"I'll get the water, but I'll stay out while you're boiling it," the girl said. "I don't want to see him until I have to go in and help carry him out."

She went off for the water, on her return setting the bucket by the door. Then curious to see the place of Ed Sorenson's accident, she wandered back along the trail to the ledge. There she beheld the crumpled, fire-blackened remains of his automobile in a heap near the stone wall. Apparently the car had first struck a small boulder, which had flung Sorenson out on one side and forward, then leaping this hit the ledge full force.

At the instant he must have been off the road and headed wrong, she guessed. The rapid daybreak of the mountains had by now dispersed the last dimness and indeed the crags far above were bright with sunshine. She could plainly see the ruin that the machine was, fire having completed what the smash had left undamaged, and the part of the rock that was smoked by the flames, and was able to smell yet the reek of burnt oil, varnish and rubber.

With the eyes of the curious she stared at the wreck, at the ledge, at the ground, absorbed with simple speculations and filled with a sense of awe. The machine must have made a big sound when it struck. It was a lot of money gone quickly, that car. Not enough of it left to make it worth hauling away. And so on and so on.

Then all at once her wandering regard detected something white in a crevice between two stones. At first she thought it the gleam of a bird or a chipmunk. The thing was some yards off from the spot where she stood, but the flutter persisted. So she approached it to learn its nature.

The thing was a paper. One corner of a sheet stuck up from the crack in which it lay and was waved gently by the rising dawn breeze. She drew it out and perceived it was fastened to other sheets that were folded, all damp from the rain though not soaked because the cranny had admitted little moisture. It was the last sheet which had come partly unfolded, apparently as it fell, so was left in sight or she would never have noticed the white flutter. This last sheet was blank, but the others, neatly folded though wrinkled, were covered with writing she saw on spreading them open. However, she could not read the pages; the matter was typewritten, but it was not English. Some foreign language, maybe.

If Mary could not read the document, she could at least logically deduce how it had happened to be in its present resting-place. The paper was here because the wrecked automobile was here, so when Ed Sorenson was pitched out the folded sheets of paper must have been propelled from his pocket by the same force and at the same instant. It hit a rock after flying through the air and slid down into the crack.

Perhaps it was only a business document; it looked like one. Again perhaps it told something about his crooked private affairs—about his schemes for ruining girls, possibly. Very likely, indeed. That seemed to be about all he engaged himself at. When she found some one who could read it, she would know for certain. She would just take it along with her and say nothing about her find until she could have somebody who understood the writing read it over for her.

In places the typing had stained from dampness, but not seriously. She could dry out the pages over the kitchen stove at home. So folding the sheets again, she doubled the document, tied it in her handkerchief and placed it inside her waist, where it could not be lost. Perhaps there were other papers. But a further search disclosed none, whereupon as her father was shouting to her from the cabin to come she retraced her steps.

When they had drunk their coffee and eaten some of Sorenson's food, making their meal before the door, they carried the unconscious man out to the wagon, bearing him in the blanket on which he lay. Other blankets they spread over him. Johnson also placed at the prostrate figure's feet the rest of the eatables in the cabin.

"No need to leave this stuff to the pack-rats," said he. "We'll just consider it a little pay towards fetching him out."

"He ought to be willing to pay you a whole lot more when he learns the trouble you've been to."

"I wouldn't touch his money if he offered me a thousand dollars; I'd throw it back in his face. I'm not doing this for pay, or friendship, or charity; I'm doing it to help Janet Hosmer and because Weir asked me. If the Sorensons had all the money on earth, they couldn't give me a penny as between man and man. If they owed it to me, that would be another matter. They'd pay it if I had to stick a gun down their throats to make them come across."

"We don't need any of their money, I guess," Mary said.

"Nope. We're poor but we're straight. So we're better off than they are—richer, if we just look at it that way."

Once during the long drive, as they neared the ranch house, a low moan came from the form on the straw in the wagonbed. Both Johnson and Mary looked around quickly, then regarded each other.

"Beginning to suffer," said the parent. "It's a wonder there's a whole bone in his body. I hope the doctor is down below waiting for us."

This proved to be the case when about ten o'clock Johnson drove his worn-out team into his dooryard. Weir's car was there and with it the engineer himself and a young medical practitioner. Climbing up into the wagon, the doctor made a hasty examination of the patient.

