José answered by spitting at his captor; then he gritted an unspeakable epithet from between his teeth.
Dave addressed him with an air of finality. "You killed that man and your life is forfeit, so it doesn't make much difference whether I take it or whether the State takes it. You are brave enough to die—most of you Mexicans are—but the State can't force you to speak, and I can." José sneered. "Oh yes, I can! I intend to know all that you know, and it will be better for you to tell me voluntarily. I must learn where Señora Austin is, and I must learn quickly, if I have to kill you by inches to get the truth."
"So! Torture, eh? Good. I can believe it of you. Well, a slow fire will not make me speak."
"No. A fire would be too easy, José."
"Eh?"
Without answer Dave strode out of the room. He was back before his prisoner could do more than wrench at his bonds, and with him he brought his lariat and his canteen.
"What are you going to do?" José inquired, backing away until he was once more at bay.
"I'm going to give you a drink."
"Whisky? You think you can make me drunk?" The horse-breaker laughed loudly but uneasily.
"Not whisky; water. I'm going to give you a drink of water."