"But we didn't——"
"So I've heard you say before, but lady, that don't get you anywheres with me.... Marshall, you go and get wood and see that there's enough oil and water and food to last about four days. I'll stay here and watch 'em till you get back."
Linda and Louise did not believe anyone could be so cruel, so inhuman as this man—not even willing to listen to their story. But he was so entirely convinced of their guilt, that he probably thought he was justified. After all, the punishment wouldn't have been too severe if he had caught the right person—Bess Hulbert. But how unfair it was for them!
"Won't you please send my father a telegram?" begged Linda, with tears in her eyes.
"Are you ready to confess?" countered the sergeant.
"We can't confess what we haven't done!" she protested.
"Then your father will have to wait. He'll know in about four days, when we bring a plane to take you away."
"Oh!" gasped Linda, realizing the horrible anxiety this decision would cause so many people dear to herself and Louise. Dropping down on the couch, she buried her head in her hands, and did not look up again until the men had gone, and locked and barred the door from the outside. Then she broke into uncontrollable weeping, and Louise, clasping her arms about her, cried too.
"There is only one redeeming thing about it," said Louise, after a moment. "We're together."
"If we weren't," sobbed Linda, "I think we should lose our minds!"