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Dixon, Thomas, 1864-1946

"The Southerner A Romance of the Real Lincoln"

"You're looking for a
friend--money?"
"Yes. I'll sell my soul into hell for it right now," he gasped.
"You don't need to do that." Ned drew two hundred dollars in gold from
his pocket and clinked the coin.
"You see that gold?"
"Yes, yes--what do you want for it?"
"I want you to get for me to-morrow morning the exact number of men in
McClellan's army. I want the figures from Stanton's office--you
understand. I want the name of each command, its numbers and its
officers. I know already half of them. So you can't lie to me. Give me
this information here to-morrow night and the gold is yours. Will you do
it?"
The boy glanced at Ned for a moment:
"I'll see you in hell first. I've a notion to arrest you--damned if I
don't----"
He wheeled and started toward the corner.
Ned's left hand gripped his with the snap of a steel trap, his right
holding his revolver.
"Don't you be a fool. I know that you're ruined. I saw you in Joe
Hall's----"
The boy's jaw dropped.
"You saw me?" he stammered.
"Yes. You're done for, and you know it. Bring me those figures and I'll
double the pile--four hundred dollars."
The weak eyes shifted uneasily. He hesitated and faltered:
"All right. Meet me here at seven o'clock. For God's sake, don't speak
to me if there's anyone in sight."
All next day Ned watched Betty's house in vain.


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