Читать книгу The Saint of the Speedway онлайн

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He pushed the Aurora Clan’s document roughly aside and started to write out his offer, but Jake anxiously intervened; he quickly raised a white hand and passed it across his broad forehead.

“I wouldn’t act in a hurry,” he said quickly. “You’re bucking a tough game with the ‘aces’ against you. The Aurora bunch have been mighty busy in the past weeks. Is it worth it? Just look back an’ see. Bernard’s gone. Clean wiped out, an’ he’s had to beat it out of Beacon looking like a black rooster that hasn’t moulted right. Then there was Pat Herne who robbed Len Sitwell when he was soused at the Speedway. They hanged him right outside the town limits. Then don’t forget Dick Mansell, who held up the stage coming in from Ranger. He was left pumped full of lead till you couldn’t tell his guts from an ash riddle. I’m scared for you, boss. I surely am. Ther’s a terror creepin’ through this place scares me plumb to death. These guys are a citizen bunch and no sort of ordinary toughs. They’re acting seemingly with some sort of slab-sided purpose. They’re wise to every move going on, an’ I can’t reckon how they get hold of things. But there it is, and when they hand in a brief on a boy they put through the thing it says. We’re a business enterprise, boss, and it’s our job to beat the other feller if we can. But I sort of feel when ther’s a hanging bee at the end of it, business goes right out. Don’t you jump, boss. Sure I’m scared. I haven’t your nerve. But I got it right here,” and he tapped his forehead with a forefinger, “this is no sort of bluff. It’s dead straight. An’ I’m not yearning to see you swinging on the wrong end of a rawhide rope.”