Again he could feel her eyes straining at him.

"It seems mad to think of him and Mr. Burkhardt, and perhaps others, hiring some one to shoot you down from a dark doorway. It is utterly mad—crazy. But why should they want to convict you, in the crowd's opinion at least, of murdering the man. It would not be just trouble about the dam—oh, no. But I can't see through it at all. Why won't you tell me? You can trust me—and I want to help you as well as help myself. You certainly don't hold against me my silly nonsense and unkind words of the day you brought me home from the ford."

"I didn't think them silly; they delighted me," he responded. "I hadn't had anything happen to me so refreshing in years."

"We must be friends. Something tells me they're going to make you trouble over this shooting, and you'll need friends."

"Something tells me you're right in both respects," he laughed.

"And friends must stick together."

"That's what they should do."

In the dusk of the vine-clad, flower-scented place where they sat he experienced the subtle power of this intimacy. Not a soul stirred in the empty moonlit street before the house. No sounds disturbed the warm peace of the night. In this secluded spot only there ran the murmur of their voices.

"I could never stand by and see any man unjustly accused and defamed if I knew he was innocent, without lifting up my word in defense," she proceeded. "But let me ask if on your side you're treating me fairly?"

Weir could have groaned.

"You have a noble spirit, Miss Hosmer. You're more courageous and kind than any girl I've ever known. Would you have me reveal what my best judgment tells me should remain untold?"

"But what of me? Would you keep it to yourself if my future happiness might turn on it?"

The appeal in her words shook Steele's heart.

"How does this business affect your happiness? How?" he asked, in perplexity.

Now it was her turn to hesitate. Why should she pause, indeed, before telling to this man what every one else knew. Yet hesitate she did, from a feeling she could but partly analyze. Of her fiance she had already had disturbing secret doubts that had increased of late: doubts of his habits, his character and the genuineness of his love; so that it was with a little eddy of dissatisfaction and shame that she admitted the relationship. More she questioned her own love as an actual thing. In a startling way, too, this silent, forceful man, so deadly in earnest and so earnestly deadly, so terrible in some aspects, seemed at the instant to dwarf the other in stature and power as if the latter were a plump manikin.

Perhaps at the last minute she had a shiver of dread at what might issue from the engineer's lips in the way of facts if he took her at her word and told her what she had demanded to know. Did she want to know? Suppose she let the affair rest where it was and went forward to the future in the comfortable assurance of ignorance.

In that case, it might be wooing later revelations that then could not be escaped, revelations like consuming lightnings. She would settle it now once for all.

"It does concern my future and my happiness vitally," she declared, earnestly. "For this reason——"

"Yes?"

"I'm engaged to marry Ed Sorenson, son of Mr. Sorenson."

Weir leaped to his feet.

"Good God! That fellow!" he exclaimed, astounded.

Without another word he sprang down the steps and strode away. Janet Hosmer, grasping the arms of her chair and staring after him, saw him once bring down his clenched fist on nothing. Then he passed rapidly along the street and out of sight.



CHAPTER VII

IN THE COIL

The Spirit of Irony couldn't have devised a more intolerable situation. So thought Steele Weir as he strode away from the dwelling, still laboring under the emotions provoked by the girl's disclosure, wincing at his own biting thoughts and writhing at his own helplessness. It needed only this revelation to cap the whole diabolical evening.

He could not have remained with her now if his life had depended on it. She, engaged to that scoundrel Ed Sorenson! How could she have been so blind to the lustful beast's nature? She must love him, of course. He must have been careful to exhibit to her only such qualities as would gain her affection and respect, or rather hollow shams of qualities he never had possessed. Propinquity, lack of rivals in this little town, no doubt were largely responsible for her feeling for the man. But it was like standing by and seeing her fair young body, her fresh pure life, her high soul, flung to a devouring swine.

And by the rules of the game he couldn't open his lips to utter a word of warning! That was the worst of it, that was the worst of it. No, not by the rules of the game; not, for that matter, by the rules of life; for the latter run that only can the person concerned see with his or her own eyes what a loved one's character is, and must make and abide by her own judgments.

Steele Weir all at once stopped in his tracks. He stared straight before him for a time seeing Janet Hosmer's face as it appeared when she anxiously gazed at him from Martinez' door, coming out of the night like a pallid moon-flower. At that instant she had feared he had been wounded; her heart was fluttering with anguish. The tension of his body relaxed and his hands slowly unclosed and involuntarily his eyes went up to the moon sailing serenely in the sky above the treetops and the flat-roofed adobe houses. What vaster blessing could life bestow than to have such a look come seeking one beloved!

He went on thoughtfully.

"She shall not marry him," he said to himself, with a quick resolve.

What were the rules of any game when an innocent girl's happiness was at stake? Did he care for conventions, or even the contempt she herself might feel for him for apparently belittling her lover? He could stand that, so that her eyes were opened and the fellow's yellow heart made plain. At the proper time he should act, view his part as she might. A snap of his fingers for being misunderstood! He would go his own way afterwards.

The thing had its curious features, too. No mistake, the shock of hearing Sorenson senior talking to the sheriff and the crowd, working up sentiment, had stirred her indignation and wonder and uneasiness and alarm. She was no fool, as she had said. She had a clear, practical mind, give it something to work on. Her intuition had immediately grasped the fact that there might be cellars under the Sorenson household of which she knew nothing and which should be promptly entered with a strong light. Whether the momentary desire would last, that was the question. To-morrow, or the first time she found herself in Ed Sorenson's reassuring presence, she might consider that her brain had been upset by events of this night, jiggled awry in a sort of moonlight madness, and her apprehensions as to happiness unfounded shadows.

Well, Weir would strike later.

He turned into the main street. Evidently the body of the dead Mexican had been carried into the jail behind the court house, or somewhere. The throng had dispersed, though its elements were every place talking, in pairs or in little knots of people. As he came along, these fell silent at his passing. They stared at him, motionless, expressionless, with the characteristic Mexican stolidity that is the heritage of Indian blood. By his automobile he found Martinez posted, stroking his long black mustache and regarding Sorenson's office, which was still lighted though the curtain remained drawn over the broad plate-glass window.

"Just wanted to give you a whispered word," he said, in Steele Weir's ear, darting a glance towards some of the Mexicans who, drawn by insatiable curiosity, were lounging nearer.

"Speak," said the engineer.

"I came out of the office after you did and heard the talk." He made a covert movement of forefinger towards the nearby building. "The four of them are in there again. I saw you listening to Sorenson here in the street; and would you care to have me express my opinion as to what the signs indicate, Mr. Weir?"

"Go ahead."

"In the light of what I suggested during our talk in my office, the silly twaddle of Burkhardt and Sorenson is understandable. I look right through their scheme. They always frame up something against anybody they want to dispose of; they do it in business matters regularly, and very skillfully. They immediately perceived a chance, sir, in this unfortunate encounter of yours and laid hands on it; their talk was the first delicate maneuver to 'frame' you."

"Sure," was the unperturbed answer.

Martinez laid a finger on Weir's lapel.

"Frankly, feeling hasn't been good towards you because of the work controversy at the dam," he went on, with another swift glance about. "They will use that. On the other hand, you have Miss Janet and me as witnesses in support of your story. Unfortunately Miss Janet is, as you may not be aware, engaged to——"

Martinez paused dramatically.

"Well?"

"To Ed Sorenson," the lawyer half-hissed. "Nothing could be worse."

"Why?"

"Why? Look at the position she'll be in. Consider the pressure they can put on her through that fact—and they'll not hesitate to do so, in one way or another. Innocent as a dove, she is, Mr. Weir." He thrust his head forward, showing his lips drawn apart and shining teeth tight set. "And she's never heard a rumor of his hushed-up affairs with poor, ignorant, Mexican girls who knew no better."

"We'll simply have to trust to her courage to tell the truth on the proper occasion."

"Ah, but they'll trick her some way."

"And you?"

Martinez straightened, smiled, twirled his mustache.

"I? They aren't quite foxy enough for that, Mr. Weir," he boasted, with glistening eyes.

The engineer was almost ready to believe that, but cunning was not the only weapon in his enemies' arsenal. How would this lean lawyer stand up under intimidation, bribes, threats?

"I trust so, Martinez," said he. "Do you think they will try to get me sometime by an out-and-out gun-play?"

"No, no, no."

"Do you think they could if they tried?" Weir inquired, grimly.

The attorney paused with finger and thumb on the point of his mustache, lifted his eyebrows and smiled broadly.

"They'll consider twice before they attempt it, after your expert exhibition this evening," said he. "It was amazing, your speed, your accuracy."

Steele tapped the man on the breast, who experienced a distinct tremor at that significant touch and at the veiled menace in the dam manager's eyes.

"There's always one bullet in my gun for the man who betrays me, Martinez."

The lawyer licked his lips. On general principles he disliked statements that committed one to the future. But it was necessary to say something.

"To be sure. I should feel the same in your circumstances," he responded. Then as Weir turned to his car, he continued: "The inquest to-morrow morning should be over early. I'll visit you in the afternoon as planned."

