Part 25 (1/2)
”Who, me? Oh, I'm Waseche Bill. I jest wanted fo' to meet up with yo'--that's all. Yo' name fits yo' like a new glove, don't it, Misteh Squigg? An', Misteh Squigg, this heah's my pahdneh, Connie Mo'gan. I jest heahd how yo' tried fo' to beat him out of this heah claim, back when he beat out the stampede.”
”He's a minor, an' he can't hold no claim,” whimpered the man; ”I'm a lawyer, an' I know. But that was a long while ago. I'll let that pa.s.s.”
”Sho' now, Misteh Squigg,” Waseche drawled, ”it's good of yo' to let that pa.s.s. We was feared yo' mout of laid it up against yo'self. But theah's anotheh li'l matteh we-all would like to cleah up befo' the evenin's oveh. Yo' rec'lect I'm the pahty that bought them dawgs off yo'
in Eagle--but we'll come to that lateh. This heah Pete Mateese, now, the's sev'el li'l items we-all want the straight of. Fust off, wheah's the can of gold Pete Mateese give yo' to buy grub with in Eagle?”
”It's none of your business!” shrilled the man. ”Besides, it's a lie! I didn't see no gold. Let me out of here! You ain't got no right to hold me.”
”Ain't we? Well, Misteh Squigg, yo' might's well know yo' ah undeh arrest, an' we-all aim to give yo' a faih an' speedy trial.”
”You _can't_ arrest me!” squealed the man.
”But, we _done_ it--didn't we? If yo' don't b'lieve it, jest yo' try to walk out that do'.”
”You ain't got no authority! It ain't accordin' to law!”
”This heah ain't exactly a co'te of law--it's a co'te of justice. They's quite a con'sid'ble dif'ence--mostly,” answered Waseche, and turning to Connie, he said.
”Jest get out yo' pen, kid, an' set down the figgehs so we c'n get things faih an' squah. One can of gold, nine thousand dollahs. Now, them dawgs--they was eight dawgs at fifty dollahs a head, that's fo' hund'ed dollahs mo'.”
”I object!” piped Mr. Squigg, ”I'm a lawyer, an' I know----”
”Yo' mout be a lawyeh, Misteh Squigg, but yo' ain't in no shape to 'bject--not none serious. Now, them wages owin' to Pete Mateese, neah's we c'n calc'late, it's fo'teen months at five dollahs a day. Figgeh it up, kid, an' set it down.” Connie busied himself over his paper.
”That comes to twenty-one hundred dollars,” he announced.
”It ain't true! I didn't agree to pay him! You can't prove it! I deny everything!”
”Yo' ain't b'lieved,” calmly drawled Waseche. ”How much yo got down altogetheh, son?”
”Eleven thousand five hundred dollars.”
”Now, theah's this heah int'rest. Ten peh cent, wornt it, Misteh Squigg?” But Mr. Squigg only growled.
”Twelve thousand six hundred and fifty, all told,” computed Connie.
Waseche turned to the infuriated Mr. Squigg.
”That's what's owin' to Pete Mateese. C'n yo' pay it--_now_?”
”No, I can't! An' I never will! Yo' can't enforce no such high-handed proceedin's! It ain't accordin' to law!”
”It's accordin' to Ten Bow, though,” answered Waseche, shortly. ”An'
seein' yo ain' got the cash oah the dust, we-all'll jest trouble yo' to make oveh yo' claim to Pete Mateese. An' bein' yo' only give ten thousan' fo' it, yo' c'n give yo' note fo' the balance. Give him the pen, son.”