"Hips broken. Slight concussion of the skull, but not dangerous," was his opinion. "I shall not be able to tell the full seriousness of his injuries until I have him stripped on a table or bed. Probably there are other broken bones,—ribs or something. We must get him down to Bowenville as quickly as possible, for his is a bad case. But I guess if he has pulled through so far he'll recover. If you'll drive your wagon down to the mouth of the canyon, we'll transfer him to my car, which is double seated, and then you can accompany me to town; Mr. Weir says you are willing to go along and help. I'll send you back from Bowenville."

"Yes, I'll go along. Mary will ride down with us and bring back the team and wagon."

"Strange what he was doing up there in the mountains with an automobile alone," the doctor remarked.

"Oh, he might have wanted a day's fishing, or was taking a look at cattle or range, something like that," Johnson stated.

"Mr. Weir said a sheepherder found him. Wasn't that it, sir?"

The engineer turned to the rancher.

"Wasn't that the way of it?"

"Yes. Showed up here late and said he had found the man and carried him into the cabin. Said his wrecked car was still burning, so the accident couldn't have occurred very long previous. Said we ought to bring him down immediately as he was badly hurt. So I sent word to Dr. Hosmer, and my girl and I set off at once, the sheepherder going back with us. Said he just happened to be looking for a stray sheep or he would never have come on this man, as he was heading his band for a pass to get over on the west side of the range. S'pose we'll never see him again."

"Do you know who this man is?"

"His face seems sort of familiar," Johnson replied, scratching his chin. "But he looks like a city chap, by his clothes, what's left of them. No papers or anything on him to tell his name. Might have come over the pass himself from the other side; men go everywhere in these hill-climbing cars they make nowadays."

"Somebody will be seeking information soon and then we'll know," the physician said. "He'll probably give his name and address himself when he comes round. But if I'm not mistaken he'll need another sort of car if he does any moving about when he's out of bed."

"Why's that?"

"Speaking off-hand, I'll say he'll never walk again. That's the way broken hips usually turn out; and if his spine is injured, as I suspect, he will probably be paralyzed from the waist down. Hard luck for a young man like him. He'll wish at times he was killed outright."

Unobserved by the speaker Weir and Johnson exchanged a meaningful look. In the minds of both moved the same thought, that Providence had punished Ed Sorenson according to his sins and more adequately than could man. Dreadful years were before him. He would, in truth, wish a thousand times that he had died at the foot of the ledge.

Half an hour later the visitors had departed, the rancher going with the physician and his charge to Bowenville, Weir returning to San Mateo. Mary had driven the wagon up from the mouth of the canyon, unharnessed the horses, watered and fed them, and now was seated in the kitchen staring absently out the open door. After so much excitement she felt distrait, depressed.

Finally she produced and dried the papers over the stove, in which she had re-kindled a fire.

"Funny how anybody should want to talk or write anything but English," she remarked to herself, gazing at the pages.

She attempted to extract some sense from the strange words. At the bottom of the last sheet she deciphered, Felipe Martinez' name under the notorial acknowledgment. All at once in scanning certain lines she came on names that were plain enough—Sorenson, Vorse, Burkhardt, Gordon. The last must mean Judge Gordon. Then presently she found two more names that excited her curiosity—James Dent's and Joseph Weir's.

Springing to her feet she stared at the sheets in her hand. For some reason or other her blood was beating with an odd sensation of impending discovery.

"Why—why——" she stammered. "Why, those are the men father told about being shot, and him looking on as a boy! This is a queer paper! I wish he were here."

Possession of it gave her a feeling of uneasiness. Her father had warned her never to speak of the matter to any one—and here was something about it in writing, or so she guessed. He had said Sorenson and the other men would kill him at once if they learned he had been a witness. That meant they would kill her too if they found out that she not only knew about their crime but had this paper as well.

She looked about. Finally she retied the document in a tea-towel, tight and secure, and buried it deep in the flour barrel. They would not think of looking in the flour. But she went to the door just the same and gazed anxiously down the canyon as if enemies might put their heads in sight that very minute.



CHAPTER XX

ANXIETIES

"My dear doctor, your talents are wasted in San Mateo. They should be employed in the larger field of diplomacy," said Steele Weir, when on his arrival from Terry Creek he was apprised of what had occurred during his absence.

