And as Pete rode, he
thought continually of Boca. Unaware of what had happened--yet he
realized that she had been in great danger. This worried him--an
uncertainty that became an obsession--until he could no longer master
it with reason. He had ridden free from present hazard, unscratched
and foot-loose, with many hours of darkness before him in which to
evade the posse. He would be a fool to turn back. And yet he did,
slowly, as though an invisible hand were on his bridle-rein; forcing
him to ride against his judgment and his will. He reasoned, shrewdly,
that the posse would be anywhere but at The Spider's place, just then.
In an hour he had returned and was knocking at the door, surprised that
the saloon was closed.
At Pete's word, the door opened. The Spider, ghastly white in the
lamplight, blinked his surprise.
"Playin' a hunch," stated Pete. And, "Boca here?" he queried, as he
entered.
"In there," said The Spider, and he took the lamp from the bar.
"What's the use of wakin' her?" said Pete. "I come back--I got a
hunch--that somethin' happened when I made my get-away.
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