But all I could do
was obey orders."
"Neale, you can't prove anything," sneered Coffee. "If you have any
sense you'll shut up. I tell you this is only a LITTLE deal. I'm on
the inside. I know financiers, commissioners, Congressmen, and
Senators--and I told you before the directors are all in on this U.
P. R. pickings. You're a fool!"
"Maybe. But I'm no thief," retorted Neale.
"Shut up, will you?" shouted Coffee, who plainly did not take kindly
to that epithet before the gathering crowd. "I'm no thief ... Men
get shot out here for saying less than that."
Neale laughed. He read Coffee's mind. That worthy, responding to the
wildness of the time and place, meant to cover his tracks one way or
another. And Neale had not lived long with Larry Red King for
nothing.
"Coffee, you ARE a thief," declared Neale, striding forward. "The
worst kind. Because you stole without risk. You can't be punished.
But I'll carry this deal higher than you." And quick as a flash
Neale snatched some telegrams from Coffee's vest pocket. The act
infuriated Coffee. His face went purple.
"Hand 'em back!" he yelled, his arm swinging back to his hip.
"I'll bet there's a telegram here from Lee, and I'm entitled to keep
it," responded Neale, coolly and slowly.
Then as Coffee furiously jammed his hand back for his gun Neale
struck him.
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