"
"Hush, now! Don't you dare speak of her."
"Did she do well?"
"Better 'n yours."
A deadly pallor struck the face of Ransom Vane. His sister was dead, had
been cruelly murdered, and at that moment he believed that this
villainous tramp had had a hand in her death.
"Scoundrel!" exclaimed Vane, advancing toward the tramp. "You are the
wretch who murdered my poor Victoria."
"Stand back."
There was an evil glare in the eyes of the speaker.
Vane continued to advance threateningly.
"Stand back, I say, or you'll get a taste o' _this_."
He displayed a huge knife, the same with which he had threatened Bordine
on a former occasion.
"Scoundrel!"
"It won't do no good to sling words. Rans, I ain't afeard of em."
For several minutes the two stood glaring at each other with glittering
eyes and gleaming teeth.
"Rans Vane, I swore I'd git even with ye fur all you did agin' me and
mine ten year ago. I reckin you're gittin' a leetle o' the sufferin--"
"Stop," hoarsely.
"No I won't. I want ye ter know that I hain't forgot. I know'd you'n the
gal came West arter the ole man died, but I didn't know whar.
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