"Don't forget that letter," Weir called out.

Martinez marveled. Kill a man, and still remember a letter! That magnified his respect immensely. Cool, that fellow! Then a slight shiver as if a chill from those black peaks west of the town had struck through his flesh rippled along his spine; for he had been over at the jail with the crowd and had viewed that dead body lying there on the stone floor. Not only cool, but dangerous and deadly, this engineer. He, Martinez, must be discreet; it would not do to risk gaining Weir's enmity. That cold-faced man could not be "monkeyed with."

Martinez gnawed his mustache and eyed the dully illuminated office window. He wondered if those four men inside had not at last found their match, perhaps their master. Any one with half a brain could see there was going to be a desperate struggle between the four and the one, and he was not exactly sure yet that he wanted to venture farther into the affair. But the very danger fascinated him with its subtle and obscure features, exactly suited to his manipulation.

A man who had been standing apart sauntered nearer.

"Senor," he addressed the lawyer in Spanish.

Martinez whirled about.

"Ah, it's only you, Naharo."

"He is a bad fighter, eh?" And the man, almost white because of intermixed blood, moved a hand in the direction Weir's car had gone.

"Perhaps not bad. Quick with a gun, however," was the careful reply.

"With his fists also. I saw, or if I did not see, I very nearly did so—it is the same—saw him use them in Bowenville. And on that dog of an Ed Sorenson who would have seduced my little Dolorosa, as he did Cristobal's daughter, if I had not perceived what he was at."

The lawyer's ears were instantly pricked up. He caught the man by the shirt-sleeve.

"Come with me," he said.

Once they were in his office he carefully closed and locked the door, drawing the window shades. Literally he rubbed his hands one over the other as he bade Naharo take a chair. Then the pair of them rolled and lighted cigarettes.

"Perhaps I should say no more, Senor Martinez."

"It will go no farther. And if the engineer and Ed Sorenson had a fight, then it must have been for that reason the latter's father spoke as he did to-night. You heard him."

"Yes. And I did not understand why. It was not because of what happened at Bowenville, unquestionably not, for it had to do with another girl——"

"Ha, a girl! And the engineer mixed in it?"

"Listen. As I say, he would not have told his father, because he keeps such things quiet; it is four years since he last had to pay money to settle a matter. Some think he now behaves, but it is not true. But he is more careful. So his father did not know about this."

"Tell it all, Naharo."

The other inhaled a puff of smoke and half-closed his eyes. Though nearly white, he retained the Mexican's high cheek bones, and languor, and unforgiving nature.

"I was in Bowenville, freighting up flour to the store of Smith's. I had loaded by evening, to make an early start next day. I had gone into the restaurant for supper, taking a seat far down at the end of the counter near the kitchen. I was tired and thinking only of my food. As I ate, there was a crash in one of the stalls and I looked about. There was a fight, of course. But it ended at once. Then I observed Ed Sorenson come out presently, jerking his collar and tie straight. He was mad. He had been whipped, too. For he yet looked as if he wanted to kill the other man in there, but he went away. Soon the other man came out and with him was a young white girl, whom I did not know. The man was this engineer and he carried an old piece of baggage, not such as he would carry but as the girl might, for she looked like a ranch girl who was poor. The girl was scared. The man was calm as a priest. That scoundrel Ed Sorenson had been beaten. Aha, so; it was clear. The engineer had put a spoke in the fellow's wheel. Then I walked to the door and saw the two get into a car and start on the trail this way. After that, I resumed my supper. You perceive, the man had taken the girl away from the wolf."

Martinez' restless eyes wandered about the room as he digested this account.

"Did you see the dead man?" he inquired, casually.

"Yes, senor."

Their looks met, held for an instant, dropped. Each read the thought of the other: the motive for the attack on the engineer was clear. But some convictions are better not expressed.

"I should have liked to see Senor Weir do the shooting," Naharo stated. "Dios, such shooting! Two shots, two hits. And in the dark!"

Martinez' grinned.

"It will not please—whoever hired the dead man. He was hired for the job, of course."

"Unquestionably, senor," was the reply.



CHAPTER VIII

THE GATHERING STORM

At the inquest next morning no outward sign indicated what Weir's enemies might be at. Indeed, none of them was present. The engineer made a statement; the two witnesses, Janet Hosmer and Felipe Martinez, were briefly interrogated, and the finding was returned that the unknown Mexican had met death from two bullet wounds while attempting to kill Steele Weir.

One spectator there was who took a strong interest in proceedings, Ed Sorenson. When, however, Janet Hosmer was notified by her father, who was in charge, that she could withdraw, the young fellow hastened to lead her away, with an audible remark that it was a shame she had had to be "dragged into this disreputable gun-man's bloody show." Meaning Steele Weir, naturally.

That feeling was being intensified against him was only too apparent in the hostile manner of the crowd and in the silence with which it received the finding. There was his former unpopularity, to begin with; there was now added a race resentment, for the slain man, stranger though he was, was Mexican; and finally, he knew not what distilled poison of lies concerning his innocence in the night fray. Nothing more was needed to reveal the swelling hate which secret fear of Weir but increased than a volley of curses and abuse hurled at his head from a native saloon doorway as he passed in his car on his way home.

During the following week the engineer was too occupied with dam work to have time for other matters. He pushed the concrete construction and inspired his men with something of his own indomitable spirit, who had learned of the cowardly attack in San Mateo and rallied to his standard with a zeal and ardor for which the fact of employment alone did not account. He had become a leader as well as their "boss." From Meyers down to the humblest workman the camp had for him a new admiration, a new respect and a new loyalty, which he could not help but feel; he had proved that he could deliver the "goods"; and if the Mexicans wanted war, the Americans here would be glad to oblige them. Nor did they wait to let San Mateo know the fact.

"We're wid 'Cold Steel' Weir, our boss, four hundred of us, till ye can skate on hell," a huge Irishman, one of half a dozen standing at Vorse's bar on Saturday night, remarked when the saloon-man uttered a sneer at the manager. "Say that agin and we'll tear your rotten booze joint to pieces and make ye eat it! And if another stinkin' greaser tries to wing him from the dark, we'll come down here and wipe your dirty little town off the map! That goes both ways from the jack!" He snapped his fingers under the other's nose by way of added insult.

A petty series of hostile acts against the company developed. Teamsters were stoned by boys, which left them raging and murderous to discover the men who set them on. Half a carload of cement in sacks was ripped open and emptied on the earth at Bowenville. After Meyers, Weir's assistant, found his automobile tires slashed to bits on coming out of the post-office in San Mateo, it became necessary always to go in pairs, one man to remain on watch. Weir himself just avoided a serious accident one evening at dusk while a mile from the dam when he instinctively ducked in his car as something grazed the top of his wind-shield. A wire had been stretched across the road from a telephone pole to a tree, at just the height to strike him at the throat.

He halted and removed the deadly contrivance. Men on watch of his movements could have prepared it against his return; and, indeed, he thought he detected a pair of flitting shadows behind a row of willow bushes lining a Mexican irrigation ditch, but in the dusk he could not be sure. On running thither, he found no one.

The camp was not of a temper, however, to allow the attacks to be all on one side. Atkinson, the superintendent, came to Weir one morning towards the end of the week and informed him workmen were drifting down to San Mateo nightly in hope of trouble.

"They'll get a knife put into them," Steele Weir replied, with a frown that did not entirely hide his satisfaction at this evidence of support.

"Maybe; and again maybe not," the superintendent stated, grinning. "A bunch jumped some of our boys last night and I guess when the dust settled there were a couple of Mexicans beaten nearly to death."

"Call the men all together this noon," Weir ordered.

At that hour he gave them a talk for what he called their long-eared cussedness, and laid down a little law and wound up with a number of reasonable explanations for the same. Every man who went out hunting trouble was a camp liability, and would be fired. He did not propose to give the town authorities a chance to jail workmen and impair the dam work, just the thing they were waiting to do. The men should keep away from San Mateo, or at least avoid disputes and rows. If they spent no money there whatever it would sting the town where it would hurt the most, in its pocket-book; and he himself was transferring the company bank account to Bowenville, by way of example. If any man felt the need of change from camp, he could have two days off at the end of the month to spend at Bowenville. But keep away from the Mexicans!

"And if they come up here huntin' us when we show up no more?" yelled the same big Irishman who had paid his respects to Vorse.

"In that case, tear their heads off," was the reply. "But put on your gloves first or you'll dirty your fingers." Which bit of rough humor caught the crowd's fancy and won a roar of laughter.

Later as the crowd dispersed to eat Atkinson said to Meyers, "The boss knows how to handle men all right, all right; he put sugar on the pill. The gang went off grinning. They know they've got to be good—but only up to a limit."

Meantime Felipe Martinez had not been idle. He rode up to engineering headquarters on his pony one evening and carried Weir out into the open where their words would not be overheard. He reported that he was quietly working for information of Weir's father among the older Mexicans who would be likely to remember him, but proceeding cautiously so that no one would suspect his purpose. He represented himself to them as undertaking to write a history of San Mateo County; he must depend upon them for data of early days; it would be a fine book bound in leather, in which their names and possibly their pictures would appear;—which never failed to flatter the parties with whom he talked. And the lawyer laughed with amusement as he related the success of his method.

