You're the on'y man that can do it; the on'y man on
Gawd's green earth they're afraid of. I know it damn' well. That's why
they handed my number to th' chief and passed th' word to have me
pinched. They was afraid I'd come here and squeal to you!"
Blount stopped him with an impatient gesture. "Let that part of it rest
and get down to business. What you have been telling me may be true, but
I can't do anything on your bare word--the word of a man who is dodging
the police. You've got to bring me proofs in black and white; lists of
the faked names, and a straight-out give-away of how they are to be
used; names and dates, and a written story of your bargainings with the
men higher up. This is Thursday; to be of any use, these documents
would have to be in my hands by Saturday noon, at the latest. You know
best whether the thing can be done in time--or done at all. What do you
say?"
For a little time Gryson said nothing. When he spoke it was evident that
the lust for vengeance and a guilty conscience were fighting an
even-handed battle.
"I could get the affidavits--maybe," he said. "There's a dozen 'r more
of the cullies down-along got their notice to fade away when I got mine,
and they'd jump at th' chance to get back at the bosses. But f'r Gawd's
sake, look at what it means to me! Anny minute I'm on the job I'd be
lookin' to see some bull with a star on 'im holdin' a gun on me; and
after that, it's this f'r mine"--with a jerk of the head and a
pantomimic gesture simulating the hangman's knot under his ear.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294