From the front of the little house came the crash of a door violently slammed as Rosa profited by the diversion to save herself.

When finally Jose stood, panting and snarling, his back to the wall, Dave regarded him with a sinister contraction of the lips that was almost a grin.

“Well,” he said, drawing a deep breath, “I see you didn’t go to the east pasture this morning.”

“What do you want of me?” Jose managed to gasp.

There was a somewhat prolonged silence, during which Dave continued to stare at his prisoner with that same disquieting expression.  “Why did you kill Don Eduardo?” he asked.

“I?  Bah!  Who says I killed him?” Jose glared defiance.  “Why are you looking at me?  Come!  Take me to jail, if you think that will do any good.”

“It’s lucky I rode to Las Palmas this morning.  In another hour you would have been across the Rio Grande—­with Rosa and all her fine clothes, eh?  Now you will be hanged.  Well, that is how fortune goes.”

The horse-breaker tossed his head and shrugged with a brave assumption of indifference; he laughed shortly.  “You can prove nothing.”

“Yes,” continued Dave, “and Rosa will go to prison, too.  Now—­ suppose I should let you go?  Would you help me?  In ten minutes you could be safe.”  He inclined his head toward the muddy, silent river outside.  “Would you be willing to help me?”

Jose’s brows lifted.  “What’s this you are saying?” he inquired, eagerly.

“I would only ask you a few questions.”

“What questions?”

“Where is Senora Austin?”

Jose’s face became blank.  “I don’t know.”

“Oh yes, you do.  She started for La Feria.  But—­did she get there?  Or did Longorio have other plans for her?  You’d better tell me the truth, for your general can’t help you now.”  Dave did his best to read the Mexican’s expression, but failed.  “Senor Ed’s death means nothing to me,” he went on, “but I must know where his wife is, and I’m willing to pay, with your liberty.”  In spite of himself his anxiety was plain.

Jose exclaimed:  “Ho!  I understand.  He was in your way and you’re glad to be rid of him.  Well, we have no business fighting with each other.”

“Will you tell me—?”

“I’ll tell you nothing, for I know nothing.”

“Come!  I must know.”

Jose laughed insolently.

Law’s face became black with sudden fury.  His teeth bared themselves.  He took a step forward, crying: 

“By God!  You will tell me!” Seizing his prisoner by the throat, he pinned him to the wall; then with his free hand he cocked Longorio’s revolver and thrust its muzzle against Jose’s body.  “Tell me!” he repeated.  His countenance was so distorted, his expression so maniacal, that Jose felt his hour had come.  The latter, being in all ways Mexican, did not struggle; instead, he squared his shoulders and, staring fearlessly into the face above him, cried: