He was aware that, while he made this statement, Zeb Meader's eyes were riveted on him, and he knew that the farmer was weighing him in the balance.
“Sell out?” exclaimed Mr. Meader. “You advise me to sell out?”
Austen did not get angry. He understood this man and the people from which he sprang.
“The question is for you to decide—whether you can get more money by a settlement.”
“Money!” cried Zeb Meader, “I have found it pretty hard to git, but there's some things I won't do for it. There's a reason why they want this case hushed up, the way they've be'n actin'. I ain't lived in Mercer and Putnam County all my life for nothin'. Hain't I seen 'em run their dirty politics there under Brush Bascom for the last twenty-five years? There's no man has an office or a pass in that county but what Bascom gives it to him, and Bascom's the railrud tool.” Suddenly Zeb raised himself in bed. “Hev' they be'n tamperin' with you?” he demanded.
“Yes,” answered Austen, dispassionately. He had hardly heard what Zeb had said; his mind had been going onward. “Yes. They sent me an annual pass, and I took it back.”
Zeb Meader did not speak for a few moments.
“I guess I was a little hasty, Austen,” he said at length.
“I might have known you wouldn't sell out. If you're' willin' to take the risk, you tell 'em ten thousand dollars wouldn't tempt me.”
“All right, Zeb,” said Austen.