“So that’s another game of ther cuss!” he cried. “Wall, that’s a bad one, but I reckon we’ve a wuss count agin him, stranger.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Frank.
“Did ye cum across ther ruins of a ranch out hyar on ther perairy some miles?”
“I did.”
“Wall, that was onct Rodman Ranch, an’ Ralph Rodman was one of the best men in this part of ther West. But that ornery cuss Cliff fell in love with pretty Bessie Rodman, his darter, an’ when Ralph denied him the right to come a-courtin’ her, ther scoundrel jest brought down a gang of hoodlums an’ burned down the ranch, toted off ther gal, an’ killed all ther rest about ther place.”
“Horrible!” exclaimed Frank. “But you have not told me of Rodman. What became of him?”
“Wall, that illustrates ther villainy of ther cuss. Just previous to burnin’ ther ranch, two men, Sid Bowen an’ Jem Ducey, hired by Cliff, enticed Ralph to New York by bringin’ him a bogus message from a brother, who was represented as bein’ in great distress. That’s the last seen of Rodman. What they did with him we don’t know. But I’ve heard that Bowen an’ Ducey have returned, an’ Rodman didn’t cum with ‘em. It’s my belief he’s been done away with, an’ it’s all a game of Cliff’s to get the gal Bessie into his possession.”
A great cry broke from the lips of Frank Reade, Jr.
This story of Harmon’s he had listened to eagerly, and, as it was unfolded, bit by bit, a clear, concise comprehension of all now came to him.
He saw the hideous details, the cold, scheming construction of a deep and awful plot, involving murder and abduction and terrible wrong.