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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune"

With hat
pulled over his eyes, he sat stiff, staring at me, his fingers
twitching nervously, unable to determine just the species confronting
him. I made no display of a weapon; he could not be sure that I was
armed, yet my right hand was hidden in the side pocket of my coat. I
could read the doubt, the indecision in his mind, as plainly as though
expressed in words. The brute and the coward struggled for mastery.
"I 've told you the truth about who we are, and our purpose in coming
here," I went on slowly and clearly, "because I have decided to fight
in the open. Now I want to know who you are? What authority you have
on the Henley plantation? Speak up!"
The reply came reluctantly, but there must have been a sternness in my
face which compelled an answer.
"I told yer--I 'm the overseer."
"A fine specimen, from the looks of the place; what was you ordered to
grow--weeds?"
"Thet 's none o' your business."
"It 's the business of the lady upstairs, Coombs, and I am representing
her at present. It will be just as well for you to be civil. Who
appointed you to this position--the administrators?"
"I reckon not."
"Ever hear of a man named Neale, P. B. Neale?"
"No."
"Or Justus C. Vail?"
He shook his head.


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