As he spoke Martin Mudd shot a malignant look at Clara, which Dick did not at all understand just then.
“Name him,” he said. “Speak out. I mean business; show that you do, too.”
They were walking along through the canyon at the time and Mudd kept on for some moments in silence.
Suddenly he looked up, exclaiming:
“Well, I will name him. He is Colonel Tom Eglinton, the father of that girl!”
CHAPTER XVII.
CAUGHT NAPPING.
“It is false!” cried Clara. “How dare you accuse my father of crime?”
“It’s true,” persisted Mudd; “and now that the cat is out of the bag, I’m going to tell the whole story, so that Dick Darrell can see what sort of cattle he is dealing with when he comes to deal with old Tom Eglinton and his brood.”
“Hold your tongue or I’ll pull it out for you!” exclaimed Dick; “you have no right to insult this young lady so. Never mind him, Clara. We know what he is. Don’t pay the least attention to him. He is talking the same way he got shot—through his hat.”
“Oh, all right, then,” retorted Mudd. “I’ll hold my tongue. Stick to your friends, the Eglintons, young feller, only let me tell you one thing, it was old Tom Eglinton who hired me to kill you—that’s straight.”