The Transgressors Read Online Free PDF Page B

him. Their offers ranged from fair to foolish, from middling bad to excellent-plus. Tom Lord, in concert with his lawyer, gave them all the same short shrift.
    “Ain’t gonna let a client of mine get cheated,” the lawyer declared. “How do we know what’s under the ground, hah? All we know is it’s our’n and we’re entitled to it, minus a fair share for gettin’ it to the surface.”
    That sounded reasonable and right to Tom Lord, but he was getting a little nervous. After all, there are no underground surveyor’s stakes, and no oil field, however rich, is inexhaustible. His land could still be drained dry, even though there were no wells on it. The wells on surrounding property would siphon it off.
    Lord’s nervousness was getting hard to live with when he was offered exactly the kind of deal his lawyer demanded. The man who made it to him was Aaron McBride.
    He liked McBride instantly, liked his direct speech and economy with words. He liked the simple contract that McBride tendered him, a document that was almost terse in its simplicity, and completely devoid of irritating legalisms.
    For a flat twenty-five per cent of Tom’s holdings, McBride’s employers—Highlands Oil & Gas—would undertake all production costs. This twenty-five per cent would cover the drilling of wells, the laying of pipelines, the setting up of storage tanks—everything that needed to be done to market the oil. Tom would have no expenses whatsoever, and seventy-five per cent of the oil would be his. Or, more accurately, one hundred per cent of the oil would be his on the seventy-five per cent of the land remaining to him.
    It sounded good to Lord. It sounded equally good or better to his lawyer.
    Still, even as the lawyer pressed a pen into his hand and pointed to the dotted line, he found himself drawing back. So very much depended on this. Not mere money, but the very life of a man.
    He slowly looked up from the contract, and into McBride’s eyes.
    “Should I sign this or not, Mr. McBride?” he asked. “You tell me I should, that it’s a good contract, and I’ll sign it.”
    “I’m not a lawyer,” McBride said.
    “That’s not what I asked you.”
    “But, man”—McBride began a protest—“you’re asking me to—to—” He broke off, reached into his pocket, and took out a certified check for twenty thousand dollars. He shoved it cross the desk and leaned back. “There,” he said, “I wasn’t supposed to give you that if you’d sign without it. But—well, now, I feel better.”
    “And so do I,” said Tom warmly. “Always thought you were on the level. Now, I know it.”
    And he signed the contract.
    He bought his convertible with a fraction of the money. The rest was promptly absorbed by attorney’s fees and his old debts.
    Wisely, he held onto his job. For the twenty thousand dollars was the only money he ever received.
    When his first suspicions arose, he was ashamed of them. He chided himself with impatience, told himself that McBride was a very busy man and that any seeming wrong would be righted as soon as McBride could get around to it.
    McBride had proved his honesty, hadn’t he? And he certainly was busy, wasn’t he? Tom had hailed him a time or two, approached him with the intent to talk over his situation if the opportunity presented. But he could never get past a polite feeler or so before McBride was forced to rush away.
    A very busy man, the field boss. Still, Tom thought, this was business, the matter that he wished to discuss. It was very big business, and he was entitled to a few minutes of McBride’s time.
    The few minutes were not easy to obtain. He only got it, after three days of pursuit, by pulling his car in front of McBride’s.
    The field boss scowled as Lord came tramping back to his vehicle. He said, as Lord climbed into the seat with him, that he didn’t think he liked this. He didn’t like it at all, and he didn’t have to put up with it.
    “Sure, you don’t,” Tom