"They lifted my
guns--a bunch of fellows at the Rio Negro crossing. Some of them
were drunk and wouldn't believe I was an amigo. So I finally had
to ride for it."
"Can't you take me away?" she asked, faintly. "What will you do
when--he comes?"
"I reckon I'll manage him somehow." His grip upon her tightened
painfully, and she could feel him tremble. "I was afraid I
wouldn't find you. I--O God, Alaire!" He buried his face in her
hair.
"I had a terrible scene with him last night. He insists upon
marrying me. I--I was hoping you'd come."
"How could I, when nobody knew where you were?"
"Didn't you know? I wrote you." He shook his head. "Then how did
you learn?"
"From Jose. I caught him within an hour of the murder, and made
him tell me everything."
Alaire's eyes dilated; she held herself away, saying,
breathlessly: "Murder! Is that what it was? He--Longorio--told me
something quite different."
"Naturally. It was he who hired Jose to do the shooting."
"Oh-h!" Alaire hid her face in her hands. She looked up again
quickly, however, and her cheeks were white. "Then he won't spare
you, Dave." She choked for an instant. "We must get away before he
comes.
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