ll you speak?" he demanded.

Thinking that he had come safely through the ordeal, Jose shook his
head; he rolled his bulging, bloodshot eyes and vomited, then managed
to call God to witness his innocence.

Dave went into the next room and refilled the canteen. When he
reappeared with the dripping vessel in his hand, Jose tried to scream.
But his throat was torn and strained; the sound of his own voice
frightened him.

Once more the torment began. The tortured man was weaker now, and in
consequence he resisted more feebly; but not until he was less than
half conscious did Law spare him time to recover.

Jose lay sick, frightened, inert. Dave watched him without pity. The
fellow's wrists were black and swollen, his lips were bleeding; he was
stretched like a dumb animal upon the vivisectionist's table, and no
surgeon with lance and scalpel could have shown less emotion than did
his inquisitor. Having no intention of defeating his own ends, Dave
allowed his victim ample time in which to regain his ability to suffer.

Alaire Austin had been right when she said that Dave might be ruthless;
and yet the man was by no means incapable of compassion. At the present
moment, however, he considered himself simply as the instrument by
which Alaire was to be saved. His own feelings had nothing to do with
the matter; neither had the sufferings of this Mexican. Therefore he
steeled himself to prolong the agony until the murderer's stubborn
spirit was worn down. Once again he put his question, and, again
receiving defiance, jammed the canteen between Jose's teeth.

But human nature is weak. For the first time in his life Jose Sanchez
felt terror--a terror too awful to be endured--and he made the sign.

He was no longer the insolent defier, the challenger, but an imploring
wretch, whose last powers of resistance had been completely shattered.
His frightened eyes were glued to that devilish vessel in which his
manhood had dissolved, the fear of it made a woman of him.

Slowly, in sighs and whimpers, in agonies of reluctance, his story
came; his words were rendered almost incomprehensible by his abysmal
fright. When he had purged himself of his secret Dave promptly unbound
him; then leaving him more than half dead, he went to the telephone
which connected the pumping station with Las Palmas and called up the
ranch.

He was surprised when Blaze Jones answered. Blaze, it seemed, had just
arrived, summoned by news of the tragedy. The