Without an instant's hesitation Dave flung himself past Rosa and through the inner door.
Jose Sanchez met him with a shout; the shock of their collision overbore the lighter man, and the two went down together, arms and legs intertwined. The horse-breaker fired his revolver blindly--a deafening explosion inside those four walls--but he was powerless against his antagonist's strength and ferocity. It required but a moment for Law to master him, to wrench the weapon from his grasp, and then, with the aid of Jose's silk neck-scarf, to bind his wrists tightly.
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:
"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.
"I don't want to do this," he declared, "but I know your kind. I give you one more chance. Will you tell me?"
Jose drew his lips back in a snarl of rage and pain, and Dave realized that further words were useless. He felt a certain pity for his victim and no little admiration for his courage, but such feelings were of small consequence as against his agonizing fears for Alaire's safety. Had he in the least doubted Jose's guilty knowledge of Longorio's intentions, Dave would have hesitated before employing the barbarous measures he had in mind, but--there was nothing else for it. He pulled the canteen cork and jammed the mouthpiece firmly to Jose's lips. Closing the fellow's nostrils with his free hand, he forced him to drink.
Jose clenched his teeth, he tried to roll his head, he held his breath until his face grew purple and his eyes bulged. He strained like a man upon the rack. The bed creaked to his muscular contortions; the rope tightened. It was terribly cruel, this crushing of a strong will bent on resistance to the uttermost; but never was an executioner more pitiless, never did a prisoner's agony receive less consideration. The warm water spilled over Jose's face, it drenched his neck and chest; his joints cracked as he strove for freedom and tried to twist his head out of Law's iron grasp. The seconds dragged, until finally Nature asserted herself. The imprisoned breath burst forth; there sounded a loud gurgling cry and a choking inhalation. Jose's body writhed with the convulsions of drowning as the water and air were sucked into his lungs. Law was kneeling over his victim now, his weight and strength so applied that Jose had no liberty of action and could only drink, coughing and fighting for air. Somehow he managed to revive himself briefly and again shut his teeth; but a moment more and he was again retched with the furious battle for air, more desperate now than before. After a while Law freed his victim's nostrils and allowed him a partial breath, then once more crushed the mouthpiece against his lips. By and by, to relieve his torture, Jose began to drink in great noisy gulps, striving to empty the vessel.
But the stomach's capacity is limited. In time Jose felt himself bursting; the liquid began to regurgitate. This was not mere pain that he suffered, but the ultimate nightmare horror of a death more awful than anything he had ever imagined. Jose would have met a bullet, a knife, a lash, without flinching; flames would not have served to weaken his resolve; but this slow drowning was infinitely worse than the worst he had thought possible; he was suffocating by long, black, agonizing minutes. Every nerve and muscle of his body, every cell in his bursting lungs, fought against the outrage in a purely physical frenzy over which his will power had no control. Nor would insensibility come to his relief--Law watched him too carefully for that. He could not even voice his sufferings by shrieks; he could only writhe and retch and gurgle while the ropes bit into his flesh and his captor knelt upon him like a monstrous stone weight.
But Jose had made a better fight than he knew. The canteen ran dry at last, and Law was forced to release his hold.
"Will you speak?" he demanded.
Thinking that he had come safely through the ordeal, Jose shook his head; he rolled his bulging, bloodshot eyes and vomited, then managed to call God to witness his innocence.
Dave went into the next room and refilled the canteen. When he reappeared with the dripping vessel in his hand, Jose tried to scream. But his throat was torn and strained; the sound of his own voice frightened him.
Once more the torment began. The tortured man was weaker now, and in consequence he resisted more feebly; but not until he was less than half conscious did Law spare him time to recover.
Jose lay sick, frightened, inert. Dave watched him without pity. The fellow's wrists were black and swollen, his lips were bleeding; he was stretched like a dumb animal upon the vivisectionist's table, and no surgeon with lance and scalpel could have shown less emotion than did his inquisitor. Having no intention of defeating his own ends, Dave allowed his victim ample time in which to regain his ability to suffer.
