"They've had good grass and plenty of water. They're fat,
an' are good beef cattle. Thirty-three dollars is the market price.
What will you give for them, delivered to your corral here?"
The resident buyer looked uncomfortable. "I've had orders not to buy
any more cattle for a time."
"Whose orders?" demanded Sanderson.
The resident buyer's face flushed and he looked more uncomfortable.
"My firm's orders!" he snapped.
Sanderson laughed grimly; he saw guilt in the resident buyer's eyes.
"Silverthorn's orders," he said shortly. At the other's emphatic
negative Sanderson laughed again. "Maison's, then. Sure--Maison's,"
he added, as the other's flush deepened.
Sanderson got up. "Don't take it so hard," he advised the resident
buyer. "I ain't goin' to bite you. What I'm wonderin' is, did Maison
give you that order personally, or did you get it from your boss."
The buyer shifted uneasily in his chair, and did not look at Sanderson.
"Well," said the latter, "it don't make a heap of difference.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185