Out of the thin air, it seemed to Gale, she heard Valerie’s voice. Valerie here! How did she get here? Was she on the horse with one of the outlaws? That must be the explanation of the double burden one of the horses was carrying. In some way, the men had kidnapped Valerie and brought her here. Gale rejoiced inwardly now that she had stayed, but her heart leapt and her hands clenched the next second when she heard what sounded like a slap and a half smothered scream from Valerie.
“Maybe that’ll keep you quiet for a while,” one of the men said.
Gale longed to rush out and interfere on Valerie’s behalf but she knew how foolish that would be. She could only wait for an opportunity and pray that they did not seriously harm Val. That it should be Valerie made it all the more tragic in Gale’s estimation. If it had been Phyllis or Madge or Virginia, one more able to stand rough handling and hardship, Gale would have been more optimistic about her chances. But with Val she was worried. She, Gale, had to help her friend, but how?
Carefully she approached her post by the window and looked in. Valerie was seated in a chair by the fireplace and the Mexican was approaching with two straps from the saddle lying in the corner. He proceeded to strap Val’s hands to the chair posts. The other two riders watched him for a moment and then came toward the door. Gale hastily retreated and did not appear again until their horses were lost in the black trees. Back at the window she watched, while the Mexican walked slowly around his captive, deliberately appraising her. The door was closed and she could not hear what was being said, but it was evident that Valerie was saying uncomplimentary things for the breed’s face was growing blacker and blacker with rage.
It was Gale’s intention to call the Mexican from the cabin on some ruse and while he was out slip in and cut Val free. But for that purpose she would need a knife. She ran back to her horse. In her saddle bag she carried a knife and, while she was here, it would be just as well to move her horse up closer to the cabin. If she and Val had to make a dash for it, it would be well not to have to run too far. Leaving her horse standing at the rim of the open space where the cabin was, she approached the window again. Now she had to think of a ruse to get the Mexican out of the cabin.
The light in the cabin was from the fire in the fireplace and from two lanterns which cast a sickly yellow glow over the occupants of the building and the meager furnishings. Gale could see the Mexican bending over Val, leering at her. She could see Val’s bright eyes and flushed cheeks. Whatever the Mexican was saying to taunt her, it had thoroughly aroused Val’s temper. She saw Val’s lips move and wished desperately that she might hear what the girl said. But the walls of the cabin were thick and the windows and doors closed, effectively smothering all sound. The Mexican’s hand shot out and struck Val a heavy blow across the cheek, bringing a dark red stain to the white skin.
Gale saw Val’s head droop until her chin rested on her chest. What was wrong? Was she going to cry now, of all times? It was just what the Mexican wanted, to make her grovel. Evidently the Mexican thought he had subdued all signs of rebellion in his fair prisoner for he bent closer with a sneering smile. But it was a trick! When the Mexican bent over, Val’s foot shot up and kicked him hard in the pit of the stomach. He stumbled backward, doubled over in pain.
Gale could have danced in delight. Three cheers for Val! Her fighting blood was up. Gale found herself a little surprised at Val’s daring. Val had more courage than the girls had given her credit for. But now would come a reckoning. The Mexican was straightening up, his face still contorted with pain, and drawing a knife from his belt. He took two steps toward Val, caressing the knife with loving fingers. If Val was afraid, she gave no sign of it and for that Gale admired her all the more. She was quite well aware that had she been in Val’s place she would have been scared green. The Mexican looked awfully intent on doing a bit of carving.
As for Val, she was frightened. The light in the half-breed’s eyes and the way he held the knife sent little shivers up her back. She twisted vainly at the bonds about her hands. Must she sit here while he stuck his knife into her? But for all her terror, she gave no sign of it. Her head was high and her gaze steady.
“Ah! You are brave my leetle one!” the Mexican said with his slurring accent. “But you weel not be so brave w’en I have--what eez that?”