scot,” the younger brother protested. “You’re a public character now. You’ve got to look at the future. Politically——”
“I’ve got to live with myself a few years, Hugh. How would I feel if I ducked out and left you to handle this job? No, I’ll go through. It’s up to us to use some strategy so as to get our properties back without killing anybody. That’s what our brains are for.”