You'll need them. There'll
be gun-fighters in plenty to deal with. Be stiff. Keep things in
check from the start. Remember, the man who shoots first comes off
with the whole hide. And keep a constant eye on the grub."
"And on the forty-five-nineties," Captain McGregor rumbled back as he
passed out the door.
"John Melton--Mr. Melton, sir. Can he see you?"
"See here, Welse, what's this mean?" John Melton followed wrathfully
on the heels of the clerk, and he almost walked over him as he
flourished a paper before the head of the company. "Read that! What's
it stand for?"
Jacob Welse glanced over it and looked up coolly. "One thousand pounds
of grub."
"That's what I say, but that fellow you've got in the warehouse says
no,--five hundred's all it's good for."
"He spoke the truth."
"But--"
"It stands for one thousand pounds, but in the warehouse it is only
good for five hundred."
"That your signature?" thrusting the receipt again into the other's
line of vision.
"Yes."
"Then what are you going to do about it?"
"Give you five hundred. What are you going to do about it?"
"Refuse to take it."
"Very good. There is no further discussion."
"Yes there is. I propose to have no further dealings with you. I'm
rich enough to freight my own stuff in over the Passes, and I will next
year. Our business stops right now and for all time.
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