“How—you know me?” gasped Morton.
The strange man laughed.
“There are few persons in this region that I do not know. You go by the name of Jasper Morton. But I don’t think that is your real name. If it is, so much the worse for you. You will never leave this place alive.”
“Mercy—what harm have I ever done you? Why should you threaten me this way?”
“No particular harm, but you have my secret. That is reason enough. You may judge whether I am a man to baulk at trifles, by my having shot you as you were spying into my affairs. I have a secret and an end. That secret must be kept from all until my purpose is attained. If you come between, so much the worse for you; you must be disposed of—or, in plainer terms, I shall kill you.”
“But if I am not really Jasper Morton?” added the outlaw, anxiously.
“That matters little, unless you be one of two persons. Prove to me that you are either of those two, and you are safe.”
“And who are they?” quickly asked Morton.
“That you must tell me—not I you. But never mind now. I must—”
The strange man abruptly paused in his speech, and the wounded outlaw uttered a gasp of terror. A wild, shrill cry—almost a yell, rung clearly upon their ears. It scarcely seemed like the voice of a human being, unless of one hopelessly insane.