“Never you mind,” replied Dunn roughly. “That's my business. But no man ever had a worse enemy than he's been to me.”
“Has he, though?” said Deede Dawson, who seemed very interested and even a little excited. “What did he do?”
“Never you mind,” Dunn repeated. “That's my affair, but I swore I'd get even with him some day and I will, too.”
“Suppose,” said Deede Dawson. “Suppose I showed you a way?”
Dunn did not answer at first, and for some moments the two men stood watching each other and staring into each other's eyes as though each was trying to read the depths of the other's soul.
“Suppose,” said Deede Dawson very softly. “Suppose you were to meet Rupert Dunsmore—alone—quite alone?”
Still Dunn did not answer, but somehow it appeared that his silence was full of a very deadly significance.
“Suppose you did—what would you do?” murmured Deede Dawson again, and his voice sank lower with each word he uttered till the last was a scarce-audible whisper.
Dunn stopped and picked up a hoe that was lying near by. He placed the tough ash handle across his knee, and with a movement of his powerful hands, he broke the hoe across.
The two smashed pieces he dropped on the ground, and looking at Deede Dawson, he said: