Then, for the first time, it dawned on Ross that he was actually a prisoner, and that he had been captured with some definite object in view.
The room in which he found himself was about twelve feet square. The walls were of ’dobe; the floor was of the same material, hard packed and smooth. There were two small windows, but both were heavily protected with thick iron bars, set deep in the hard-packed ’dobe. The furniture consisted of a crude table and chair.
A single test of strength showed Ross that he could never hope to open the door. A crowbar or an axe would be necessary for that, and there was no implement of any kind in the room. The walls were fully eighteen inches thick. Under the fierce heat of the desert the ’dobe had grown as hard as cement. Unless he received help from outside, there seemed to be no possibility of escape.
Time passed. Finally he ceased his idle wandering about the room and sank into the chair.
His pipe and tobacco still remained in his pocket. He took out his pipe, lighted it, and fell to considering his strange predicament.
It seemed that ages had passed before he detected approaching footsteps. The bolt was raised. The heavy door swung on its hinges. His captor stood outside, gun in hand. Behind him was a Chinaman, carrying a tray on which was food.
The Chinese entered the room, placed the tray on the table and arranged the food. As he was performing this service, he said in a low whisper, so low that his companion could not hear, “Missee say Wong flix good dlinner.”’
“Come on, Chink, make it snappy!” snapped the man with the gun.
The door slammed. The bolt fell into place. Ross was alone again.