want will be in it."

"That's the way," reassured Andy. "Keep your head and use sense. But it
isn't the coin I want. You've got a red-headed girl in this house.
Where's her room?"

His hand which held the revolver was resting on the breast of the man,
and he felt the heart of the other leap. Then there was a current of
curses, a swift hissing of invective. And suddenly it came over Andy
that since he had killed one man, as he thought, the penalty would be no
greater if he killed ten. All at once the life of this prostrate fellow
on the bed was nothing to him.

When he cut into that profanity he meant what he said. "Partner, I've
got a pull on this trigger. There's a slug in this gun just trembling to
get at you. And I tell you honest, friend, I'd as soon drill you as turn
around. Now tell me where that girl's room is?"

"Anne Withero?" Only his breathing was heard for a moment. Then: "Two
doors down, on this side of the hall. If you lay a hand on her I'll
live to--"

"Partner, so help me heaven, I wouldn't touch a lock of her hair. Now
lie easy while I make sure of you."

And he promptly trussed the other in the bridle reins. Out of a
pillowcase folded hard he made a gag and tied it into the mouth of the
man. Then he ran his hands over the straps; they were drawn taut.

"If you make any noise," he warned the other, "I'll come back to find