“Yes,” was her answer.
Both men sprang to their feet; it was impossible to doubt any longer that she spoke the truth.
“What’s his game?” demanded Rance.
The woman answered his question with a question.
“How about the reward, Señor Ashby?”
“You needn’t worry about that—I’ll see that you get what’s coming to you,” replied the Wells Fargo Agent already getting into his coat.
“But how are we to know?” inquired Rance, likewise getting ready to leave. “Is he an American or a Mexican?”
“To-night he’s an American, that is, he’s dressed and looks like one. But the reward—you swear you’re playing fair?”
“On my honour,” Ashby assured her.
The woman’s face stood clear—cruelly clear in the light of the kerosene lamp above her head. About her mouth and eyes there was a repellent expression. Her mind, still working vividly, was reviewing the past; and a bitter memory prompted the words which were said however with a smile that was still seductive: