Five Thousand Dollars Reward | Page 8

I say?"
"Brown, call me Brown, Jones, or anything but that."
"Well, Brown, you know I have been a faithful wife, and you have treated me with anything but affection."
"Why did you follow me? I told you I'd kill you if you did."
"It is because I love you, Andrew--"
"That name again!" he uttered, with an imprecation. "Madam, if you were a true wife, you would assist me in my schemes, and we might live in a mansion. I have a plan."
"Well?"
"We might win that reward."
The woman shuddered and covered her face with her hands.
"Do you know, Iris?" he proceeded, with the utmost coolness, "I saw that girl, Victoria Vane, before she was killed. I tell you, she was quite sweet on me."
A groan alone answered him.
"There was money in the house, and I managed to handle some of it," continued the man. "I supposed, or rather, I expected to make more out of that haul, but only got a few paltry dollars. I expect some poor tramp will be arrested for the murder of the girl, and hang, like enough."
"And you--you killed her?
"That would be telling, my dear. These girls get a fellow into a deuce of a scrape sometimes, let alone a fellow's wife. But, my dear, let's drop this subject and talk of something more agreeable."
The creak of a door startled both.
The man seemed startled.
He turned his head, then came to his feet with a hissing cry.
He was peering into the muzzle of a glistening revolver, behind which stood the form of our Yankee friend.
The light in the room was not brilliant, yet faces were plainly discernible.
"August Bordine, I arrest you for the murder of Victoria Vane!" cried the Yankee, in an awful voice.

CHAPTER V
.
THE TRAMP ON DECK.
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