clutch on his gullet, bo! We're not any too far from that
road, and we'll understand the good news if he'll only whisper it."

After a few moments he went on. "Man, we've got you--got you foul! You
know where that gold coin is. Shut up! No argument. You tell us where it
is. Then you won't get hurt. If you don't tell us, you _will_ get hurt.
Get busy with your mouth!"

In spite of his abhorrence at this method of extorting the truth,
Vaniman was conscious of a feeling of comradeship with the three
rapscallions at that moment. They were merely seeking loot. He was
seeking the re-establishment of his honor and his love. He waited in the
tense silence, straining every nerve to hear. No sound came to him. He
wondered whether Britt, cowed, was whispering the information.

"Get busy, I tell you!"

Evidently the prisoner was obstinate.

Minute after minute the short man labored with the captive, the snarl in
his insisting voice deepening into the diapason of malevolent threat.

But Britt said no word.

Vaniman, feeling that all the prospects of his life were at stake,
decided to play a waiting game. In spite of their culpable motive, the
men outside were serving as his aides in the crucial moment. They were
demanding information which the usurer owed to the innocent.

"Oh, very well," said the master of ceremonies. "We'll go on with the
rest of the program, then. One of you bring that side lamp and light it.
And help me get this towel tighter. He's going to try some squalling."

Vaniman saw the flare of the lamp past the edge of the flap. He set
his teeth and decided that he would not interfere. When he heard sounds
which, muffled in the towel, were like the whines and grunts of a
tortured animal, he stiffened his determination to await the issue.

"Now loosen the gag and let him talk! I reckon he has found something to
say."

Vaniman heard louder groans. But Britt gave out no information.

"Back with the talk-tickler! Hold it closer! The same foot! We've got a
good start on that one."

The man in the van felt his gorge rising, in spite of the fact that the
victim was a relentless persecutor of others. The stifled accents of
agony were dreadful.

After a time the short man spoke. Into three words he put the venom of
a malice that would not be gainsaid. "Now, damn you!" His tone hinted at
no regret for what had gone on before; it suggested that there was more
to come; it was compelling demand that the captive sho