"Thar's a big un that's no good." Washburn pointed to an account he
had just copied.

"Who's it on?"

"Toot Wambush."

"How much?"

"Seventy-eight dollars an' fifty cents. It's been runnin' on fer two
yeer, an' thar hain't a single credit on it. He never was knowed to
pay a cent to nobody."

"Don't let anything out to him till the account is paid."

Washburn looked up with a dubious smile. "He'll raise a' awful row.
He never wants to go anywhar tell he's drinkin', an' then he's as ill
as a snake an' will fight at the drop of a hat. Nobody in Cartwright
dares to refuse 'im credit."

"I will, if he doesn't pay up."

"D' y' ever see 'im?"

"Yes, last night."

"I'd be cautious if I wus you; he's a dangerous man, an' takes offence
at the slightest thing."