"I have already seen some thirty or forty people, a few of whom recalled your father, but no more. But this afternoon," he continued, "I discovered a woman who worked at the Weir ranch house." Martinez perceived the engineer's attention quicken. "She said the Weirs had a little boy of four years of age, perhaps five. You, Mr. Weir, of course. They suddenly paid and discharged her one day, packed a trunk and drove hurriedly off; and the next morning Sorenson took possession of the ranch and she went home. They drove off in a great haste—there was no railroad anywhere near here then—and that was the last she ever saw or heard of them."

"Yes."

"One thing more there was: she said there was a story that went around for awhile afterwards that Weir and another had lost their ranches and cattle gambling. For that reason Weir left the country; and for that reason, too, the other man, Dent, by name, committed suicide in Vorse's saloon where they had gambled. She said Saurez, an old man living with his son up a little creek, would know about that, for he used to clean out Vorse's bar-room in those days."

Steele Weir grasped Martinez's shoulder in a quick grip.

"He did! Get everything he knows out of him," he commanded.

"Leave it to me, Mr. Weir. I understand how to wheedle facts out of these old fellows."

But it was doubtful if the engineer heard his words. He had dropped his hand, stood opening and shutting his fingers, while on his face grew the hard implacable look that always whetted the attorney's curiosity.

Weir walked up on the hillside when Martinez had ridden away and there sat down on a rock. It was a rift, though but a faint rift, that this news made in the blank dark wall he had to confront; and he wished to think. Proof as well as knowledge of what had happened in his father's case was what he must have. Acting on intuition he had been able to put fear into the hearts of the four men responsible for making his father's life a hell, but proof of their guilt was necessary to make them suffer in a similar fashion, to reveal their crime to the world, to destroy them. Now at last, here was a possibility. If this former roustabout of the saloon knew anything!

Well, he must be patient—the mill of the gods grinds slowly. But when finally he had gained all the strands and woven the net! Unconsciously his hands arose before his face like talons closing on prey and shut on air, until their veins swelled. That was how he would serve them, those men. Though they might fall on their knees and implore mercy, not one beat of pity should move his heart.

It was almost dark when he arose. Behind him the great peaks soared against the last greenish twilight. In the shacks the camp lamps were showing at windows. At one side and in the canyon the concrete core of the dam appeared white in the gloom, like a bank of snow. The murmur of voices, an occasional distant laugh, came from men's quarters.

Presently he slanted down the hillside past the camp, until he struck into a road leading towards town, where he began to walk forward, hatless and without coat, through the soft dusk. He was disinclined for work as yet, the work always piled on his desk; he desired yet for a little to rest his spirit in the evening calm.

His thoughts had softened and turned to Janet Hosmer. He had not seen her since the morning at the court house. He had not spoken with her since that interview upon her veranda, which had terminated with his shocked utterance. That he had thus given away to his feeling he had a hundred times repented; and that he had so bruskly departed he was profoundly chagrined. But what could he have done? No explanation was possible. The situation in which he had been allowed of but one thing, escape.

With the rising tide of emotion reflected by memory of that moment his steps had quickened. All at once he discovered before him the rippling sheen of water. He was at Chico Creek, a mile from camp, where he first had met Janet Hosmer. Engaged with his tangled problem, he had been unaware of the distance covered.

Pausing but an instant he waded through, smiling to himself at thought of that afternoon's spirited encounter with the girl. She had not dreamed then, nor he, that events would fling them together in a more dramatic second meeting at Martinez' door.

Suddenly he perceived a white-clad figure before him, standing motionless, leaning forward to peer his way as he walked forth from the ford.

"It's you, Mr. Weir?" came in soft inquiry.

"Yes. How in the world do you happen to be here, Janet Hosmer?"

She laughed.

"I thought I recognized you marching through the stream, so I wasn't alarmed."

"No one would think of harming you, I'm sure."

"But anyway I should have vanished if you had been a stranger."

"Not being one, you remained. I had no idea of such luck as this when I set out for a walk."

Both pleasure and satisfaction sounded in his voice.

"I was just taking a little stroll myself," said she.



CHAPTER IX

AN UNEXPECTED ALLY

"Let me take the chance first thing to apologize for my behavior the night we talked on your porch," Steele Weir exclaimed. "Your statement of being engaged surprised me into words and conduct that has had me in an unhappy state of mind ever since. Mr. Sorenson's talk to the crowd stirred my anger. Had I known your exact relationship to him and his son, I should have made no mistakes."

"I had urged you to speak, had I not?"

"Grant that. But I don't stand excused."

"There was no questioning the sincerity of your last expression that night, in any case," she said. "But I've not been indignant because of what you exclaimed or because you hate the Sorensons. 'Hate' isn't too strong a word, is it? I'm none the less interested however to know what it's all about. You see I don't take any stock in the reasons commonly given: that you're a 'bad man,' an agent of a rich corporation trying to put our people out of business, a public menace and all the rest."

"Is that what they say?" Weir asked, with a laugh.

"Part of it. Nor does it fool father, for he said only yesterday that there's something more at bottom of the feeling against you than merely a fight of moneyed interests. He knows from what I told him that that dead man tried to murder you; yet he hears constant talk of your 'crime,' of evidence being gathered against you by the county attorney, Mr. Lucerio, and of the penalty you shall pay. All absurd, to be sure."

"Mr. Martinez tells me the same," Steele responded. "But he says also that all the people do not believe the stories."

"That's true." And she appeared to reflect upon the circumstance.

To Weir nothing could be stranger than this talk on the dark road with the girl who, too, should be naturally opposed to him. In fact, here at this very spot and at their first meeting she had announced herself as a critic and an enemy. He could smile over that now; she herself probably did smile at the recollection. Yet she was calmly discussing his situation without animus or even unfriendliness.

How could that be possible if she actually loved the man whom she expected to marry, Ed Sorenson? Why did she not at once spring to arms in defense of the Sorenson side? Unless—unless she suspected the baseness of her lover and his father, and fear had replaced love.

All at once she spoke.

"They will put you in jail if they can, and bring you to trial, and—and——"

"And hang me, that's what you hesitate to say," Steele finished for her. "Whom do you mean by 'they'?"

"The people."

"Are the people here in this county really 'they'? Do the people, that is, the mass of poor ignorant Mexicans, have anything to do with public affairs? Both you and I know they do not."

"Why deny it!" she sighed. "It's generally known that four men, with a few more at their skirts, run things. They nominate the men who are to fill office—there's only one political party in the county worth mentioning—and give them orders and expect them to obey. For that reason father would never accept an office. He could be coroner; he could be county treasurer; he could go to the legislature; or anything else—if he would but wear their political livery. But he prefers to be a free man. I used to think nothing of it, see no wrong in such a state of affairs, for everything went along well enough and about the same as ever as far as I could see."

"Possibly you didn't see everything that was occurring below the surface even then."

"Exactly what father told me yesterday. We talked about everything under the sun, I imagine. And I informed him that you walked home with me the night of the shooting; I had not spoken of it before."

"That was proper; he should know it."

"He doesn't share in the feeling against you, Mr. Weir, let me assure you of that. Ever since he heard my explanation of the shooting and then met you at the inquest, he's convinced that you're being done a great injustice."

Steele experienced a warm glow of pleasure.

"I liked your father at first sight," said he, simply. "But where does all this leave us?" He spoke in a light tone of amusement that he was far from feeling. "Our position is—odd."

"It is," she assented so earnestly that he began to laugh.

"You mustn't allow it to disturb you. I'm really presuming upon your kindness of heart and innocence in enjoying your company now. Acquaintance with me is a rather serious matter here in San Mateo and carries consequences. You don't think for an instant that I'd allow my personal pleasure—and pleasure it is to be with you, needless to say—to bring you into ill-favor among your friends and to make you the subject of gossip. I appreciate your good spirit towards me; and I admire you greatly. But it will be well if I admire you at a distance hereafter."

"I don't see whose business it is except mine."

To Steele Weir it was like pushing aside the only thing that brightened his hard, toilsome existence thus to abjure future companionship with her.

"Good heavens, do you fancy that comes easy for me to say?" he exclaimed, drawing a deep breath. "I never before knew any one who—well, I'll stop there."

"Who what?" she demanded.

"I nearly overstepped the bounds."

"Oh, that's it."

What imp of perversity was in the girl? Weir stared at her for a moment through the gloom.

And then she remarked that she must be returning home, and said she would be glad if he would accompany her part way as there was a Mexican's house half way to town where a particularly vicious dog always rushed out. The dog rushed out exactly as she had predicted, barking savagely, so that she slipped her arm into the engineer's and held fast until they were past.

"He does that only after dark; I hadn't expected to walk so far and it was still light when I set out," said she.

The touch of her fingers on his sleeve, the light swing of her form at his side, the subtle fragrance that emanated from her hair and face, this intimate nearness on the dark road, the heavy scent of flowers in the bordering fields,—all sent the blood thumping from his heart. If he—if he were in Ed Sorenson's place, what love he could pour out!

