“Yes, you know my name. It’s Bradford—Hiram Bradford.”
“And my name’s Ross Douglas.”
Bradford dropped the butt of his gun to the ground with a thud. An ashen hue overspread his face, and the red scar upon his cheek stood out with a vividness that was startling.
“Ross Douglas, you say?” he asked with livid, trembling lips.
The younger man was greatly surprised at the effect the announcement of his name had produced upon his companion. But he kept control of himself and simply nodded in answer to the question.
Bradford’s hand shook as he fumbled with the buttons upon his rough coat.
“And your—your mother’s name?” he inquired.
“Why should I answer your questions?”
“Tell me—tell me!” the other panted.