Coulee City dispatch. [volume] (Coulee City, Wash.) 19??-19??, 1942-07-30
CHAPTER VIII

Hillhouse said again, in steady,
stubborn voice: Eight thousand"
The other three men were specu-
lators. 1t was smell. 1t was writ
ten on their good clothes, their white
faces and their soft hands. One of
these said reluctantly, Eighty
two"
eighty three" said Hillhouse.
Morgan said: "Ninetythree.
Now the spectators looked around
and moved together and one Of them
whispered something and shook his
head. The land-office agent looked
hopeful. He said: "Ninety-three's
the bid.'
''Ninety-four," said Charley Hill
house.
Morgan said 81 didn't ride a hun
dred and ninety miles to play around
with a piker, Charley. Eleven thou
sand.''
eleven is the Did," said the land
office agent. "Another bid, gentle
menu"
The spectators said nothing. One
of them shook his head. The land
office agent turned to Hillhouse. He
said: another bid?" Hillhouse put
his hands in his pockets, and slowly
brought them out. "No," he an
swered, chats all. I've got to stick
to a limit, and we're past it now"
'Sold at eleven thousand.
Morgan stepped toward the table.
"My check all right"
The land office showed an instant
encouragement. "Of course not"
One of the spectators laughed
and Hillhouse made a half-turn.
'"Then my bid of ninety-three is
good"
Morgan reached into his pocket.
"No," he said, dryly, II just wanted
to know. I've got the cash"
Hillhouse turned from the room
without further talk; the specula-
tors slowly followed. Morgan count
ed out the money, in bills. He
stood over the desk, propping both
hands on it's edge to hold himself
up while the land agent took his
name and address and wrote out
receipt.
You'll get deed in the next few
months"
Morgan said: "When did you mail
out notice of that sale?"
The land agent stared at him.
"About six weeks ago."
Morgan folded the receipt between
his fingers, creasing and re-creas-
ing it, his head bent down. He MUIR
INJURED, thanks" and left the
room. He passed the spectators in
the hall.
Charley Hillhouse waited for him
on the porch. Charley had ciga-
rette lighted. He removed the ciga-
rette, choosing his words very care
fully; he had his eyes half closed,
and stared ahead of him into the
dust-yellow, sun-brightened street.
II want to tell you this, Clay.
When l work for an outfit, l stick
by that outfit I'm foreman of Three
Pines and long as I am Three Pines
comes first"
Returning from Sage City three
days later Clay Morgan came
through low gap of the Burnt Hills
and found somebody occupying the
deserted homestead house on Salt
Meadows. 1t was twenty-five miles
from this point northwestward to
his own ranch, and though the shan
ty was an old one he had not known
of nesters being in it.
Riding into the yard, Morgan gave
his name. "You must be new here.
Nobody's tried to make living on
this spot since Yardsley left, four
years ago."
The man was around thirty, long
and on the lean side, with the freck-
led skin and dry creased lips and
the gray-green eyes of Southerner.
He looked like worker rather than
one of that shiftless rattletrap breed
Morgan had SO often seen camping
on the edge of the range. He said,
I'm Fox Willing. Been here four
months. He was pretty brief with
his talk, reserved man with the
mark of short temper on him,
but there was in his eyes at the
moment something Morgan had Of
ten noticed in other nesters' eyes
when they faced cattlemen: half
concealed hatred, yelled fear.
A woman came to the door,
young and still pretty, with pure
black hair.
She shaded her eyes at Morgan;
he saw fear definitely on her face.
1t was time to eat; in fact Nor
gan smelled food in the air. But
Willing didn't know much about