The Sheriff's Son
Her voice, sharpened by apprehension, cut into his. "What man? Who are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about David Dingwell."
"What do you mean that he knows too much? Too much about what?" she demanded.
"About the express robbery."
"Do you mean to say that—that my people—?" She choked with anger, but back of her indignation was fear.
"I mean to say that one of your brothers was guarding Dingwell and that later your father went up to Meldrum's place. They are starving him to get something out of him. I serve warning on you that if they hurt my friend—"
"Starving him!" she broke out fiercely. "Do you dare say that my people—my father—would torture anybody? Is that what you mean, you lying spy?"
Her fury was a spur to him. "I don't care what words you use," he flung back wildly. "They have given him no food for three days. I did n't know such things were done nowadays. It's as bad as what the old Apaches did. It's devilish—"
He pulled himself up. What right had he to talk that way to the girl who had just saved his
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