His brush was poised in hand as if he had merely paused in his work of sketching a bunch of birch trees a short distance away.

“You seem to be in a great hurry,” the artist repeated, evidently enjoying the forbidding expression upon Jasper’s face.

“Well, what of it?” was the curt reply.  “It’s a free country, isn’t it?”

“That all depends,” and Bramshaw laid down his brush in a thoughtful manner.  “It might be free to one and not to another.  You and I can do about as we please to-day, and no one will try to interfere with us.  But it isn’t the same with the one who put that poor old man out of business last night.  He isn’t free in the sense we are.”

“So you’ve heard about it, have you?” Jasper questioned.

“Oh, yes.  The whole country is wild with the news.  I have been talking to a number of people and they are greatly worked up over the cowardly deed.  Poor old David!  He certainly was an innocent cuss.”

“When did you first hear about it?” Jasper enquired.

“Not until late this morning.  I am a sound sleeper.”

“You surely must be.  I don’t see how any man could sleep with all the noise the men made passing along the road last night.  Were you up late, eh?”

“What do you mean?” and an angry light leaped into Bramshaw’s eyes.  “I wish you to know that I went to sleep with the birds last night.”

“I am glad to hear of it.  You didn’t always keep such good hours, especially one night when I caught you prowling about my place.  Perhaps a hint to the wise was sufficient, and you have changed your manner of living.”

“D——­ you!” Bramshaw cried, rising to his feet.  “I was willing to be friendly with you, but you insult me to my face.”

“That’s much better than insulting you behind your back, isn’t it?  You are sure who does it and you can act accordingly.”

“Is that a challenge to fight?”

“Take it any way you like.  I am anxious to get my hands on somebody to-day, for I want a little exercise.  I’m getting tired of doing nothing.”

“But there’s nothing to be gained by fighting,” Bramshaw protested.  “What reason have we for fighting?”

Jasper gave a sarcastic laugh, and looked the artist up and down.

“You certainly wouldn’t gain much by fighting, but I would.  Sydney Bramshaw, I believe you are a miserable sneak, ay, and worse, and it would be a great satisfaction for me to get my hands on your measly carcass just for two minutes.”

Under the impulse of the moment Jasper had left the road and approached close to the artist.  The latter shrank back and his face paled at the action of his formidable opponent.

“Bah!  I wouldn’t touch you,” Jasper sneered.  “I wouldn’t spoil your nice clothes and your soft delicate hands.  Oh, no.  Go on with your work of painting the beautiful things in nature.”

For a few seconds Jasper stood and looked upon the man cowering before him.  He longed to pierce his very soul that he might learn whether his suspicious were really true.  He was tempted to startle him with a question about that envelope.  But, no, he felt that it would be better to consult the lawyer before saying anything.