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Page 72
"I met my man last night. He won't touch the stuff--says it is too
risky."
"Humph! What does he expect? A fortune for nothing? What have you to
say, Number Six?"
"I got a long letter from Denver. The man out there will take twenty
thousand dollars' worth at fifteen per cent."
"Didn't you tell him our rate was twenty-five per cent.?"
"I did, but he won't bite at that figure. He says he will go
elsewhere."
"Where can he go?"
"He didn't say, but he swears he can get the goods."
"Not as good as ours. However, let him have the stuff at fifteen per
cent. for the present."
There was a pause. "Now, has anybody got anything to say?"
"I have," spoke up the man called Number Three. "I say we must be
careful. That tragedy at the Langmore house has brought a lot of
detectives to this vicinity."
"Yes, I know that. One of them came over to the farm," answered the
leader, and now Adam Adams was sure he was Matlock Styles.
"Came to the farm? What did you say to him?"
"I put him off the track. He will never bother us again, to my way of
thinking."
"That's sure?" asked another of the men.
"Bloody sure."
"We must make certain--" began another of the number, when a noise
outside of the door caused an interruption.
So interested had Adam Adams become in the conversation that he had not
noticed the advance of two burly men upon him and he was not aware of
their presence until one pounced on his back and made him a prisoner.
"What's the row out there?" came from within the room.
"A spy, boys! Open the door and help capture him!"
Instantly there was wild confusion. The door was flung open and seven
men poured forth, each armed, and all wearing the white head coverings,
such as has already been described.
It was a battle of one man against nine and the space was so small that
Adam Adams could not turn himself. He drew his pistol, but while one
man held his wrist another wrenched the weapon from his grasp. Then
the detective went down and was severely kicked and pummelled, until to
resist further was out of the question.
"He ought to be killed!" cried one man.
"That's right, kill him!" put in several.
"No! no! not yet. We must question him first," said another.
The band surrounded Adam Adams and several pistols were leveled at his
head as he arose.
"It's funny how the nigger got down here--" began one of the men.
"Nigger?" broke in another. "He is no nigger. See how the black has
rubbed off his face."
The men stepped closer and then one of them gave a start.
"It's the same man!" he cried excitedly. He turned to another. "I
thought you said--"
"I did," was the agitated answer. "There's a bloomin' mystery here.
He couldn't get out! He was bound and the door was locked--I locked it
myself."
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