as in the room.

Dave eased himself over the sill and waited for a moment while he
listened, the revolver in his hand. It seemed to him that he could hear
a faint murmur of voices, but he was not sure. He moved across the bare
plank floor, slid through the door, and again stopped to take stock of
his surroundings.

He was at the head of a stairway which ran down to the first floor and
lost itself in the darkness of the hall. Leaning over the banister, he
listened intently for any sign of life below. He was sure now that he
heard the sound of low voices behind a closed door.

The cowpuncher hesitated. Should he stop to explore the upper story? Or
should he go down at once and try to find out what those voices might
tell him? It might be that time was of the essence of his contract to
discover what had become of Emerson Crawford. He decided to look for his
information on the first floor.

Never before had Dave noticed that stairs creaked and groaned so loudly
beneath the pressure of a soft footstep. They seemed to shout his
approach, though he took every step with elaborate precautions. A door
slammed somewhere, and his heart jumped at the sound of it. He did not
hide the truth from himself. If Steelman or his men found him here
looking for Crawford he would never leave the house alive. His foot left
the last tread and found the uncarpeted floor. He crept, hand
outstretched, toward the door behind which he heard men talking. As he
moved forward his stomach muscles tightened. At any moment some one might
come out of the room and walk into him.

He put his eye to the keyhole, and through it saw a narrow segment of the
room. Ad Miller was sitting a-straddle a chair, his elbows on the back.
Another man, one not visible to the cowpuncher, was announcing a decision
and giving an order.

"Hook up the horses, Shorty. He's got his neck bowed and he won't sign.
All right. I'll get the durn fool up in the hills and show him whether he
will or won't."

"I could 'a' told you he had sand in his craw." Shorty was speaking. He
too was beyond the range of Dave's vision. "Em Crawford won't sign unless
he's a mind to."

"Take my advice, Brad. Collect the kid, an' you'll sure have Em hogtied.
He sets the world an' all by her. Y'betcha he'll talk turkey then,"
predicted Miller.

"Are we fightin' kids?" the squat puncher wanted to know.

"Did I ask your advice, Shorty?" inquired Steelman acidly.

The range-rider grumbled an indis