"Nothing but a bust on the bean. What did they take?"
"Book One of Deeds from the Recorder's office. From our office the old man's original patents, the original map of the Wilkinson survey made in 1890, and a certified copy of the treaty with the Salisheuttes in 1855 fixing reservation limits. A-course, it's just some melodrama of that nut, Hornblower's. Bunk to lend color to his threats. You'd ought to 'a' let them hang that fellow, Henry. You and J. B. ought. But J. B. is such a generous old sport that he'd keep a knife ready to lend to any fellow that was trying to cut his throat.
"However, that's neither here nor there now, Henry. What's eating me is, I've got some business with you for the Old Man." Scanlon had lowered his voice, for a crowd was gathering.
But Henry was inattentive. The perplexity of the dual voices had entangled him again. Every tone of Scanlon's revived his first suspicion; yet every word of the man and his manner tended to allay that suspicion. Henry was ninety-nine percent convinced that he had done Scanlon a grave injustice. But there remained that stubborn one percent.
"How soon can we talk?" urged Scanlon, nudging in close, for the group on the sidewalk was gaping and exclamatory, threatening momentarily to edge up and ask questions. "The Old Man's a nut for getting these things down in black and white and locked up in the safe. He was worried about you personally all day, but the minute he hears you're back and half-way all right, he won't give a darn for anything till I've got you signed up."