Ed Sorenson, the double-faced wretch who while engaged to her had attempted to entice away for his own vile gratification the simple, trustful girl on Terry Creek, he was to marry this sweet and charming companion. What diabolical tragedies life could mix!

"See, the moon is rising," she said.

Over the edge of the mesa the yellow globe was bulging, rayless for the moment, round and full.

"We're almost at the edge of town, and I'll stop here," he replied. "As I said, I'd not bring down upon your head a single unpleasant word."

"My head's not so tender," she responded quickly. "But I think you're right—for the present." A tight little smile followed the words. "We'll see."

"That's best."

"But I propose to stand by you. I told you that night I couldn't remain indifferent when I saw an innocent man persecuted."

"You give me a tremendous amount of happiness."

"If I do, I'm glad. I don't believe you ever had much of it. Do you know what is said? That you never smile. But I can swear that isn't true, and I'm beginning to wonder if you really are—Heavens, what was I about to say!"

"Go ahead. It's nothing terrible, I wager."

"Well, I won't finish that, but I'll ask a question even more impertinent, if I may. Frankly, I'm dying of curiosity to know."

Weir turned his head to listen to the approach of a horseman. He could see the man galloping towards them for town, having turned into the road from a lane a short distance off, his horse's hoofs striking an occasional spark from a stone. Then the engineer looked smilingly at Janet Hosmer.

"I'll tell you anything—or almost anything." One subject alone was sealed.

"It's that name."

"Name?"

"'Cold Steel.' How did you get it?"

"It was just pinned on me a few years ago. I'm not particularly proud of it. I don't even know the rogue who gave me the label. And it means nothing."

"Even your enemies are using it,—and I understand what it signifies." She bent her eyes upon him for a time. "That is, what it signifies to your friends."

"And to my enemies?"

"More gossip. They say it's because you're a gun-man and a knife-man. Oh, I wish I didn't have to have my ears filled with such vicious slander! But it means the same to enemies as to friends if they would but admit it. I'll wait until this rider passes, then I must go."

No thought of friends or foes, both, or of any such person as Ed Sorenson in particular, was in Steele's mind as he made answer.

"I'd stand here forever if you didn't go," he said, with a low eagerness that caused her breath to flutter in spite of herself.

On her part, her mind was whispering, "He means it, I believe he really means it." Which caused her to lift and lower her eyes hurriedly, and feel a peculiar sense of trepidation and excitement. Odd to state, she, too, just then had no recollection of any such being as Ed Sorenson, which was the extreme of unloverliness.

"Before I do go, I've something to tell you," she said hurriedly, dropping her voice. "It's this: the dead man's name was"—here her tone went down to a mere sibilance—"Pete Ortez."

He leaned forward, once again the hard fierce man she had seen in Martinez' office the night of the shooting.

"How did you learn that?"

"It—well, it was let slip inadvertently in my presence."

Weir would not press her further. Nor was there need, for the sudden embarrassment on her face and indeed the information itself could have but one source, the man who knew, Ed Sorenson.

"You're the equal of a thousand ordinary friends," he declared. "I can make use of that item. Step aside, please; we're in the middle of the road." And he drew her from in front of the horseman advancing upon them.

They said nothing, but waited for the man to pass. But he pulled his mount from a gallop to a trot, and from a trot to a foot pace, and at last when squarely even with them came to a full stop. From under his broad hat brim he silently considered the girl in white summer dress and the bare-headed engineer.

Then he began to shake with laughter, which lasted but an instant. So insulting, so sinister was that noiseless laugh that Janet's hand had flown to Weir's arm, which she nervously clutched. As for Weir, his limbs stiffened—she felt the tightening of the arm she grasped—as a tiger's body grows taut preparatory to a spring.

The short, fleshy, insolent rider sitting there in the moonlight was Burkhardt.

"Ed Sorenson better keep an eye on his little turtledove," he remarked. And touching heel to his animal he swung ahead for town.

For one dazed minute they stared after him.

"Shoot him!" she suddenly said, through shut teeth.

"I haven't my gun along, or I'd be glad to oblige you."

"He deserves killing, the wretch!"

"On more accounts than one," he replied, quietly.

So quietly and so gravely, in truth, that her gust of rage subsided before the low-spoken menace of the words. No quick anger was his but a steady and deadly purpose. Again she felt the hard-held force, the mystery of the man, as if flowing suddenly upward from subterranean channels. What wrong had he suffered, what undeserved torture at the hands of this man and others thus to freeze his soul?

But he immediately turned to her, asking, "Does that upset the broth?"

A wan smile greeted his words.

"I expect it will keep the cook busy, anyway," she said.



CHAPTER X

BY RIGHT OF POSSESSION

Janet Hosmer made no effort to guess what her fiance would say when next he called, or to prepare a defense of explanations and excuses. She was not that kind. What was necessary to be stated at the proper time would arise to her lips. Nevertheless she had a heaviness of heart, a natural distress as to the unpleasantness in prospect; and had only the slightest hope that Ed would ignore or refuse to hear Burkhardt's story. The man would tell her lover, of that she might rest assured, out of hatred for the engineer if for no other reason.

She knew how passionately Ed was set against Steele Weir, for a score of times she had heard his incensed opinions, increasing lately to tirades. It had seemed strange at first that one could be so bitter over a simple difference like that of who should work at the dam. But ever since Weir had uttered his hoarse exclamation regarding her engagement, words so full of protest and amazed indignation, she was aware the cause went deeper.

At that moved ejaculation of her companion that night something, too, had settled on her heart like a weight—an indefinable foreboding. The anxiety aroused about Ed's father and his integrity came to include Ed likewise. Loyalty of course required that she accept the man she had promised to marry, without reservations. As between him and others there should be but one choice. But did she really know him? Was he simply the open, jolly, generous, upright adoring fellow he appeared? Or were there less pleasant, more ignoble sides to his character? Was he, as well as his father, capable of a mean, unworthy, selfish persecution of another?

The engineer had made no open accusation against him—or against any one, for that matter. She had done her best to get him to express himself, but he had refused. Enemies he might have, but he would not discuss the fact beyond admitting it was true. Only at moments when his restraint slipped could she measure his feelings. Quite different that from Ed Sorenson's voluble, heated denunciations of the other. Yet, heavens, how appalled this reserved man had been at hearing of her engagement! Far more than words, far more than any open charge, did his face and incredulity, both so patently sincere, bespeak the mistake she was making and justify gnawing doubts of her lover.

As she approached her home Ed Sorenson came dashing out to spring into his runabout waiting before the gate. At sight of her he pulled up short.

"Ah, here you are," he said.

"Yes, here I am," was her reply.

"You doubtless know what I've been told," he stated, significantly.

"No, I don't. I can only suspect."

"Is it true you've been meeting this man Weir on the quiet? Meeting him while engaged to me? You know what I think of him, and what every other respectable person thinks of him."

"Was that Mr. Burkhardt's report? That I am meeting Mr. Weir on the quiet, to use your words?" she countered.

Sorenson made an angry gesture at what he considered an evasion.

"Janet, listen. He said he saw you at the edge of town, that you were both bare-headed, standing close together, arms locked. Good heavens, can't you imagine my feelings on hearing what he had to say! He stopped me on the street and drew me aside to put me on my guard, he said. Burkhardt wouldn't just make up a yarn like that against you, and he's a good friend of mine. He didn't say half what he suggested."

The girl turned her face towards the house, shut her eyes for an instant. She could picture the rider's brutal leering face and unspoken insinuations; and her brain also placed in the scene her lover greedily if angrily drinking in the tale. Harkening to it instead of knocking the man down, that was the worst of it. Harkening—and believing.

"I'll not deign to resent your remark of meeting Mr. Weir 'on the quiet'," said she, quietly. "I met him on the road accidentally."

"Don't you think I'm entitled to know something about it?" he asked, with an edged tone.

"What is it you desire to know?"

Nearly an oath of wrath escaped his mouth, but he kept his control.

"Janet, you know what kind of a man he is," he said. "You know what I feel against him, and father, and all our friends, and the town. And the whole town, too, will probably hear of this, with a lot of gossip added that isn't true."

"But I met him accidentally."

"You didn't have to chat with him like an old friend."

Janet Hosmer gave him a slow, meditative look.

"How do you know how I talked with him?"

"You talked with him. That in itself was too much."

"I don't view it in that light," she responded. "He was perfectly civil. Whatever public opinion may be regarding the shooting, I know he killed the man in self-defence. So that's nothing against him. You would have done the same in his place."

Ed Sorenson leaned towards her.

"You were mistaken, Janet. I've said before that I feared you were, but the prosecuting attorney has witnesses to the gun-play that he's dug up. Martinez saw nothing; how could he from inside the office? And remember that you're only a girl, Janet; in the darkness and with the excitement you were confused. I haven't a doubt this scoundrel Weir made you believe you saw what never occurred, when you appeared in Martinez' office. When you've thought it over, you'll realize that yourself. These new witnesses tell just the reverse of what you fancied happened. I'm going to see that you're away from San Mateo when the man's tried, as he will be."

