"I think," said Yuma slowly, "yore agoin' tuh tell where at that place is." He took one step forward, swinging his right hand in a wide arc. It landed open-palmed with a resounding slap on Wallie's cheek. "That," cried Yuma, "ain't even the start!" He brought his left around to slap the other side of Wallie's face, and then began a dazzling sequence of open-handed slaps, each one delivered with a force that bounced Wallie's head from one side to the other. A blow with a closed fist would have knocked the killer out, and Yuma didn't want this. He slapped until the other's face became a livid mass of swollen flesh. He would have gone on until exhaustion made him stop, but the Lone Ranger halted him.
"That's enough, Yuma—enough," the masked man called above cries of "give 'im hell!" that came from Bryant.
Yuma, breathing hard, stepped back. "That's just the start, yuh ornery rat," he gasped. "Now you speak up or I'll wade in with more o' the same!"
Wallie was reeling, clutching at a table for support. His eyes were red, and blood drooled from a corner of his mouth.
"I didn't intend to let you go that far," the masked man said. "There is no need of trying to make him reveal this hiding place."
"No need?" demanded Yuma.
"No. Tonto didn't take Penelope to Martin's. He went to Red Oak and then followed you and the Texas Rangers back here."
"I ain't seen him or that girl," argued Wallie.
"Look out the window." The buckboard with its team still hitched was near the corral. The children were still on board.
"Where at," cried Yuma, "is my girl?"