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Updated: August 26, 2024
"That affair outside," he observed, "will take care of itself, but here's a little orphan child that gets lonesome without company." Annixter began ladling the punch, filling the glasses. Osterman proposed a toast to Quien Sabe and the Biggest Barn. Their elbows crooked in silence. Old Broderson set down his glass, wiping his long beard and remarking: "That that certainly is very very agreeable.
I want to get the Mojave road, through Disbrow, to recommend a Commissioner of our choosing to the P. and S. W. and have the P. and S. W. adopt him as their own." "Who, for instance?" "Darrell, that Los Angeles man remember?" "Well, Darrell is no particular friend of Disbrow," said Annixter. "Why should Disbrow take him up?" "PREE-cisely," cried Osterman.
"But it's come to the point where we've got to take chances, risk a big stake to make a big strike, and risk is better than sure failure." "I can be no party to a scheme of avowed bribery and corruption, Mr. Osterman," declared Magnus, a ring of severity in his voice. "I am surprised, sir, that you should even broach the subject in my hearing." "And," cried Annixter, "it can't be done."
Only Hilma's parents were there to say good-bye. Annixter knew that Magnus and Osterman were in the city, but he had laid his plans to elude them. Magnus, he could trust to be dignified, but that goat Osterman, one could never tell what he would do next. He did not propose to start his journey home in a shower of rice.
If it's got to be bought, let's buy it and put our own men on it and dictate what the rates will be. Suppose it costs a hundred thousand dollars. Well, we'll get back more than that in cheap rates." "Mr. Osterman," said Magnus, fixing the young man with a swift glance, "Mr. Osterman, you are proposing a scheme of bribery, sir." "I am proposing," repeated Osterman, "a scheme of bribery.
We'll go skylarking. We'll be gay. Oh, I'm a a a rare old BUCK, I am! I ain't too old. You'll see." Annixter gave over the making of the fifth bowl of punch to Osterman, who affirmed that he had a recipe for a "fertiliser" from Solotari that would take the plating off the ladle.
Magnus, two long revolvers lying on the embankment in front of him, was in the middle, Harran at his side. On either side, some five feet intervening between each man, stood the other Leaguers, their revolvers ready. Dabney, the silent old man, had taken off his coat. "Take your places between Mr. Osterman and Mr. Broderson," said Magnus, as the three men rode up.
People spoke of him as "that goat Osterman," or "that fool Osterman kid," and invited him to dinner. He was of the sort who somehow cannot be ignored. If only because of his clamour he made himself important.
"Well, you can't get what you want without paying for it," contradicted Annixter. Broderson was about to speak when Osterman kicked his foot under the table. He, himself, held his peace.
The ranches had been seized in the tentacles of the octopus; the iniquitous burden of extortionate freight rates had been imposed like a yoke of iron. The monster had killed Harran, had killed Osterman, had killed Broderson, had killed Hooven. It had beggared Magnus and had driven him to a state of semi-insanity after he had wrecked his honour in the vain attempt to do evil that good might come.
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