No reply coming from her, he continued:

"He deceived you then and he'll endeavor to poison your mind right along. You're too trustful. Now, I was angry at first, but if there was anything in this meeting to-night that was out of the way, it was his doing, I know. If he got familiar with you, as Burkhardt hinted——"

"Well?"

"I'll kill the dog with my own hands!"

"You may rest easy. His conduct was irreproachable, Mr. Burkhardt to the contrary."

Sorenson regarded her in perplexity, divided between anger and doubts. Too, a new feeling unaccountably sprang into his breast—jealousy. In the end apprehension all at once filled his mind, darkening his face and bringing down his brows.

Uneasy as at first he had been after the row in the restaurant, he had eventually dismissed the matter from his mind, for no rumor of it had reached San Mateo. Neither Weir nor Johnson, the girl's father, had blabbed of it, so his alarm passed; they didn't want to talk of it for the girl's sake, any more than he wished it known, was his grinning conclusion. The deuce would have been to pay if Janet had got wind of the business. But now his fears came winging back a hundred-fold as he stared at her.

"What did he say to you?" he asked, in a tense voice.

"Not that tone with me, if you please."

Sorenson, however, was past observation of her mood or temper.

"He told you a lot of lies about me, didn't he?" he went on, not hiding the sneer. "And you believed them."

"He didn't say much, but what he did say was to the point. I don't recall that there were any lies."

"There were, of course. It would be just his chance to give you his made-up story about me and that Johnson girl. That was what so interested you."

"No, he didn't say anything about you and any girl except me. Then he only said he was sorry he couldn't have the pleasure of my friendship——"

"Ay-ee," the other grated. His lips worked above his teeth.

A shudder passed over Janet Hosmer's skin at the sound and the sight, for she had never seen him like this. A cold hand might have been closing about her heart: his glare was animal-like and bestial. His nature at the instant stood unclothed.

"And he said he would be at pains to avoid even chance meetings with me, because it would make talk and cause me annoyance."

"He'll not meet you another time if I have anything to say about it."

"I see. But I wanted you to understand that he told me no lies, nor repeated any story—about you and a Johnson girl, I think you said."

A visible breath of relief lifted his breast. He now would have been glad for some one to boot him along the street for ever mentioning the thing. He almost had put his foot in it. Apparently she was not interested in seeking further knowledge of the subject that he so ill-advisedly had brought up. Lucky for him she hadn't the inquisitiveness of some girls.

The narrow escape restored a trace of his good humor, and he was shrewd enough to divert her mind before the incident made an impression. He reached out and patted her shoulder.

"Don't think me a scold, darling," said he. "Burkhardt upset me with his news, that was all. He hates that gun-man so much that it's no wonder he was angry at seeing him hoodwink you. He probably imagined a lot. Just don't speak to Weir if he tries to stop you again. And pretty soon we'll have him where he won't interfere with anybody."

"When will that be?"

"The county attorney's still collecting evidence. Nothing will be done before the grand jury meets, which is in a couple of weeks. You must arrange to go off on a visit about that time."

"Why?"

"So you won't have to go through the ordeal of appearing in court. There are ways of fixing such things." He laughed softly. "Especially here in San Mateo County. It's too rotten a business for you to have to step into, this murder. Come along down to the drug store and have some ice cream."

"Not to-night. I'm feeling a little tired."

"Then let us rest on your porch. I haven't seen you twice in the last week."

"Some other evening, Ed. I promised father to help get up his account books."

"You're not angry with me?" he asked. "If you're not, give me a kiss before I go."

A sharp smile showed on her lips.

"I'm not angry, but I'm going to penalize you to that extent. If you must have a cheek to press, go kiss——" She paused, while the conviction darted into his mind that she had remembered that Johnson girl blunder after all, then said: "Mr. Burkhardt's cheek."

Again relief swept him.

"Come, be kind, Janet," he began. But she was already through the gate and skipping up the walk, vanishing in the gloom of the veranda. The screen door clapped shut. "Peeved, all right. I'll have to be extra-nice to her for a day or so until she calms down," he murmured to himself. "Must send her a box of chocolates and some magazines to-morrow to show my contrite heart; that always gets 'em. Hang it, it's time to fix a day, too. We've been engaged long enough. She sure has a figure and face—a beaut! I guess she didn't smell the booze on my breath. Got to be careful about that till we're married." He jumped into his car.

The screen door had clapped shut, but Janet had not entered. She had employed the artifice to convey the impression it had. She did not wish to go in to her work just yet, for calm as she had appeared during the interview her emotions were running full tide. Love Ed Sorenson? Marry him? She groped for and dropped into a wicker chair, her head sinking in shame and self-abasement. Never—never!

And before her mind swam another face, a face with the hair ruffled about the brow, clear of eyes and strong-lined, as she had beheld it in the moonlight of the road.

All at once she tugged at a finger, fiercely pulling off the engagement ring. She rubbed her cheek as well, with an angry hand, for the memory of kisses was burning her as by fire.

Then she sat quite motionless for a long time.

"I'll just ask father," she exclaimed. "There can't be more than a dozen Johnsons around here."

Which would have given Ed Sorenson a fresh jolt in his breathing apparatus if he had overheard, and shriveled the cocky self-assurance with which he sipped a high-ball that moment at Vorse's bar.



CHAPTER XI

JANET AND MARY

In a region as sparsely settled by white people as San Mateo and its adjoining counties there were not, as Janet put it, more than a dozen Johnson families. In fact, there were but two, she learned from her father: one at Bowenville, the small railroad town of three hundred people, a merchant with a wife and four little children; the other a rancher on Terry Creek, whose wife was dead and who had one child, a girl of sixteen or seventeen years of age.

"I may be away at dinner time, so don't wait for me," she told her father next morning. "I'm going out in the country a few miles—and you know my car! If you'd just let me squeeze some of these patients who never pay, you could have a new car yourself."

"Mine's all right," he smiled.

"But mine isn't. Look at it. You gave it to me only because you scorned to ride in it any longer yourself. It would do for me, you said, but you prance around in a bright shiny one yourself. I blush at the row mine makes; sounds like a boiler factory; I drive only along side streets. If the patients would pay what they owe, I could ride like a lady instead of a slinking magpie."

The doctor leaned back in his chair and laughed (they were at breakfast) and remarked that old friends were best.

"Don't call my asthmatic tin beast a friend; we're bitter enemies," said she.

It carried her to Terry Creek about noon, however, safely enough, whither she went with a firm resolution that crushed a certain embarrassment and anxiety. Suppose these people resented her inquiries.

She placed the bearded, tanned rancher at once, when she saw him working on a piece of harness before the door as she drove up. She had seen him in town at different times. She once had stopped here, too, several years previous when accompanying her father, who had been called to dress the rancher's injured hand. The girl could not have been over twelve or thirteen then, a shabby, awkward girl wearing a braid who came out to gaze shyly at her sitting in the car.

Johnson arose from the ground and approached as she alighted, while the girl's head popped into sight at the door.

"I'm Dr. Hosmer's daughter, Janet," she stated, putting out her hand and smiling. "I've come to see you on a matter. Shall we go into the house?"

With curiosity sharing a vague hostility in his bearing he led her in, where his daughter was setting the table. Janet also told the girl who she was. At once dismay and startlement greeted the announcement. But she invited Janet to be seated, she herself withdrawing to a spot by the stove.

No need for Janet to beat about the bush with her errand.

"Mr. Johnson," she said, "I've come to you and your daughter for a little help if you can give it." That seemed the best way to break down their reserve, an appeal rather than simply blunt questions—and what was it if not an appeal? "What I have to say is just among the three of us and I know it will go no farther. You're acquainted with my father; he's respected by every one."

"He is," Johnson stated, nodding.

"The situation is this, to speak plainly: last night I heard something that has caused me to come to you for information; I'm engaged to Ed Sorenson, and in a moment of anger he denounced Mr. Weir, the engineer at the dam, for having told me a false story—lies—about him and your daughter."

Janet perceived the quick, troubled look exchanged by man and girl.

"Mr. Weir has never mentioned your daughter's name in my hearing; I think him incapable of discussing any one maliciously. He's very careful of what he says. I consider him a very honorable man. At any rate, he said nothing of what Ed Sorenson suggested, and if the latter himself hadn't spoken of the thing I should have had no inkling that there had been anything justifying an inquiry on my part. There may not be. But why should he imagine Mr. Weir had told me 'lies' linking him and your daughter?"

"I know Weir—and I know Ed Sorenson, too," was the rancher's grim rejoinder.

"This is a disagreeable subject, I know. But I'm not here out of mere curiosity, but a desire to learn if something has been concealed from me by Ed Sorenson that I should be informed of. His manner, his words, the whole incident has filled me with doubts. See, I'm trusting you absolutely." And she extended a hand in a gesture bespeaking sincerity.

Johnson peered at her in silence from under shaggy brows.

