He went out and locked the door after him. Snippets tried to pull herself together. Again and again she told herself that Allen would come, yet in spite of herself the fear grew. She ran to the blinds and beat against them with her hands; then she paced the room like a trapped animal. At last, worn out, she dropped on the floor.
In the late afternoon she heard voices outside. She flashed to the window and listened. There was one voice she knew—a high, cackling voice. That was Baldy. No doubt the Yuma Kid was with him. She heard harsh Mexican voices and caught scraps of conversation. The Toad had sent his killers here to wait for Allen. They knew he would trail her. Now she dropped on her knees and prayed that he would stay away.
Time passed and she crouched against the wall and listened—fearful for the shot which would tell her that Allen had come on his last mission. Daylight faded, and night came.
It must have been past midnight when the door opened with a jerk and the same man who had faced her that morning stood before her.
“You going to tell?” he snarled.
She faced him with the courage of despair.
“How can I tell when I don’t know where he is?”
He laughed harshly, leaped forward, caught one wrist in an iron grip, and twisted her arm cruelly.
“Spill it or I’ll twist your arm off,” he rasped.
She gritted her teeth and tried to suppress a scream. From outside came the noise of a horse at a hard gallop. The thought flashed into her mind that Jim Allen had arrived. The man threw her aside and ran from the room. She heard excited voices, the confusion of men running about. A few minutes later there came the sound of horses ridden rapidly away. The sounds ceased. She stole to the door, which the man had forgotten to lock, opened it, and glanced out. Her two captors were out there. Maybe they would go to bed soon. She must wait; she closed the door and sat on the floor near it, so she could hear them.