That Sanchez was the murderer Dave now had
little doubt; but since the chance of apprehending him was small,
he turned his attention to the girl. He would make Rosa speak, he
told himself, if he had to use force--this was no time for gentle
methods. If she knew aught of Alaire's whereabouts or the mystery
of her departure from Las Palmas, he would find a way to wring the
truth from her. Dave's face, a trifle too somber at all times,
took on a grimmer aspect now; he felt a slow fury kindling in his
breast.
Years of experience had taught him to be always alert even during
his moments of deepest preoccupation, and so, from force of habit,
when he came to the pump-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.
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