"I ask myself why Mr. Sorenson took it for granted that the engineer had been telling me false stories and if there was any ground for such fears," she went on. "He had nothing to be afraid of, no matter what might be said, if he had done nothing unworthy. I can't imagine Mr. Weir, for instance, being alarmed in that way."

"They're telling plenty of lies about him, for that matter, but I guess it doesn't worry him any," Johnson said.

"What I ask you touches a delicate subject, perhaps," Janet continued, reluctantly. "You may feel that I'm pushing in where I'm not concerned. But if Mr. Sorenson has done anything discreditable—if he has acted in a way to make me ashamed when I know, then it becomes a matter affecting my happiness too. I would never marry a man who had done something dishonorable, for if I did so knowingly I should be dishonored and dishonorable as well."

Johnson suddenly thrust a brown forefinger at her.

"Do you want to know what Sorenson did?" he demanded, wrathfully.

Janet gripped her hands together. "Yes."

"You'll not go spreading it all around the country? But I guess you won't as long as it would make you out a fool too. I'll not have Mary's name dragged about in a lot of gossip."

"I assure you I shall remain silent, for her sake and my own."

"All right, I'll tell you. You're too good a girl—any decent girl is—to marry Ed Sorenson. He met Mary at a dance last spring in town where she went with some friends of ours, and made love to her but wouldn't let her tell me or any one. We don't get to town so very often; she never knew he was engaged to marry you, there never happening to be any mention of it to her. Then he got her to go to Bowenville one day awhile ago, under promise to marry her there—Mary is only sixteen, a little girl yet. To me, anyway."

Janet felt the working of his love in those simple words. Felt it but half-consciously, though, for her own soul was stifling at Ed Sorenson's revealed infamy.

"When he got her there, he told her they would have to go away farther to be married—to Los Angeles." Again his finger came up, this time to be shaken at her like a hammer. "He never intended to marry her; he planned to get her there, ruin her, and cast her off. That's the sort of man you're going to marry!"

"I remember he expected to be away for a couple of weeks—a business trip, he said. But afterwards he explained that it hadn't been necessary to go."

"A business trip! Yes, the dirty kind of business he likes. And if it hadn't been that Weir heard him explaining to Mary that she must go on and interfered—there in the restaurant—Ed Sorenson might have succeeded. Mary trusted him, thought he was straight. But he's crooked, crooked as his old man. When Weir told him to his face what he thought of his tricks, he let it out he was engaged to you. Didn't mean to, of course. Weir said he would stay right with them and see that they got married next day before a minister, then Sorenson snapped out he was to marry you. That opened Mary's eyes, that and his refusing to go before a preacher as the engineer demanded. So Weir brought her home to me.

"And that isn't all I know," he snarled. "Mexicans and cowboys and others have talked—women don't hear these things—how he's had to pay Mexicans hush-money for girls of theirs he's wronged. But what do people care? He's rich, he's old man Sorenson's boy; everything's kept quiet; and he goes around as big as life." With a muttered oath he turned away, his lips shut hard and his beard sticking out savagely.

He came back to her again.

"The young one gets it from the old one," he exclaimed. "Bad crooked blood in both of them. I know. I've been here ever since I was a boy and remember things Sorenson believes every one has forgotten, I know how he got his start, how he and the rest of his bunch cleaned out Dent of his ranch and cattle gambling and then killed him when he discovered they had used marked cards, how at the same time they robbed another man——"

Janet struggled to her feet. She had covered her eyes and bowed her head before the torrent of his vehemence.

"No more, I want to hear no more," she gasped. "Let me go home. I'm sick."

"It all makes me sick, too," he answered. "Sick and sore, both. But it's the truth. I'm sorry if it's been a bad pill to swallow, but it's the God's truth, girl. I'm sorry it couldn't be any other way, but I wouldn't see you marry that scoundrel if I lost a hand stopping you. Mary felt sick at first, too; she's over it now. You'll not feel bad long. Better stay for dinner with us."

"I couldn't swallow a bite. Thank you for your kindness in asking me—and for telling me what I wanted to know, too. Father never knew, or he would have warned me. People saw I was engaged to Ed Sorenson and would say nothing to father, of course. I shall always count you as one of my best friends, Mr. Johnson. And you too, Mary; you must come down and stay with me sometime, for I imagine you get lonely here. No, another day I'll remain to dinner—and I want to be alone now."

They pressed her no further, seeing her wretchedness of spirit. But they walked with her to the car and shook hands with her when she was in and urged her to come again.

When she had disappeared in the aspens among which the trail led, Mary said to her father:

"You said they killed a man named Dent."

"They did. I saw the killing."

"And nothing was ever done about it?"

"No. Nobody but me knew of the happening and I'd of had a bullet through my heart if I'd talked. I might yet even now, so see that you keep your mouth shut."

"You told her."

"I was mad, so mad I could say anything. But she isn't the kind to repeat the story; I'm not afraid on that score. She's clean strain all through."

"Did you know the man whom Sorenson and the others killed?" Mary questioned, in some awe.

"I knew of him, but I was only a lad then. I saw it all through the back door of Vorse's saloon where it happened, but I've never breathed about it to a soul. I didn't want to be murdered some dark night. Those four men would see that the job was done quick even now, I'm saying, if they were on to the fact. I know 'em, if nobody else does."

Mary's skin crawled with prickles of fear.

"They must be awful bad."

"They were devils then, and I don't think they've changed to angels to-day, though they try to appear decent. I know 'em; I know what they'll do once they start. You can't make sheep out of wolves just by giving 'em a fleece."

"You said they robbed another man at the same time they killed that Dent."

"Yes; and it only goes to show the hellish crooks they are. It was another man in the saloon. He was drunk. They made him believe he had killed Dent. Then said they'd help him to get away if he gave them his property. He was a rich fellow who had come out from the east and gone to ranching, a tenderfoot. They took his stuff and he skipped the country with his wife. That was the last of him, and I reckon he believes to this day that he's a murderer. And that's how they got the start of their wealth, or a big part of it, Sorenson and Vorse and the other two. They've got the San Mateo Cattle Company, with fifty thousand head of steers, and ten or twenty bands of sheeps and ranches, and the bank, and all the rest, and they walk around like honest men. But they're thieves and murderers, Mary, thieves and murderers! I'd rather be the man I am, poor and with nothing but this little mortgaged piece of ground and my few cattle, than them, who robbed Dent and killed him and then robbed and drove out Weir."

"Was that the other man's name?"

"Yes."

"That's funny. The same as the man who brought me home."

"There are lots of Weirs, like the Johnsons."

"Not so many, I guess. Maybe they're related. Did the man who skipped have any children?"

"No. None I ever heard of, though I didn't know much about him. Just him and his wife, I think."

Johnson had perceived no resemblance between the engineer and the vanished man of whom he spoke. As for that, however, he had no clear recollection of the elder Weir's face; he was but twelve years old at the time of the dramatic event, thirty years before.

"Now, come along and eat," he said. "And remember! Not a word of this to a soul."

Meanwhile Janet Hosmer was driving slowly down the canyon, oblivious that opportunity to unlock the whole mystery had been hers, never dreaming that she had just missed by the slenderest margin what Steele Weir would have given the world to know.

For an instant Fate had placed the key in her hand. She knew it not; it was withdrawn again and the door remained closed and locked while the threads of Destiny continued to be spun.



CHAPTER XII

THE PLOT

In Vorse's saloon, where in the past so many evil ideas for the acquisition of money or power had sprouted, the scheme had its inception. It had been of slow growth, with innumerable suggestions considered, tested, discarded. The intended arrest and trial of Weir had been the first aim; but this had expanded until at last the plot had become of really magnificent proportions, cunning yet daring, devilish enough even to satisfy the hate and greed of its originators, consummate in design, absolutely safe and conclusive.

It was Sorenson who conceived the notion of pulling the irrigation project down in ruins at the moment of Weir's own fall. Judge Gordon a few days later had pieced out the method, which was either to corrupt the workmen to wreck dam and camp or to place them in the equivocal position of having done so apparently though others did it in fact. Vorse and Burkhardt devised the details. Weir should be left free until the blow had fallen on the camp, whereupon he should be immediately clapped into jail on the murder charge, which, coming on top of the "riot," would paralyze all company action and work. From such a crushing double-blow no concern could quickly recover, if indeed the loss did not result in total cessation of construction.

Thus shedding their coats of expedient lawfulness, they reverted under the menace of Steele Weir's presence to the men they were in an earlier age—an age when a few white land and cattle "barons" dominated the region, predatory, arrogant, masterful and despotic; the age just ceasing when the elder Weir and Dent arrived; the age of their youth forty years before, the age when railroads and telegraphs and law were remote, and chicanery and force were the common agents, and "guns" the final arbiters.

To them Weir was like a reincarnated spirit of that age. He guessed if he did not know their past. He had appeared in order to challenge their supremacy, end their rule, avenge his father's dispossession at their hands. He instinctively and by nature was an enemy; he would have been their enemy in any other place and under any other circumstances. He was a head-hunter, and in turn was to be hunted down. He was the kind who neither made compromises nor asked quarter. He veiled his purposes in as great secrecy as did they, and when he struck it would be suddenly, fiercely, mercilessly—if he struck. They were determined he should not strike, being himself first surprised and crushed, for though in ignorance of what he could bring against them their fears were real. Everything, indeed, about the man antagonized them, alarmed them, stirred their hate and filmed their eyes with blood. He must be destroyed.