"From all indications I shall have full opportunity for their use hereafter, whatever they may be, in our own bailiwick," Doctor Hosmer replied, smiling. "There's more going on in our village, apparently, than in many a small kingdom. I merely had Janet use the truth with certain limitations, and there's no wiser course when part of the facts are known. Sorenson seemed quite satisfied with her explanation."

The colloquy resulted from a meeting between Janet and the cattleman while Weir was guiding the young physician, summoned from Bowenville, to Johnson's ranch. Sorenson had appeared at the house about ten o'clock that morning desiring to see the girl. They had talked together on the veranda, where the visitor stated he had effected a settlement and obtained an acknowledgment from Martinez, who was trying to blackmail him and others; that a certain paper had been prepared by the lawyer for use in the disreputable business; that the man had said he had asked Janet to secure it from an old chair in his office; and he wished to learn if she had done so.

Janet had admitted such to be the case.

"It was odd Mr. Martinez should telephone me to go get it, wasn't it?" she had asked. "But I went, and there it was stuffed in the lining of the chair."

"You have it then?" Sorenson stated, with a sigh of relief and his eyes kindling with eagerness.

"No, I haven't it now."

"What in heaven's name did you do with it?" he asked.

"As I was coming out of Mr. Martinez' office, there at the door was Ed. He had seen me go in and so stopped his car before the door; after a time he took the paper to see what it was."

"Then you didn't see its contents?"

"No; I didn't even open it."

"And he has it?"

"He had it the last I saw of the paper. He read it. First, he was going to burn it up because it made him angry, then he changed his mind, saying he would take it to show to you, as he thought you would be interested. Is there anything else you wish to know, Mr. Sorenson?"

"Where did he go from there?"

"He drove away. From something he said, I judged that he planned to be away from home several days."

Revolting as it was to Janet to put so fair a face on Ed Sorenson's conduct, nevertheless she had braced herself to go through with the part and presented to the cattleman a clear, natural countenance. The very simplicity of her story, its directness, its accord with the facts as he knew them, carried conviction. Innocently drawn into the affair, she had, in his view, been quickly guided out again by Ed's luck and wit.

Ed had the deadly document. The four men concerned might breathe easily once more. Ed himself, in all probability, did not realize the true menace of old Saurez' deposition, or he would at once have brought it to him instead of continuing on his trip: the boy no doubt thought it sufficient to keep it until he returned or mailed it back from somewhere; he perhaps had taken it along for a more careful reading. Good boy, anyway. He had got possession of the thing, that was the main consideration.

"He told me too that he was leaving last evening for a few days' jaunt," Sorenson said, rising to go. "You'll likely have a whole basketful of letters from him. Finest boy going, Ed, even if it's his own father who says it. But he's the lucky one, Janet." The girl lowered her eyelids, for at this flattery she felt she could no longer dissemble her feelings. "Sorry to have bothered you about the matter," he concluded. "Fellows like this Martinez are always making us trouble. Run over and eat dinner with us soon."

He went down the walk, large, dominant and still with a trace of his early cowman's walk. Both his step and his erectness bespoke the buoyant effect of the talk upon his spirits, which was not to be wondered at as he had splendid news to import to his confreres in crime. They would get rid of Martinez, destroy the paper when Ed delivered it, and their skeleton—this one (of a number) which had unexpectedly kicked the door open and started to dance in public—would be safely locked up forever. For Saurez, the only witness (as they believed) was now dead: he would make no more depositions. Certainly Sorenson had reason to walk briskly away from Doctor Hosmer's dwelling.

Janet had somberly watched him till he was out of sight, then had gone inside.

"I don't see how I ever imagined him an honorable man," she said to her father. "For all his pretended politeness he was ready if necessary to bully me. One thing he can't ever say is that I didn't tell him exact facts; what I omitted was the circumstances giving rise to the facts." And her father, who now knew from Weir the story of the happening of thirty years before, assured her that she need be troubled over no moral hairsplitting.

The incident, as Steele Weir perceived, diverted both suspicion and danger from Janet, at least for a time. A big gain that. And he was impressed by the subtle sagacity of the maneuver.

"That wasn't just a clever move, it was a flash of genius," he told father and daughter. Then after a few minutes more of talk he said: "Now I must be running up to the dam. To-day is Sunday and the works are quiet, so if I find everything all right I shall strike back immediately for Terry Creek and the cabin up above. I want to make a search for that paper by daylight."

