"I landed over in California and was in an' 'round th' Funeral Range for over two years, writin' to pap occasional an' hearin' from him every few months. I didn't make it very well an' our mine just had to wait on my luck, let alone th' hard times. We wouldn't sell out, then, 'cause we'd had to take little or nothin' for th' property. It worried me; my old man was gettin' old fast, he'd never had nothin' but hard knocks, if he was ever goin' to have any rest an' any fun it'd have to come out of that mine.... "Well, while I was away along come this here Eastern outfit, promised to do all sorts of things, formed a corporation, roped th' old man in with their slick lies, an' give him 'bout a quarter value for what we had. They beat him out of all he'd ever earnt, when he was past workin' for more! Now, Bruce, a gang of skunks that'd do that to as fine an old man as my dad was, ought to be burnt, hadn't they?" "They had. Everybody sure loved your daddy, Ben." "Well, the' was nothin' we could do. Them Eastern pups just set down an' waited for us to get tired an' let 'em have a clear field. So we moved out, left our house an' all, went to Prescott an' went to work, both of us, keepin' an eye on th' mine to see they didn't commence to operate on th' sly. After a while I got what looked like a good thing down on th' desert in a new town an' I went there. "While I was gone, along comes this here Lytton an' finishes th' job. His dad had owned most of th' stock, an' he'd come here to start somethin'. He begun with my pappy. He lied to him, took advantage of an old man who was trustful an' an easy mark. He crooked it every way he could, he got everythin' we had; all th' work of my hands,"--holding their honest, calloused palms out--"all th' hopes of a good old man. It done him no good; he couldn't get enough backin' to do business.... But it killed my dad." He stared vacantly ahead before saying: "You know th' rest. Dad died. That killed him, Bruce, an' Lytton was to blame. Ain't that murder? Ain't it?" "It's murder, Benny, but they won't call it that." "No, but what they call it don't make no difference in th' right or th' wrong of it, does it? An' it don't matter to me. I've got a law all my own, Bruce, an' it's a damn sight more just 'n theirs!" He had become suddenly alert, intent. "Th' last thing that my old man said was that th' wickedest of th' world had killed him. He wouldn't blame no one man but I will ... I do!" He moved quickly on the box, bringing himself to face Bayard. "I come back to this country an' waited. I've been thinkin' it over most two years, Bruce, an' I don't see no way out but to fix my old man's case myself. Maybe if things was different, I'd feel some other way about it, but this here Lytton is worse 'n scum, Bruce. You know an' everybody knows what he is. He's a drunken, lyin' ----! That's what he is!