"And with him the dam," Sorenson had said. "Both together." For there was no effort to conceal among themselves their savage intention.

"He'll never come to trial," Vorse remarked, with a malignant gleam in his blue eyes and a shutting of his thin lips. "An attempted jail delivery by 'friends' will fix that. All they will have to do then is to buy him a pine box."

"If the man had but stayed away!" Judge Gordon exclaimed. Cunning, not force, was his forte; and the measures in prospect at times had oppressed him with dreadful forebodings. He was growing old, feeble, and here when he was entitled to peace he still had to fight for his own.

In accordance with the scheme Burkhardt vanished from San Mateo for a time, ostensibly on business but in fact on a journey across the Mexican line, where he conducted negotiations with a certain "revolucionista" of no particular notoriety as yet, of avaricious character, unscrupulous nature, and with a small following of fellow bandits and a large animosity for Americans. His ambition was to emulate the brilliant Villa. But pickings had been poor of late, no more than that of stealing a few horses from across the border. To Burkhardt, who had heard of him and sought him out, he listened with interest and bargained with zest. Five thousand in gold for fifty men was like pearls from Paradise. And whatever this Yankee's own private purpose, it was a chance for the chieftain to strike secretly and safely at Americans, in addition.

"They will come through in squads after they've slipped across the line," Burkhardt reported. "They're to pose as laborers."

"When?" Sorenson asked.

"Along next week. They're to drop off down along the railroad at different towns and I'll run them up into the mountains with some grub. Then we'll assemble them quietly a couple miles off from the dam, where they'll be handy on the chosen night. Afterwards we'll slip them back to the railroad, and they fade into Mexico. Weir's workmen will be drunk and rowing—and will have done the job, eh?" Burkhardt shook with suppressed, evil laughter.

"If they're drunk, they may join in and help," Judge Gordon stated, acutely. "A mob full of whiskey will do anything. If they did take a hand, it would round out the case against them perfectly. Very likely next day they, too, would fade, as you put it, Burkhardt; they would want to get out of this part of country as quickly as possible when they realized what had happened. I see no flaw in our plan. Fortunately the three directors who are coming will be gone by the end of next week."

"What's that? What directors?" Burkhardt asked.

"They're to be here on an inspection trip, so they wrote, and will be pleased to hear our complaints in regard to the question of workmen." Gordon's tone was ironical. "I wrote them protesting Weir's discharge of our people, you remember, but that was some time ago."

"What's the use of paying attention to the fools now?"

"We must carry out the farce, Burkhardt, for the sake of appearances."

"I'd like to blow them up along with their dam!" was the scowling rejoinder, "Well, let 'em inspect. Next time they come back there won't be any."

"I believe we should arrest Weir before the thing's pulled off," Gordon said, meditatively. "It would be surer."

Sorenson set his heavy jaw.

"No. I want him to see the wreck; I want him to know just what's happened before he's haled away; I want him feeling good and sick already when he gets the next jolt."

"Sure. It's him or us, as I've said from the first; and I've always believed in making a clean sweep," Vorse remarked. "We have the right line this time. First, make his men drunk and sore; then smash the works; then arrest him quick; and last finish him off with a bullet during a pretended jail delivery."

"There will be elements of danger in the last," Judge Gordon stated, cautiously.

Vorse smiled and Burkhardt grinned.

"Not so you'll notice it," said the latter. "The town won't know anything about it until afterwards. Just a few good men at night, masked and working fast, and the thing is done."

"I'll not feel easy till it's over."

"Keep up your nerve, Judge," Burkhardt grunted. "You used to be as lively as anybody when you were young."

"I know, I know. But this Weir isn't going to stand idle. If he ever gets a chance with his gun——"

"He won't get it," said Vorse.

"And he'll not resist the sheriff when Madden arrests him legally," Sorenson added. "Nothing could be better for us than if he did. He knows that."

"Still I'll be glad when next week is past," the Judge replied, with a sigh.



CHAPTER XIII

THE CURRENT OF EVENTS

Though outwardly the world's face was as calm as ever, though peace seemed to bask on San Mateo and the broad mesa and lofty mountain range, events were rapidly shaping themselves to bring a thunder crash of contending forces. Not Weir, not even the little evil cabal plotting so desperately against him, guessed the scope and power of the passions to be released.

As a vital impulse towards the climax, though an unconscious one on her part so far as the general play of circumstance was concerned, Janet Hosmer informed Ed Sorenson of her determination to break their engagement. This was the same evening she returned from the Johnson ranch, when he called at her telephoned request. He went to her home under the impression that his box of candy and bundle of new magazines had restored him to favor. He was very jaunty, in fact, and bent on persuading her to name an early day for their nuptials.

Imagine his wrath when she explained that she wished to say that she could not marry him, at the same time handing him his ring and the other trinkets he had bestowed upon her.

"Is it because of our little spat last night about the engineer?" he demanded. "I apologized, Janet. I'm sorry still, and I love you above everything else."

"I think not," said she.

"But I do, Janet. Above everything."

"No, not above yourself and your vices. You deceived me for a long time, but now I know the truth. You aroused my suspicions when you mentioned a Johnson girl; there's only one Johnson girl hereabouts, as I learned; and this noon I visited her and her father. They informed me fully about your conduct towards Mary at Bowenville and your promises to marry her—that, when you were engaged to me. There are other things I heard to-day. Of affairs with Mexican girls that are shameful."

"Lies, lies!" was the passionate disclaimer. "Or if I have been flirting a little, and never since my engagement, it's no more than any fellow does."

"You can neither excuse nor justify your words and actions towards Mary Johnson not a month ago."

"They're liars, I tell you."

"Will you confront them and say that?"

Taken by surprise Sorenson hesitated, flushed, and then made a gesture of disdain.

"I'll not, because I'll not condescend to answer such baseless charges," he stated. "I thought you had sense enough not to believe every little thing you hear. Certainly I expect you not to believe this, and I know you won't on consideration. Then we'll be married. I came here to-night to urge you to marry me soon."

"I'll never marry you, and we're no longer engaged. You've acted faithlessly and dishonorably. You're not the decent man I thought you were."

"Don't you still love me, Janet?"

"No. I don't think I ever loved you; I was loving a man who didn't exist, an illusion I imagined to be Ed Sorenson, not your real self. If I loved at all, which I now doubt! And you never loved me, though you may think you did and still do. But it's not so; for no man who really loved a respectable girl could at the same time do what you did. Think of it! While pretending to love me, you were secretly trying to inveigle that poor ignorant girl away from home. You're not a man; you're a beast. The shame and disgust and humiliation I suffer at the thought of my position during that time, your effort to hoodwink both Mary Johnson and me, so fills me with anger I can't talk to you. Go, go! And please don't even speak to me hereafter, on the street or anywhere else."

Instead of departing the man grasped her wrist and gave her a venomous look.

"It was this sneak of an engineer, after all, who told you this lie and turned you against me," he snarled.

"Let me go. Mr. Weir said nothing. It was you yourself who betrayed yourself, or I should not have known as I do, thank heavens. Stop holding my wrist!"

For an instant Sorenson wavered between whether he should obey her command or strike her as his rage prompted. A very devil of passion beating in his breast urged him to show her her place, deal with her as he would like to do and as she deserved—throw her down and drag her by the hair until she crawled forward and clasped his knees in subjection. But the look in her eyes cooled this half-insane, whiskey-inspired desire.

He took his hand off her wrist, picked up his hat.

"You can't throw me down this way," he sneered. "You're going to marry me just the same, whether you think so or not. I have a voice in this engagement, and you can't break your word and promise to me because it happens to strike your fancy. Not for a single minute!"

"If you were a gentleman and a decent man you wouldn't say that."

"I'm not either, by your judgment, so I do say it. I say it again: you're going to marry me, willingly or unwillingly. Now if after thinking it over, you want to forget all this and go on as before, all right. If not, our engagement still holds just the same. You may release me, but I haven't released you. Remember that. And keep away from that engineer if you know what's best for you!"

With a scowl he stalked out of the house, leaving a very angry, very tremulous and very heart-sick girl. The fellow was in truth not a man, she perceived, but a creature so conscienceless and loathsome that she seemed contaminated through and through by his touch, his words, and their previous relations. How grossly he had deceived her as to his real character! What a horrible future as his wife she had escaped! Nor was she yet free, for he promised to make an infinity of trouble.

That day she could do nothing. Her father noting her face asked what was the trouble, and she told him the whole affair.

"I've heard rumors of late about him and was worried," he said. "You did the only thing, of course. Pay no attention to his words; I'll see he doesn't annoy you."

It was three or four days afterwards that she called Weir up at the dam in a desire to hear the voice of a man she knew to be straight and upright.

