The rope cut
painfully and brought a curse from the prisoner when he strained
at it. Law surveyed him with a face of stone.
"I don't want to do this," he declared, "but I know your kind. I
give you one more chance. Will you tell me?"
Jose drew his lips back in a snarl of rage and pain, and Dave
realized that further words were useless. He felt a certain pity
for his victim and no little admiration for his courage, but such
feelings were of small consequence as against his agonizing fears
for Alaire's safety. Had he in the least doubted Jose's guilty
knowledge of Longorio's intentions, Dave would have hesitated
before employing the barbarous measures he had in mind, but--there
was nothing else for it. He pulled the canteen cork and jammed the
mouthpiece firmly to Jose's lips. Closing the fellow's nostrils
with his free hand, he forced him to drink.
Jose clenched his teeth, he tried to roll his head, he held his
breath until his face grew purple and his eyes bulged. He strained
like a man upon the rack. The bed creaked to his muscular
contortions; the rope tightened. It was terribly cruel, this
crushing of a strong will bent on resistance to the uttermost; but
never was an executioner more pitiless, never did a prisoner's
agony receive less consideration.
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