Alaire Austin had been right when she said that Dave might be ruthless; and yet the man was by no means incapable of compassion. At the present moment, however, he considered himself simply as the instrument by which Alaire was to be saved. His own feelings had nothing to do with the matter; neither had the sufferings of this Mexican. Therefore he steeled himself to prolong the agony until the murderer's stubborn spirit was worn down. Once again he put his question, and, again receiving defiance, jammed the canteen between Jose's teeth.
But human nature is weak. For the first time in his life Jose Sanchez felt terror--a terror too awful to be endured--and he made the sign.
He was no longer the insolent defier, the challenger, but an imploring wretch, whose last powers of resistance had been completely shattered. His frightened eyes were glued to that devilish vessel in which his manhood had dissolved, the fear of it made a woman of him.
Slowly, in sighs and whimpers, in agonies of reluctance, his story came; his words were rendered almost incomprehensible by his abysmal fright. When he had purged himself of his secret Dave promptly unbound him; then leaving him more than half dead, he went to the telephone which connected the pumping station with Las Palmas and called up the ranch.
He was surprised when Blaze Jones answered. Blaze, it seemed, had just arrived, summoned by news of the tragedy. The countryside had been alarmed and a search for Ed Austin's slayer was being organized.
"Call it off," Dave told him. "I've got your man." Blaze stuttered his surprise and incredulity. "I mean it. It's Jose Sanchez, and he has confessed. I want you to come here, quick; and come alone, if you don't mind. I need your help."
Inside of ten minutes Jones piloted his automobile into the clearing beside the river, and, leaving his motor running, leaped from the car.
Dave met him at the door of the Morales house and briefly told him the story of Jose's capture.
"Say! That's quick work," the rancher cried, admiringly. "Why, Ed ain't cold yet! You gave him the 'water-cure,' eh? Now I reckoned it would take more than water to make a Mexican talk."
"Jose was hired for the work; he laid for Ed Austin in the pecan grove and shot him as he passed."
"Hired! Why this hombre needs quick hangin', don't he? I told 'em at Las Palmas that you'd rounded up the guilty party, so I reckon they'll be here in a few minutes. We'll just stretch this horse-wrangler, and save the county some expense." Law shrugged. "Do what you like with him, but--it isn't necessary. He'll confess in regulation form, I'm sure. I had to work fast to learn what became of Mrs. Austin."
"Miz Austin? What's happened to her?"
Dave's voice changed; there was a sudden quickening of his words. "They've got her, Blaze. They waited until they had her safe before they killed Ed."
"'They?' Who the hell are you talkin' about?"
"I mean Longorio and his outfit. He's got her over yonder." Dave flung out a trembling hand toward the river. Seeing that his hearer failed to comprehend, he explained, swiftly: "He's crazy about her--got one of those Mexican infatuations--and you know what that means. He couldn't steal her from Las Palmas--she wouldn't have anything to do with him--so he used that old cattle deal as an excuse to get her across the border. Then he put Ed out of the way. She went of her own accord, and she didn't tell Austin, because they were having trouble. She's gone to La Feria, Blaze."
"La Feria! Then she's in for it."
Dave nodded his agreement; for the first time Blaze noted how white and set was his friend's face.
"Longorio must have foreseen what was coming," Dave went on. "That country's aflame; Americans aren't safe over there. If war is declared, a good many of them will never be heard from. He knows that. He's got her safe. She can't get out."
Blaze was very grave when next he spoke. "Dave, this is bad--bad. I can't understand what made her go. Why, she must have been out of her head. But we've got to do something. We've got to burn the wires to Washington--yes, and to Mexico City. We must get the government to send soldiers after her. God! What have we got 'em for, anyhow?"
"Washington won't do anything. What can be done when there are thousands of American women in the same danger? What steps can the government take, with the fleet on its way to Vera Cruz, with the army mobilizing, and with diplomatic relations suspended? Those Greasers are filling their jails with our people--rounding 'em up for the day of the big break--and the State Department knows it. No, Longorio saw it all coming--he's no fool. He's got her; she's in there--trapped."
Blaze took the speaker by the shoulder and faced him about. "Look here," said he, "I'm beginnin' to get wise to you. I believe you're--the man in the case." When Dave nodded, he vented his amazement in a long whistle. After a moment he asked, "Well, why did you want me to come here alone, ahead of the others?"