"I've wondered if a girl is allowed to look at your dam," she said on impulse, when they had chatted for a moment. "Father, who was at your camp to attend an injured man, says you're making famous progress."

"I'd be more than delighted to show you the work. But—I wonder——"

"Don't let what people say disturb you," she replied quickly, divining his thought. "I've arranged all that." A somewhat obscure remark to Weir.

"Then come any time—and often. I hope to be able to conduct you around, the first visit at least. Next week I may not be able to do so as a committee of directors arrive who'll take my time."

"Oh, indeed," Janet answered, politely.

"A manager has to be directed occasionally, or he may run wild," she heard, with his laugh.

"I'll come before they do," she said.

Quite as she had announced she did run up to the canyon and go with Weir over the hillsides and dam, asking questions and displaying a great interest in the men and the operation of the machinery. The concrete work was nearing an end. Already tracks were laid for the dump trams that were to carry dirt from steam-shovels to the dam to form its main body.

She perceived the immense labor of the project and the coordinated effort required. The necessity in itself of dragging hither from Bowenville all of the supplies, the material, the huge machines, was overwhelming. The responsibility of combining scientific knowledge and raw industry to an exact result struck her as prodigious. The handling of hundreds of subordinate workmen and assistants of various grades and skill demanded exceptional ability, understanding, will and generalship. Yet these things the man at her side, Steele Weir, accomplished and supplied; and appeared quite calm and unmoved about it, as if it was all a matter of course.

She glanced at the ground, flushing. The thought of Ed Sorenson, making only a pretense of doing anything useful and because his father was rich doing nothing in reality but waste himself in vicious practices, was in her mind. What must have the engineer believed of her all this while when he knew Sorenson's true nature and infamous record? Did he suppose her a light-headed feather, indifferent to everything except that her husband should be rich? Very likely. There were plenty of girls of that type. He naturally would suppose her one.

And she could say nothing to put herself in a better light and to gain his respect—for that she now desired greatly. She saw him as he was, a big man, a strong man, a man whose respect was to be prized. Beside him she felt herself small and ordinary. That was all right, but she was determined he should not believe her insignificant, shallow, unworthy, mercenary.

While she could not explain matters openly without shaming herself and still lowering herself in his estimation, he being only an acquaintance, yet there were ways of getting at the end. Janet could act adroitly, like most women, when it best served the purpose.

"Do you know, I just learned from friends of yours on Terry Creek that you're a public benefactor as well as an engineer," she stated, when they paused on the hillside for a last look at the dam.

"I?" he exclaimed.

His eyes came around and found hers fixed on him.

"I happened to stop at the Johnson ranch. They didn't say so, but I know they would be pleased to death if you would go to dinner there some day. They have some fine fat chickens, if you like chicken fried or baked, and they hesitate to ask you only because they're afraid you'll refuse."

"Fried chicken is my weakness. Of course I'll go; at the first spare chance."

But all the while Steele Weir's mind was eddying with wonderment. He had colored at mention of the Johnson ranch, as if he had been caught with a hand in a jam pot. And it meant only one thing: she knew of the Bowenville episode. Involuntarily his eyes flashed to her left hand with which she was brushing back the hair under her hat brim. There was no diamond solitaire on its third finger. Surely, something had happened.

"Well, I must be returning home. I just thought I'd give you a tiny hint," said she. An odd smile rested on her lips as she spoke, for hints may carry multiple suggestions.

"By Jove!" Weir said suddenly.

Man of action though she knew him to be, she never anticipated he would or could act so directly. He reached out and seized her left hand and scanned it significantly. Then he raised his eyes.

"What does this mean?" he asked, tapping the finger with one of his own. "Does this mean——"

It was Janet's turn to become scarlet. She tried to smile again, but it was a wavering smile that appeared.

"What does what mean?" she fenced.

"That—well, that the ring is off permanently?"

"Oh, yes."

"And that there's now a chance for me?"

Janet's eyes at that popped open very wide indeed. Meanwhile Weir still held to the palm resting in his own.

"You?" she breathed, faintly.

"Me, yes."

Presently with a gentle movement she drew her hand free. She had been quite dumbfounded, but not so dumbfounded that she did not realize that this new situation had requirements of its own. He appeared absolutely sincere and resolute.

"But I never dreamed of such a thing!" she stammered.

"Nor I—because until now I hadn't the right. All I ask is that you give me your friendship—and a chance—and—well, we'll see."

"There's no reason why we shouldn't be friends," said she. "We are already, aren't we?"

"Yes—now. I never actually thought so before."

"Things have changed," she stated. And her lips closed with a firm pressure as she spoke. "Or I shouldn't have been here inspecting the dam, should I?" Again the smile flashed upon her face. "You may consider this a preliminary inspection to that of your high and mighty directors, and I assure you my verdict—is that the word?—is favorable. Now I must be going to the car. Father likes his meals on time."

"And when shall I see you again?"

The note of eagerness in his voice set her heart moving a bit faster. If he carried on his engineering work as he did his friendship, no wonder he got things done.

"Why, when you wish to call, Mr. Weir. Both father and I shall be pleased to have you come any time."

"I'll certainly avail myself of the privilege," said he. "You must really go now?"

With a feeling of exaltation at this new turn of affairs he watched her drive away from camp, a feeling that persisted during the succeeding days.

The three directors arrived. That was Thursday evening; and Friday and Saturday were devoted to a discussion of construction plans, inspection of the works, analysis of costs and so on. Weir found the men what he expected: quick to comprehend facts, incisive of mind, and though of course not engineers yet able to measure results; while they on their part were appreciative of the exceptional progress made and of his thorough command of the project. They knew the first hour that the right manager was in charge at last.

Saturday afternoon Sorenson and Judge Gordon called at headquarters, by appointment, to discuss the grievance held locally against the company. Weir was present at the meeting.

"As to whether the Mexican workmen who were discharged were actually giving a full return in work for the wages, as you maintain, gentlemen," said Mr. Pollock, one of the directors and a corporation lawyer from New York, in reply to the visitors' statement, "that is a question not of opinion but of fact."

"Fact, yes," Judge Gordon argued. "Fact supported by the evidence of the three hundred workmen against that of a single man, your manager, who had just come."

"Are not your three hundred men prejudiced witnesses?" the New Yorker inquired, a slight smile upon his thin face.

"No more than is Mr. Weir."

"But Mr. Weir is the manager and consequently has the power of decision in such matters."

"Not to the extent of revoking unfairly your promise, given orally, to be sure, but still given, to employ local labor." Sorenson was the speaker and his heavy face wore an expression of ill-disguised contempt.

"Agreed. Local labor was to be hired," said Pollock. "But our company isn't a philanthropic institution; it's run on strictly business principles. Any agreement we made implied that local workmen should give exactly what other workmen would give in work."

"They did so," Judge Gordon affirmed.

"There was no trouble until this man came," Sorenson remarked. "I suppose he felt that he had to show his authority."

"Ah, but there was if not trouble at any rate dissatisfaction on our part," Pollock stated, tapping a finger on the table. "Construction wasn't progressing as we knew it should, which was the very reason for getting a new manager, one who could speed it up. But as I said, it all comes down to a question of fact. You gentlemen offer your workmen's avowals of industry to support your claim; Mr. Weir, on the other hand, gives us some definite records to back up his side. Here they are for the last week the workmen from San Mateo and neighborhood worked—his first week here; and for the succeeding weeks under the men shipped in; in material used, in cubic yards of concrete construction, and in percentage of work finished. Examine them if you please. They show daily and weekly results to be just a trifle less than double for the corresponding time the imported workmen have been here. In other words, the new men have, while shortening the time of completion, given twice as much work for exactly the same wage paid your Mexicans. In other words, too, your local laborers cancelled our agreement by their own incompetence."

"Your manager could easily have doctored those records," Sorenson stated, coldly.

"You scarcely mean that, sir," Pollock instantly replied icily, his amiability vanishing.

"Come, Judge, we may as well go, I think. We're appealing to a prejudiced court." And Sorenson arose.

"Our decision to view the matter like Mr. Weir is because his position is sustained by these facts, not because we're prejudiced, as you insinuate. But I may add that it would not be strange if we were prejudiced, as we've become convinced that you gentlemen haven't been sincere in your attitude towards our company and if anything are strongly hostile. Any one may be deceived for a time, and we were, but not permanently. You would have done much better to have recognized that we have a perfect right to build this project on land that we bought and with water that we acquired. For it will be built in any case and in spite of such local opposition as may be made." Pollock flicked the ash from his cigar with a careful finger. "That is a mere piece of information or a declaration of war, whichever way you wish to take it."

"I told you we were wasting our time coming here," the cattleman said to his companion.

"Good day, gentlemen," said Judge Gordon, politely.

And the pair went out to Sorenson's machine.

Shortly after, the two other directors left to catch a train at Bowenville, Pollock planning to stay with Weir to formulate a report during the next day or two for presentation to the entire directorate at its next meeting. Sorenson caught a glimpse of the car whirling through town, with Weir at the wheel, who with Pollock accompanied the departing men that certain unsettled points might be discussed up to the last moment.