“I take no man’s oath,” was the cold reply. “Speak out—or I will believe you lie in saying your true name is not Jasper Morton and reward you with this,” and as he spoke, the cold muzzle of a revolver at full cock touched the outlaw’s temple.
“Take it away—I will speak, if you only lower that!” gasped the wounded man, shrinking back.
“Very well. Be quick.”
“My name is James—James Mestayer,” falteringly.
“You are speaking the truth?” coldly demanded the old man, keenly eying the trembling wretch.
“Yes—the truth, so help me—”
“Never mind. Don’t exult too soon. You had a brother?”
“Yes—Thomas. He died—was killed in California.”
“What was your father’s and your mother’s names?”
“James and Lucinda.”