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Page 87
He was regarded as a sure winner in any land trade he chose to make, but
that was his occupation.
The act he was about to commit now would place him forever in the ranks
of those who chose evil for their portion--if it was found out.
More than that, it would rob a widow and her son of property soon to be
of great value, which, if not legally theirs, was theirs certainly by
every claim of justice.
But he had gone too far to hesitate.
His own survey was in the patent room for patenting. His own title was
about to be perfected by the State's own hand.
The certificate must be destroyed.
He leaned his head on his hands for a moment, and as he did so a sound
behind him caused his heart to leap with guilty fear, but before he
could rise, a hand came over his shoulder and grasped the file.
He rose quickly, as white as paper, rattling his chair loudly on the
stone floor.
The boy who land spoken to him earlier stood contemplating him with
contemptuous and flashing eyes, and quietly placed the file in the left
breast pocket of his coat.
"So, Mr. Sharp, by nature as well as by name," he said, "it seems that I
was right in waiting behind the door in order to see you safely out. You
will appreciate the pleasure I feel in having done so when I tell you my
name is Harris. My mother owns the land on which you have filed, and if
there is any justice in Texas she shall hold it. I am not certain, but I
think I saw you place a paper in this file this afternoon, and it is
barely possible that it may be of value to me. I was also impressed with
the idea that you desired to remove it again, but had not the
opportunity. Anyway, I shall keep it until to-morrow and let the
Commissioner decide."
Far back among Mr. Sharp's ancestors there must have been some of the
old berserker blood, for his caution, his presence of mind left him, and
left him possessed of a blind, devilish, unreasoning rage that showed
itself in a moment in the white glitter of his eye.
"Give me that file, boy," he said, thickly, holding out his hand.
"I am no such fool, Mr. Sharp," said the youth. "This file shall be laid
before the Commissioner to-morrow for examination. If he finds--Help!
Help!"
Sharp was upon him like a tiger and bore him to the floor. The boy was
strong and vigorous, but the suddenness of the attack gave him no chance
to resist. He struggled up again to his feet, but it was an animal, with
blazing eyes and cruel-looking teeth that fought him, instead of a man.
Mr. Sharp, a man of high standing and good report, was battling for his
reputation.
Presently there was a dull sound, and another, and still one more, and a
blade flashing white and then red, and Edward Harris dropped down like
some stuffed effigy of a man, that boys make for sport, with his limbs
all crumpled and lax, on the stone floor of the Land Office.
The old watchman was deaf, and heard nothing.
The little dog barked at the foot of the stairs until his master made
him come into his room.
Sharp stood there for several minutes holding in his hand his bloody
clasp knife, listening to the cooing of the pigeons on the roof, and the
loud ticking of the clock above the receiver's desk.
A map rustled on the wall and his blood turned to ice; a rat ran across
some strewn papers, and his scalp prickled, and he could scarcely
moisten his dry lips with his tongue.
Between the file room and the draftsman's room there is a door that
opens on a small dark spiral stairway that winds from the lower floor to
the ceiling at the top of the house.
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