"Yes; I found out, what I suspected before, that he is very much in my way: and—but before I lay my plans open to you I must have your promise, your oath of secrecy."
"Them's easy given," the fellow answered with an unpleasant laugh; "I promise and swear never to tell no tales consarnin' what you're agoin' to say."
"Very well. Clendenin is travelling in this direction, with no companion but a young negro servant who, I take it, is neither very brave nor strong."
A malicious gleam of satisfaction shone in Brannon's eyes.
Lyttleton noted it with pleasure.
"We could not have a better opportunity," he went on; "you who have an old score against him, and I who find him as I just said entirely too much in my way."
"What are you at, mister, out with it plump and plain," Brannon said with an impatient gesture and a volley of oaths, as Lyttleton came to a pause and looked hesitatingly at him. "I ain't no fancy for this 'ere beating about the bush. Is it his life you want, or not?"
"No, no; I'm no murderer!" Lyttleton exclaimed with a shudder and a fearful glance from side to side. "But patience, man, and I'll explain in a few words. We'll call this doctor a mad fellow, perhaps it isn't so very far from the truth, ha, ha, and we'll take him prisoner, and keep him such somewhere in these woods until I can make arrangements to remove him to a mad house."
Brannon listened with a grim smile.
"But look ye here, stranger," he interrupted, "what if he should get free and peach on us?"