Law's face became black with sudden fury. His teeth bared themselves.
He took a step forward, crying:
"By God! You WILL tell me!" Seizing his prisoner by the throat, he pinned him to the wall; then with his free hand he cocked Longorio's revolver and thrust its muzzle against José's body. "Tell me!" he repeated. His countenance was so distorted, his expression so maniacal, that José felt his hour had come. The latter, being in all ways Mexican, did not struggle; instead, he squared his shoulders and, staring fearlessly into the face above him, cried:
"Shoot!"
For a moment the two men remained so; then Dave seemed to regain control of himself and the murder light flickered out of his eyes. He flung his prisoner aside and cast the revolver into a corner of the room.
José picked himself up, cursing his captor eloquently. "You Gringos don't know how to die," he said. "Death? Pah! We must die some time. And supposing I do know something about the señora, do you think you can force me to speak? Torture wouldn't open my lips."
Law did not trust himself to reply; and the horse-breaker went on with growing defiance:
"I am innocent of any crime; therefore I am brave. But you—The blood of innocent men means nothing to you—Panfilo's murder proves that—so complete your work. Make an end of me."
"Be still!" Dave commanded, thickly.
But the fellow's hatred was out of bounds now, and by the bitterness of his vituperation he seemed to invite death. Dave interrupted his vitriolic curses to ask harshly:
"Will you tell me, or will you force me to wring the truth out of you?"