"Because I want you to know the whole inside of this thing so that you can get busy when I'm gone; because I want to borrow what money you have--"
"What you aimin' to pull off?" Blaze inquired, suspiciously.
"I'm going to find her and bring her out."
"You? Why, Dave, you can't get through. This is a job for the soldiers."
But Dave hardly seemed to hear him. "You must start things moving at once," he said, urgently. "Spread the news, get the story into the papers, notify the authorities. Get every influence at work, from here to headquarters; get your Senator and the Governor of the state at work. Ellsworth will help you. And now give me your last dollar."
Blaze emptied his pockets, shaking his shaggy head the while. "La Feria is a hundred and fifty miles in," he remonstrated.
"By rail from Pueblo, yes. But it's barely a hundred, straight from here."
"You 'ain't got a chance, single-handed. You're crazy to try it."
The effect of these words was startling, for Dave laughed harshly. "'Crazy' is the word," he agreed. "It's a job for a lunatic, and that's me. Yes, I've got bad blood in me, Blaze--bad blood--and I'm taking it back where I got it. But listen!" He turned a sick, colorless face to his friend. "They'll whittle a cross for Longorio if I do get through." He called to Montrosa, and the mare came to him, holding her head to one side so as not to tread upon her dragging reins.
"I'm 'most tempted to go with you," Blaze stammered, uncertainly.
"No. Somebody has to stay here and stir things up, If we had twenty men like you we might cut our way in and out, but there's no time to organize, and, anyhow, the government would probably stop us. I've got a hunch that I'll make it. If I don't--why, it's all right."
The two men shook hands lingeringly, awkwardly; then Blaze managed to wish his friend luck. "If you don't come back," he said, with a peculiar catch in his voice, "I reckon there's enough good Texans left to follow your trail. I'll sure look forward to it."
Dave took the river-bank to Sangre de Cristo, where, by means of the dilapidated ferry, he gained the Mexican side. Once across, he rode straight up toward the village of Romero. When challenged by an under-sized soldier he merely spurred Montrosa forward, eyeing the sentry so grimly that the man did no more than finger his rifle uncertainly, cursing under his breath the overbearing airs of all Gringos. Nor did the rider trouble to make the slightest detour, but cantered the full length of Romero's dusty street, the target of more than one pair of hostile eyes. To those who saw him, soldiers and civilians alike, it was evident that this stranger had business, and no one felt called upon to question its nature. There are men who carry an air more potent than a bodyguard, and Dave Law was one of these. Before the village had thoroughly awakened to his coming he was gone, without a glance to the right or left, without a word to anyone.
When Romero was at his back he rode for a mile or two through a region of tiny scattered farms and neglected garden patches, after which he came out into the mesquite. For all the signs he saw, he might then have been in the heart of a foreign country. Mexico had swallowed him.
As the afternoon heat subsided, Montrosa let herself out into a freer gait and began to cover the distance rapidly, heading due west through a land of cactus and dagger, of thorn and barb and bramble.
The roads were unfenced, the meadows desolate; the huts were frequently untenanted. Ahead the sky burned splendidly, and the sunset grew more brilliant, more dazzling, until it glorified the whole mean, thirsty, cruel countryside.
Dave's eyes were set upon that riot of blazing colors, but for the time it failed to thrill him. In that welter of changing hues and tints he saw only red. Red! That was the color of blood; it stood for passion, lust, violence; and it was a fitting badge of color for this land of revolutions and alarms. At first he saw little else--except the hint of black despair to follow. But there was gold in the sunset, too--the yellow gold of ransom! That was Mexico--red and yellow, blood and gold, lust and license. Once the rider's fancy began to work in this fashion, it would not rest, and as the sunset grew in splendor he found in it richer meanings. Red was the color of a woman's lips--yes, and a woman's hair. The deepening blue of the high sky overhead was the hue of a certain woman's eyes. A warm, soft breeze out of the west beat into his face, and he remembered how warm and soft Alaire's breath had been upon his cheek.
The woman of his desires was yonder, where those colors warred, and she was mantled in red and gold and purple for his coming. The thought aroused him; the sense of his unworthiness vanished, the blight fell from him; he felt only a throbbing eagerness to see her and to take her in his arms once more before the end.
With his head high and his face agleam, he rode into the west, into the heart of the sunset.
