"I reckon I'll manage him somehow." His grip upon her tightened painfully, and she could feel him tremble. "I was afraid I wouldn't find you. I—O God, Alaire!" He buried his face in her hair.
"I had a terrible scene with him last night. He insists upon marrying me. I—I was hoping you'd come."
"How could I, when nobody knew where you were?"
"Didn't you know? I wrote you." He shook his head. "Then how did you learn?"
"From José. I caught him within an hour of the murder, and made him tell me everything."
Alaire's eyes dilated; she held herself away, saying, breathlessly: "Murder! Is that what it was? He—Longorio—told me something quite different."
"Naturally. It was he who hired José to do the shooting."
"Oh-h!" Alaire hid her face in her hands. She looked up again quickly, however, and her cheeks were white. "Then he won't spare you, Dave." She choked for an instant. "We must get away before he comes. There must be some way of escape. Think!"
"I'm pretty tired to think. I'm pretty near played out," he confessed.
"They're watching me, but they'd let you go."