From the front of the little house came the crash of a door violently slammed as Rosa profited by the diversion to save herself.
When finally José stood, panting and snarling, his back to the wall, Dave regarded him with a sinister contraction of the lips that was almost a grin.
"Well," he said, drawing a deep breath, "I see you didn't go to the east pasture this morning."
"What do you want of me?" José managed to gasp.
There was a somewhat prolonged silence, during which Dave continued to stare at his prisoner with that same disquieting expression. "Why did you kill Don Eduardo?" he asked.
"I? Bah! Who says I killed him?" José glared defiance. "Why are you looking at me? Come! Take me to jail, if you think that will do any good."
"It's lucky I rode to Las Palmas this morning. In another hour you would have been across the Rio Grande—with Rosa and all her fine clothes, eh? Now you will be hanged. Well, that is how fortune goes."
The horse-breaker tossed his head and shrugged with a brave assumption of indifference; he laughed shortly. "You can prove nothing."
"Yes," continued Dave, "and Rosa will go to prison, too. Now—suppose I should let you go? Would you help me? In ten minutes you could be safe." He inclined his head toward the muddy, silent river outside. "Would you be willing to help me?"
José's brows lifted. "What's this you are saying?" he inquired, eagerly.