“I don’t know. I guess. Blackwell is in it. He knows every nook of the hills. The party left here not two hours since, looks like.”
Curly put the newspaper in his pocket and led the Way back to the store.
“The birds have flown, Dick, Made their getaway through the alley late this afternoon, probably just after it got dark.” He turned to the woman. “Mrs. Wylie, murder is going to be done, I shouldn’t wonder. And you’re liable to be held guilty of it unless you tell us all you know.”
She began to weep, helplessly, but with a sort of stubbornness too. Frightened she certainly was, but some greater fear held her silent as to the secret. “I don’t know anything about it,” she repeated over and over.
“Won’t do. You’ve got to speak. A man’s life hangs on it.”
But his resolution could not break hers, incomparably stronger than she though he was. Her conscience had driven her to send veiled warnings to the sheriff. But for very fear of her life she dared not commit herself openly.
Maloney had an inspiration. He spoke in a low voice to Curly. “Let’s take her to the hotel. Miss Kate will know how to get it out of her better than we can.”
Mrs. Wylie went with them quietly enough. She was shaken with fears but still resolute not to speak. They might send her to prison. She would tell them nothing—nothing at all. For someone who had made terror the habit of her life had put the fear of death into her soul.