"My husband never told you anything of the sort," Faith said. "You're merely bluffing."
"Bluffing or not, we're going to get what we came for. You're alone. There isn't a living soul in miles. We don't want to hurt you or your husband, but if you've got any sense you'll give up, and save trouble for everybody."
"What you want isn't here," Faith told him.
"Where are those deeds? Who has them?"
"I won't tell you."
"We know they are here. Riley hasn't got them, because we've gone through his office. And your husband hasn't got them, because we've gone through him. So you have them. You can't bluff us. No more nonsense, now!" He caught her wrist with one hand, while with the other he thrust the muzzle of his gun in her face. "Hand them over," he snarled ferociously, "or say your prayers!"
But in spite of the fact that the ring of steel almost touched her forehead Faith was not convinced. It was melodrama, tawdry, poor. The man was a poor actor. She laughed in his face.
"Take care!" she said, "you are hurting my wrist."
For a moment the muzzle touched her forehead and the grip tightened. Then he flung her wrist aside.
"What the hell can you do with a woman, anyway?" he demanded in disgust. But his companion sprang forward. "You let her bluff you," he growled hoarsely, "but she won't bluff me!" He caught Faith by the throat. "Where are they?" he demanded. "Talk quick, or I'll choke you!" His fingers compressed her throat till she gasped. The strong taint of alcohol met her nostrils.