"Hello, John," Orcutt greeted, lifting his Stetson in acknowledgment of
the presence of Jean. "Well, what do you think of it?"
McNabb continued to stare about him. "I don't seem to quite get the
straight of it," he said slowly. "Eureka Paper Company," he read the
legend emblazoned upon the trucks and tarpaulins scattered all over the
foreground. "What does it mean, Orcutt? An' what in the devil are you
doin' here? An' what business have those trucks got on my tote-road?"
Orcutt laughed, a nasty, gloating laugh, as he rubbed his hands
together after the manner of one performing an ablution. "It means,
John," he answered, in a voice of oily softness, "that at last I have
caught you napping. The Eureka Paper Company is my company, and the
pulp-wood that you held options on is my pulp-wood. I've been waiting
a long time for this day--more than twenty years. It's only fair to
give the devil his due, John--you've been shrewd. Time and again I
almost had you, but you always managed somehow to elude me. There have
been times when I could have murdered you, gladly. It wouldn't have
been so bad if you had gloated openly when you put one over on me, but
your devilish way of apparently ignoring the fact--of acting as though
outwitting me were too trifling an occurrence to even notice, at times
has nearly driven me crazy--that, and that damned secret laughter I see
in your eyes when we meet.
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