"When you give a man a lease, you have to live up to it in this country." "But I've given no one--" "Oh, show it to him, sheriff." Thayer came angrily forward.

"No use to let him stand there and lie." "That's what I want to see!" Houston squared himself grimly.

"If you've got a lease, or anything else, I want to look at it." "You know your own writing, don't you ?" The sheriff was fishing in his pockets.
"Of course." "You'd admit it if you saw it ?" "I'm not trying to hide anything.

But I know that I've not given any lease, and I've not sold any stumpage and--" "Then, what's this ?" The sheriff had pulled two legal documents from his pocket, and unfolding them, had shown Houston the bottom of each.
Barry's eyes opened wide.
"That's--that's my signature," came at last.
"This one's the same, isn't it ?" The second paper was shoved forward.
"Yes." "Then I don't see what you're kicking about.

Do you know any one named Jenkins, who is a notary public ?" "He works in my office in Boston." "That's his writing, isn't it ?" "Yes." "And his seal." "I suppose so." Bewildered, Houston was looking at the papers with glazed eyes.