The dark man turned and said to the other--'If he is
not on that, we'll wait till we find him. Once we get him in New York,
he's our man.'"
A little exclamation of anger broke from Craig's lips. The girl caught at
his arm.
"Don't go," she begged. "Don't go. There are plenty of places near here
where you can hide, where we could go together and live quite simply. I'd
work for you. Take me away from this, somewhere over the hills. Don't go
to New York. They are cruel, those men. They are hunting you--I can see it
in their faces."
Craig shook his head sadly.
"Little girl," he said, "I should like to go with you along that valley
and over the hills and forget that I had ever lived in any other world.
But I can't do it. There's a child there now, on the ocean, nearer to New
York every day, my sister's own child and no one to meet her. And--there
are the other things. I have sinned and I must pay.... My God!"
The room suddenly rang with Marta's shriek. Through the open window by
which they were sitting, an arm wrapped in a serape had suddenly hovered
over them. Craig, in starting back, had just escaped the downward blow of
the knife, which had buried itself in Marta's arm. She fell back,
screaming.
"It's Jose!" she cried. "The brute! The beast!"
Craig swung to his feet, furious. Long Jim, cursing fiercely, drew his
gun. At that moment the door of the saloon was thrown open. Jose came
reeling in, his serape over his shoulder, a drunken grin on his face.
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