During all this time the girl remained absolutely silent, her back against the wall, as if knowing that her capture would come next. Hanscom fully expected her to take a hand in the struggle, but he was relieved—greatly relieved—by her attitude of non-resistance.
"Now, Henry," he said, with a breath of relief, "I can't afford to let either you or the señorita out of my sight. I reckon you'll both have to sit right here and keep me company till morning. Mebbe the señorita will bustle about and make a pot of coffee—that'll help us all to keep awake. But first of all I want both her slippers. Bring 'em to me, Henry."
Kitsong obeyed, and the girl yielded the slippers, the soles of which seemed to interest Hanscom very deeply.
He continued with polite intonation, "We'll all start down the valley at daybreak."
"What do you want of me?" asked the girl, hoarsely.
"I want you as a witness to the assault Busby made on me; and then, you see, you're all housebreakers"—he waved his hand toward the front window, from which the screen had been torn and the glass broken—"and housebreaking is pretty serious business even in this country. Furthermore, you were all concerned in that raid, and I'm going to see that you all feel the full weight of the law."
All the time he was talking so easily and so confidently he was really saying to himself: "To take you three to jail will be like driving so many wolves to market—but it's got to be done."
He was tired, irritable, and eager to be clear of it all. His own cabin at the moment seemed an ideally peaceful retreat. Only his belief that in this girl's small shoe lay the absolute proof of Helen's innocence nerved him to go on with his self-imposed duty. His chief desire was to place these shoes in the coroner's hands and so end all dispute concerning the footprints in the flour.
The girl, whose name was Rita, sullenly made coffee, and as she brought it to him, he continued his interrogation: