"Watch the door, Jim," said the chief. "Ed, you keep your eye on The Spider." The chief deputy stepped to the table and peered across it at a huddled something on the couch, over which was thrown a shimmering serape. He stepped round the table and lifted a corner of the serape. Boca's sightless eyes stared up at him.
"Christ!" he whispered. "It's the girl!" And even as he spoke he knew what had happened—that he and his men were responsible for this. His hand shook as he turned toward The Spider.
"She—she ran into it when she— It's pretty tough, but—"
"Your breakfast is waiting," said The Spider.
"This was accidental," said the deputy, recovering himself, and glancing from one to another of his men. Then he turned to Pete. "Pete, you'll have to ride back with us."
"No," said The Spider with a peculiar stubborn shrug of his shoulders. "He's planted out there. You said so."
"That's all right, Spider. We made a mistake. This is the man we want."
"Then who is planted out there?" queried The Spider in a soft, sing-song voice, high-pitched and startling.
"That's our business," stated the deputy.
"No—mine!" The Spider glanced past the deputy, who turned to face a Mexican standing in the doorway. The Mexican's hands were held belt high and they were both "filled."