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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Beth Norvell A Romance of the West"


It would be a sight cheaper than litigation, I reckon. What did he
offer you, by the way?"
The young engineer hesitated slightly, his cheeks flushing at the cool
impudence of the other's direct question.
"I do not recall that any positive offer was made," he replied finally.
"At least, the question of payment was not broached."
"The old cuss proved more honest than I had supposed," and Farnham
dropped his clinched hand on the table. "Now, see here, Winston, I
propose giving you this thing right out from the shoulder. There is no
use beating around the bush. Those fellows have n't got so much as a
leg to stand on; their claim is no good, and never will be. They 're
simply making a bluff to wring some good money out of us, and I don't
want to see you get tangled up in that sort of a skin game. You 're
Bob Craig's friend, and therefore mine. Now, listen. There are two
fellows concerned in that 'Little Yankee' claim, this whiskey-soaked
Hicks and his partner, a big, red-headed, stuttering fool named
Brown--'Stutter' Brown, I believe they call him--and what have they got
between them? A damned hole in the ground, that's all.


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