For full a minute not a word passed between the two men. The sodden eyes of the tramp were fixed in a sullen gaze on the face of Ransom Vane.

"What do you want here?" finally demanded Vane in a harsh voice.

"I came to see you."

"To see me?"

"That's what I said."

"I have no money to give you, so you can travel," retorted Vane impatiently.

"I hain't just ready to travel," grated the tramp. "You act jest as though you didn't know me, Rans Vane?"

"Know you?"

The young man glanced fixedly into the face of the ragged, filthy looking being before him.

"Wal?"

"I never saw you before."

"Sure?"

"I am sure."

"Didn't you once live in New York State?"

"Yes."

"Near Rochester?"

"Yes."

"On a farm?"

"Yes."

"Hev' you forgot the young feller that drove the team, the chap that got his walkin' papers in the dead o' winter, and was actually kicked into the road jest because he was absent one time to see his sister who was tendin' school in the city? You called me lazy then, Rans Vane, and you struck me, yes you did, and don't you remember, I swore I'd get even? More, you insulted my sister by speakin' ill of her, and that chit of a gal, Miss Victory, laughed. I was mad—"

"You are Perry Jounce."

"That's it the fust time guessin'."

"And you have come to this. I knew you would never amount to anything, even if you did have a smart sister."

"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. I've been a tramp fur a year, and I 'lowed I'd run onter ye sometime, but 'twas all unexpected when I seed the gal t'other day."

"And you murdered her, murdered my sister?"

"Wal, 'twould a-b'en justice ef I had."

"Oh, you wretch—"

"'Twont do no good to call names, pard; they never hurted anybody yet 'at I knows of," sneered the tramp, still holding his knife ready for instant use.

The slender frame of Ransom Vane trembled, and his white hands were clinched fiercely. He well understood the vicious nature of the man before him, however, and realized that a movement of aggression on his part would lead to his own doom.

Now, more than ever, was he convinced that Perry Jounce was the one guilty of the death of poor Victoria. Vane was placed in a terrible position just then. The tramp had him completely in his power, and it might be that he meditated another murder.

"Perry Jounce, listen to me."

The young man forced a calmness he did not feel, while speaking to the man before him.

"Perceed, Rans, old boy."

"Why did you murder an innocent child like my poor Victoria? Surely she had not harmed you."

Ransom Vane began now, with the intention of talking against time, with the hope that some one might happen along, and assist in capturing the tramp.

"Nothin' but a child, eh?" with a brutal sneer. "I'd like ter know whar you git yer old gals then, ef Miss Vic war a spring chicken."

The young man's blood boiled to resent the insult.

Nevertheless, his prudence still held his passions down.

"Perry, why will you speak so brutally?"

"Look a-here, Rans, I ain't none o' your kid-glove kind. I allus speaks out what I hev to say. I hate you and yourn, and I jest tell you in plain English 'at I'm glad your sister's dead; not fur her sake, but because it makes you suffer."

"And this is why you murdered her?"

"Who said I did it?"

"You have just admitted as much."

"That's a lie! I never make such foolish admissions as that. I'd look well owning up to somethin' I didn't do."

"Do you mean to tell me that you did not murder Victoria?" cried the young man in a tone of intense feeling.

"Of course I didn't. I ain't no fool."

"I cannot believe you."

"I don't ask ye to."

The tramp polished the blade of his huge knife on his greasy sleeve.

"I might spill a little blood I s'pose," he muttered aloud, "but I reckin
I'll let you live awhile yet."

Then he turned as if to depart.

"Don't go yet," cried the young cottage-owner, as his eye caught sight of a man approaching from the wood road. His thought was that with help he might capture the tramp.

"Wal, why not?"

Perry Jounce halted.

"I want you to answer a few questions."

"Heave ahead."

"Tell me what you know about my poor Victoria's death. You were here just before."

"Who told you so?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I know now. It was that engineer from Grandon. I've forgot his name. He peached on me, I reckin."

"You have guessed the truth."

"Rans, don't you trust that man."

"Why not?"

"He kin tell you how Vic come ter die, he kin. 'Twas jealousy and the like that did it."

"Do you mean that?"

Ransom Vane sprang forward and clutched the arm of the tramp.

"Let go. Yes, I mean it. He killed Victoria 'cause he thought she'd make trouble atwixt him an' another gal, that's the truth ef I hang fur it."

"My soul! it is as I feared."

Ransom Vane still clung to the arm of the tramp, however. The man was rapidly approaching, and carried a gun. Young Vane recognized him as Bordine, and he was anxious to secure his assistance in securing the tramp.

"Let go, Rans, I must be traveling."

"But wait. Will you testify to what you have jast said?"

"Mebbe."

"Then remain—"

"Let go, I tell ye."

Vane, however, still clung to the arm of Jounce. The latter became angry, and flung him off furiously.

"Help! Murder!" shouted Vane.

"Take that, you fool!"

The tramp struck a vicious blow with his knife at the heart of young
Vane.

The latter sunk bleeding to the ground.

"Hello!"

A tall, slender young man in hunter's costume peered upon the scene.

Perry Jounce walked forward, glanced keenly into the young hunter's face, then said:

"I've fixed him, I take it; but don't you peep, or—"

He did not finish his sentence, but strode swiftly away.

"Stop, August Bordine. I am badly hurt by that scoundrel. Will you help me?"

Ransom Vane sat up, with blood streaming from a wound in his breast.

The hunter at once sprang to his assistance, and made a swift examination of the wound.

He tore strips of cloth from the wounded man's shirt and succeeded, after a little, in staunching the blood.

"How do you feel?"

"Weak as a cat, but I don't believe the blade touched a vital spot," answered Vane, who now sat on the bench at the end of the porch.

"Of course he didn't. Shall I help you to the doctor's office?"

"No. You are going to the village?"

"Yes."

"Then you may send Dr. Helling to me."

"I will do so."

"Stay one moment."

The hunter turned about and waited for what his young friend had to say.

"You saw that tramp, August?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you stop him? He gave me this wound, and I believe he is the man we need for—for the murder of poor Vic."

"No?" in evident surprise. "I was so startled I didn't think far enough to stop the fellow."

Then the young hunter proceeded on his way with his gun under his arm and a peculiar smile on his countenance.

"There's a little mistake it seems," he muttered.

Just then a man stepped from a clump of bushes near and touched the hunter's arm.

He halted and turned about quickly.

"Andrew Barkswell, I'm glad to meet you."

It was Perry Jounce, the tramp, who uttered the words.