Part 15 (1/2)
And he'll have to find them pretty soon or his company will face a lawsuit. You see, Lawler, I ordered these cars months ago--got a written contract with the railroad company for them. They've got to take care of me.”
”I reckon you knew they'd take care of you, Warden. You were as certain of that as you were that they _wouldn't_ take care of any owner who wouldn't sell to you.”
”What do you mean, Lawler?” demanded Warden, his face flus.h.i.+ng.
”What I said, Warden. It takes gall to do what you and your friends are doing. But, given the power, any bunch of cheap crooks could do it. You understand that I'm not complimenting you any.”
It was apparent to Warden, as it was apparent to Jordan--who poised his pencil over the pad of papers and did not move a muscle--that Lawler's wrath was struggling mightily within him. It was also apparent that Lawler's was a cold wrath, held in check by a sanity that forbade surrender to it--a sanity that sternly governed him.
It was the icy rage that awes with its intensity; the deliberate bringing to the verge of deadly action the nerves and muscles that yearn for violent expression--and then holding them there, straining tensely, awaiting further provocation.
Both men knew what impended; both saw in the steady, unwavering gleam of Lawler's eyes the threat, the promise of violence, should they elect to force it.
Jordan was chastened, nerveless. The pencil dropped from his fingers and he slacked in his chair, watching Lawler with open mouth.
Warden's face had grown dead white. The hatred he bore for this man glared forth from his eyes, but the hatred was tempered by a fear that gripped him.
However, Warden was instinctively aware that Lawler would not force that trouble for which he plainly yearned; that he would not use the gun that swung from the leather at his hip unless he or Jordan provoked him to it.
And Warden wore no gun. He felt secure, as he sat for an interval after considering the situation, and yet he did not speak at once. Then, with the urge of his hatred driving him, he said, sneeringly:
”Cheap crooks, eh? Well, let me tell you something, Lawler. You can't intimidate anybody. My business is perfectly legitimate. I am not violating any law. If I have the foresight to contract for cars in time to get them for s.h.i.+pment, that is my business. And if I offer you--or any man--a price, and it doesn't suit you, you don't have to accept it.”
He saw a glint of humor in Lawler's eyes--a sign that the man's pa.s.sions were not to be permitted to break the leash in which he held them--and he grew bolder, his voice taking on a vindictive note.
”And I want to tell you another thing, Lawler. As long as I am resident buyer at Willets you'll never s.h.i.+p a hoof through me. Understand that!
You can drive to Red Rock and be d.a.m.ned! If you'd been halfway decent about this thing; if you hadn't come swaggering into my office trying to dictate to me, and calling me a liar, I'd have kept Lefingwell's agreement with you!”
”Then Lefingwell wasn't the liar,” smiled Lawler; ”you're admitting it.”
Warden's face grew poisonously malevolent. He laughed, hoa.r.s.ely.
”Bah!” he jeered. ”We'll say I lied. What of it! I didn't want to antagonize you, then. Only a fool is truthful at all times.” He laughed again, mockingly. ”I'm truthful when I want to be.”
He saw the frank disgust in Lawler's eyes, and the desire to drive it out, to make the man betray some sign of the perturbation that must be in him, drove Warden to an indiscretion.
”You're a wise guy, Lawler,” he jeered. ”A minute ago you hinted that this thing was being engineered by a bunch of cheap crooks. Call them what you like. They're out to break you--understand? You suspect it, and I'm telling you. You went around last fall with a chip on your shoulder, making trouble far Haughton and his friends. And now they're going to bust you wide open and scatter your remains all over the country.
They're going to fix you so that you'll never shoot off your gab about conditions in the state again. Governor--h.e.l.l! you'll be a b.u.m before that gang gets through with you!”
He paused, breathing rapidly, his face pale with pa.s.sion; his eyes glowing with hatred, naked and bitter.
He heard Lawler's short, mirthless laugh; he saw Lawler's eyes narrow and gleam with a cold flame as he took a step forward and stood over him.
”Get up, Warden,” came Lawler's voice, low and vibrant. ”You'll understand what I'm going to say a whole lot better if you're on your feet, like a man.”
Warden got up, defiantly, and for an instant the two men stood looking into each other's eyes, both understanding the enmity that was between them, and both seemingly exulting in it.