“Shoot!”

For a moment the two men remained so; then Dave seemed to regain control of himself and the murder light flickered out of his eyes.  He flung his prisoner aside and cast the revolver into a corner of the room.

Jose picked himself up, cursing his captor eloquently.  “You Gringos don’t know how to die,” he said.  “Death?  Pah!  We must die some time.  And supposing I do know something about the senora, do you think you can force me to speak?  Torture wouldn’t open my lips.”

Law did not trust himself to reply; and the horse-breaker went on with growing defiance: 

“I am innocent of any crime; therefore I am brave.  But you—­The blood of innocent men means nothing to you—­Panfilo’s murder proves that—­so complete your work.  Make an end of me.”

“Be still!” Dave commanded, thickly.

But the fellow’s hatred was out of bounds now, and by the bitterness of his vituperation he seemed to invite death.  Dave interrupted his vitriolic curses to ask harshly: 

“Will you tell me, or will you force me to wring the truth out of you?”

Jose answered by spitting at his captor; then he gritted an unspeakable epithet from between his teeth.

Dave addressed him with an air of finality.  “You killed that man and your life is forfeit, so it doesn’t make much difference whether I take it or whether the State takes it.  You are brave enough to die—­most of you Mexicans are—­but the State can’t force you to speak, and I can.”  Jose sneered.  “Oh yes, I can!  I intend to know all that you know, and it will be better for you to tell me voluntarily.  I must learn where Senora Austin is, and I must learn quickly, if I have to kill you by inches to get the truth.”

“So!  Torture, eh?  Good.  I can believe it of you.  Well, a slow fire will not make me speak.”

“No.  A fire would be too easy, Jose.”

“Eh?”

Without answer Dave strode out of the room.  He was back before his prisoner could do more than wrench at his bonds, and with him he brought his lariat and his canteen.

“What are you going to do?” Jose inquired, backing away until he was once more at bay.

“I’m going to give you a drink.”

“Whisky?  You think you can make me drunk?” The horse-breaker laughed loudly but uneasily.

“Not whisky; water.  I’m going to give you a drink of water.”

“What capers!”

“When you’ve drunk enough you’ll tell me why you killed your employer and where General Longorio has taken his wife.  Yes, and everything else I want to know.”  Seizing the amazed Mexican, Dave flung him upon Morales’s hard board bed, and in spite of the fellow’s struggles deftly made him fast.  When he had finished—­and it was no easy job—­Jose lay “spread-eagled” upon his back, his wrists and ankles firmly bound to the head and foot posts, his body secured by a tight loop over his waist.  The rope cut painfully and brought a curse from the prisoner when he strained at it.  Law surveyed him with a face of stone.