“It may have been his, but it ain’t goin’ to be yours!”
“And who is going to prevent me?” inquired Jack, in even, quiet tones which Desiré knew meant that he was working hard to keep his temper under control.
“I am. I made up my mind soon as I heard the old man was sick, that I would take this route; and nobody’s goin’ to stop me. Least of all, you,” he added, looking Jack’s slender form up and down contemptuously.
“You great—big—” began Priscilla excitedly.
“Be quiet, Prissy,” said her brother. “You and the others stand over there beside the wagon.”
As he spoke, he started in the direction of the farmhouse. Like a flash the thick-set figure was in his pathway.
“No, you don’t!” he sneered.
The two measured each other silently for a moment, standing as motionless as dogs in that last tense moment just before they spring.
Jack put out his foot to advance, and his opponent was upon him. They fell heavily to the ground, the stranger on top.
“He’ll kill him!” sobbed Priscilla, while René added his wails to hers.