The man listened attentively, though
his mind seemed slow to grasp details.
"But," he insisted, unable to clear his brain, "why are you here?
Surely you are not one of this gang of outlaws?"
"I am inclined to think," she answered soberly, "that much the same
cause must account for the presence of both of us. I am a prisoner.
That is true of you also, is it not?"
"Yes," his voice lowered almost to a whisper. "But do not speak so
loud, please; there is an opening above the door, so voices can be
heard by any guard in the corridor. I--I am a prisoner, although I do
not in the least know why. When did you come?"
"Not more than two hours ago. Two men brought me across the desert
from Haskell."
"I do not know how I came. I was unconscious until I woke up in that
cell. I was on the platform of an observation car the last I
remember," his utterance slow, as though his mind struggled with a
vague memory, "talking with a gentleman whom I had met on the train.
There--there must have been an accident, I think, for I never knew
anything more until I woke up here.
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