“Unload what you know.  Quick.  I’m in a hurry.”

The man began a rambling, whining tale.

The Arizonan interrupted with questions, crisp and incisive.  He learned that a room had been prepared on the second floor for a woman.  Slim had made the arrangements.  Joe had heard Durand’s name mentioned, but knew nothing of the plans.

“I’ll look the house over.  Move along in front of me and don’t make any mistakes.  This six-gun is liable to permeate yore anatomy with lead.”

The cattleman examined the first floor with an especial view to the exits.  He might have to leave in a hurry.  If so, he wanted to know where he was going.  The plan of the second story was another point he featured as he passed swiftly from room to room.  From the laundry in the basement he had brought up a coil of clothes-line.  With this he tied Joe hand and foot.  After gagging him, he left the man locked in a small rear room and took the key with him.

Clay knew that he was in a precarious situation.  If Durand returned with Kitty and captured him here he was lost.  The man would make no more mistakes.  Certainly he would leave no evidence against him except that of his own tools.  The intruder would probably not be killed openly.  He would either simply disappear or he would be murdered with witnesses framed to show self-defense.  The cattleman was as much outside the law as the criminals were.  He had no legal business in this house.  But one thing was fixed in his mind.  He would be no inactive victim.  If they got him at all it would be only after a fighting finish.

To Clay, standing at the head of the stairs, came a sound that stiffened him to a tense wariness.  A key was being turned in the lock of the street door below.  He moved back into the deeper shadows as the door swung open.

Two men entered.  One of them cursed softly as he stumbled against a chair in the dark hall.

“Where’s that rat Joe?” he demanded in a subdued voice.

Then came a click of the lock.  The sound of the street rain ceased.  Clay knew that the door had been closed and that he was shut in with two desperate criminals.

What have they done with Kitty?  Why was she not with them?  He asked himself that question even as he slipped back into a room that opened to the left.

He groped his way through the darkness, for he dared not flash his light to guide him.  His fingers found the edge of a desk.  Round that he circled toward a closet he remembered having noted.  Already the men were tramping up the stairs.  They were, he could tell, in a vile humor.  From this he later augured hopefully that their plans had not worked out smoothly, but just now more imperative business called him.

His arm brushed the closet door.  Next moment he was inside and had closed it softly behind him.

And none too soon.  For into the room came the gunmen almost on his heels.