house road he carefully scanned it. In the dust were
fresh hoof-prints leading toward the river. Now he knew this road to be
seldom used, and therefore he wondered who could be riding it at a
gallop in this blistering midday heat. A few rods farther on and his
quick eye detected something else--something that brought him from his
saddle. Out of the rut he picked a cigarette butt, the fire of which
was cold but the paper of which was still wet from the smoker's lips.
He examined it carefully; then he remounted and rode on, pondering its
significance.

Dave loped out of the thicket and straight across the clearing to the
Morales house. Leaving Montrosa's reins hanging, he opened the door and
entered without knocking. Rosa appeared in the opening to another room,
her eyes wide with fright at this apparition, and Dave saw that she was
dressed in her finest, as if for a holiday or for a journey.

"Where's your father?" he demanded.

"He's gone to Sangre de Cristo. What do you want?"

"When did he go?"

"This morning, early. He--"

"Who's been here since he left?"

Rosa was recovering from her first surprise, and now her black brows
drew together in anger. "No one has come. You are the first. And have
you no manners to stride into a respectable house--?"

Dave broke in harshly: "Rosa, you're lying. Jose Sanchez has been here
within an hour. Where is he?" When the girl only grew whiter and raised
a hand to her breast, he stepped toward her, crying, "Answer me!"

Rosa recoiled, and the breath caught in her throat like a sob. "I'll
tell you nothing," she said in a thin voice. Then she began to tremble.
"Why do you want Jose?"

"You know why. He killed Don Eduardo, and then he rode here. Come! I
know everything."

"Lies! Lies!" Rosa's voice grew shrill. "Out of this house! I know you.
It was you who betrayed Panfilo, and his blood is on your hands,
assassin!" With the last word she made as if to retreat, but Dave was
too quick; he seized her, and for an instant they struggled
breathlessly.

Dave had reasoned beforehand that his only chance of discovering
anything from this girl lay in utterly terrorizing her and in profiting
by her first panic; therefore he pressed his advantage. He succeeded
better than he had dared to hope.

"You know who killed Senor Ed," he cried, fiercely. "The fortune-teller
read your plans, and there is no use to deny it."

Rosa screamed again; she writhed; she tried to sink her teeth int