“Perhaps,” replied Lee Yung. “There are ways of making men talk. This man knows where it is hidden. The big man over there is Doctor Meline, who disposes of what we get. The young man is his son.”
“It is good,” nodded Guadalupe. “Go inside.”
Baldy, Kohler, and Horan took the ropes off Hashknife and slid him from the saddle. He was unable to stand, unable to see through the heavy bandage; so they half-carried, half-dragged him into the house and propped him up in a chair.
His hat was gone, and the welt on his head showed plainly. But not a sound issued from his lips, although he was suffering tortures from returning circulation. His wrists were blue and swollen from the tight ropes, and his limbs twitched from the reaction.
“By God, he’s got nerve!” exclaimed Jack Meline admiringly.
“We’ll break that,” declared his father.
Baldy had caught sight of Torres, who had not moved from the table. Garcia still sat against the wall, paying no attention to the newcomers.
“So this is where you hold out, eh?” snarled Baldy.
“I’ve been lookin’ for yuh, Torres.”
Baldy went closer to him, his hand resting on the butt of his gun, but Guadalupe, sensing the danger, stepped between them.