Yes, the trap was closed, and his only
protection from the men riding behind was this half-living creature on
his back.
Out from the arched entrance to the patio ran a girl. She started back
against the 'dobe wall of the house and threw up one hand as though a
miracle had flashed across her vision. Alcatraz brought his canter to
a trot that shook the loose body on his back, and then he was walking
reluctantly forward, for towards the girl the rider was directing him
against all his own power of reason. She was crying out, now, in a
shrill voice, and presently through the shadowy arch swung the figure
of a big man on crutches, who shouted even as the girl had shouted.
Oliver Jordan, reading through the lines of his foreman's letter, had
returned to find out what was going wrong, and from his daughter's
tale he had learned more than enough.
Trembling at the nearness of these two human beings, but driven on by
the faint voice, and the guiding hands, Alcatraz passed shuddering
under the very arch of the patio entrance and so found himself once
more--and forever--surrendered into the power of men!
But the weak figure on his back had relaxed, and was sliding down.
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