"Anyway, that's the last time I was ever over there." "Ask dad!" Jean's anger flamed out suddenly.

"Art Osgood, when I think of dad, I wonder why I don't shoot you! I wonder how you dare sit there and look me in the face.

Ask dad! Dad, who is paying with his life and all that's worth while in life, for that murder that you deny--" "What's that?
Paying how ?" Art leaned toward her; and now his face was hard and hostile, and so were his eyes.
"Paying! You know how he is paying! Paying in Deer Lodge penitentiary--" "Who?
YOUR FATHER ?" Had Art been ready to spring at her and catch her by the throat, he would not have looked much different.
"My father!" Jean's voice broke upon the word.

"And you--" She did not attempt to finish the charge.
Art sat looking at her with a queer intensity.

"Your father!" he repeated.