"What's your play? Whyfor did you bring her?" the Arkansan demanded of
MacQueen.
The latter stood balanced on his heels with his feet wide apart. There was
a scornful grin on his face, but his eyes were fixed warily on the other
man.
"What was I to do with her, Mr. Buttinski? She found out who I was. Could
I send her home? If I did how was I to fix it so I could go to Mesa when
it's necessary till we get this ransom business arranged?"
"All right. But you understand she's a friend of mine. I'll not have her
hurt."
"Oh, go to the devil! I'm not in the habit of hurting young ladies."
MacQueen swung on his heel insolently and knocked on the door of a cabin
near.
"Don't forget that I'm here when you need me," Boone told Melissy in a low
voice.
"I'll not forget," the girl made answer in a murmur.
The wrinkled face of a Mexican woman appeared presently at a window.
MacQueen jabbered a sentence or two in her language. She looked at Melissy
and answered.
The girl had not lived in Southern Arizona for twenty years without having
a working knowledge of Spanish. Wherefore, she knew that her captor had
ordered his own room prepared for her.
While they waited for this to be made ready MacQueen hummed a snatch of a
popular song. It happened to be a love ditty. Boone ground his teeth and
glared at him, which appeared to amuse the other ruffian immensely.
"Don't stay up on our account," MacQueen suggested presently with a
malicious laugh. "We're not needing a chaperone any to speak of."
The Mexican woman announced that the bedroom was ready and MacQueen
escorted Melissy to the door of the room. He stood aside with mock
gallantry to let her pass.
"Have to lock you in," he apologized airily. "Not that it would do you any
good to escape. We'd have you again inside of twenty-four hours. This bit
of the hills takes a heap of knowing. But we don't want you running away.
You're too tired. So I lock the door and lie down on the porch under your
window. Adios, señorita."
Melissy heard the key turn in the lock, and was grateful for the respite
given her by the night. She was glad, too, that Boone was here. She knew
him for a villain, but she hoped he would stand between her and MacQueen
if the latter proved unruly in his attentions. Her guess was that Boone
was jealous of the other--of his authority with the gang to which they
both belonged, and now of his relationship to her. Out of this division
might come hope for her.