"After your hard night?" Janet exclaimed. "I snatched some sleep when we had done talking last night, but father says you and he had none. You can't make that terrible ride again without rest!"

"Missing a night in bed is nothing new," he laughed. "Once or twice in my life I've not had my clothes off in a week, and only such cat-naps as I could steal meantime. But I'll not boast of that; your father probably has gone longer periods without sleep, or with only broken rest, than ever I did. Most doctors do. Be sure and let me know if anything new occurs."

But if Weir's mind was put at ease so far as Janet was concerned, he had more than enough other cares to burden his thoughts. The loss of the deposition, chief of all; then the matter of effecting Martinez' release, wherever he was immured; and finally, as he learned from Meyers and Atkinson on reaching camp, the insidious promise of trouble in the "free whiskey party."

"Perhaps whoever supplied the fire-water underestimated this copper-lined crew's capacity and didn't furnish enough," Meyers suggested. "Nobody was really drunk last night and here it is nearly noon, with the men all hanging about camp. If there was whiskey yet to be had, some of these thirsty, rollicking scrappers of ours would be right back at the spigot this morning."

"Maybe so," Atkinson admitted. "Seems so—and yet I ain't easy in my mind. The men don't act right; they behave as if they're just waiting; they're restless and not a man could I get to open his mouth about where they found the stuff. If there wasn't to be any more, they would have told and tried to kid me. They appear to me as if just biding their time. Some men weren't gone, of course, those who don't drink. They stayed in the bunk-house and they know nothing."

"We'll go on the supposition then that there will be more coming, and act accordingly," Weir stated, at once. "Watch them close, and put up a warning that men who are not at work in the morning, or who bring booze into camp, will be fired."

"That's the trouble," the superintendent declared. "I don't think they brought a drop in except in their skins. And as we say, they weren't drunk. There's not a thing we can object to and they know it; somebody has put 'em wise how to act. Here they are, sober this morning, behaving themselves, and so on. We can't keep men from going for a walk if they want to; we can't string barb-wire around the camp and hold them in; we can't even say they can't touch a bottle if a stranger offers them one when they're on the outside."

"But we can hold up the consequences if they go on a spree," Steele replied. "Most of them are satisfied with the work and pay and grub; they don't want to go."

"No, but they like whiskey too, free whiskey in particular. They would say they're not getting drunk—no man ever really expects to when he starts drinking—and talk about their 'rights.' There are two or three fellows in camp now who are doing a lot of mouthing about labor's rights; I. W. W.'s, I'd say. Shouldn't be surprised if they were the ring-leaders."

"If more whiskey comes, we must beat them to it."

"That's my notion," Atkinson said, with a nod. "I didn't locate the booze fountain last night, but I did this morning. Took a horse at daylight and rode along the hills; about a mile south in some trees at the foot of the mountain, I came across a case of empty bottles and a keg half-full of water. That was all, but it showed where the 'birthday party' was."

"That's the place to watch, then. Better send a trusty man there to report to us immediately if he sees signs of a supply arriving for to-night. Half a dozen of us with axes will soon start a temperance wave in that locality."

In accordance with this instruction the superintendent dispatched a reliable man to maintain guard at the spot; and Weir, feeling that all had been done that was possible under the circumstances, gave his attention to other matters.

But he perceived that with this "liquor attack" in the air, for it was but another of his enemies' moves against him, of course, directed with the purpose of creating internal disorder, he must postpone his trip to the headwaters of Terry Creek. Knowing the crafty, persistent, conscienceless character of the four men inspiring the trick, he was under no delusion that the "free whiskey" would end with a single case of bottles. Among three hundred men that would amount to but two or three drinks apiece—a mere taste, only a teaser. And because it was only a teaser, the men would want more. If he could carry them over this idle Sunday sober, they would be at work on the morrow and the chief danger be passed.

Unfortunately a manager cannot take his workmen into his confidence in such a case and explain the nature of such a cunning attack; the thing was too complex, and their untutored minds would fail to perceive if they did not actually reject the explanation, in jealousy for their "rights" concluding that they were being hoodwinked. By very perverseness they would refuse to deny themselves a free gift of whiskey.

With Pollock, however, whose interest as a director was vital, he could talk in full expectation of being understood. And moreover, owing to the entangled condition into which the company's and his own personal affairs had come, strict honor required that he inform his visitor of the entire situation and offer, if in the director's view such action would best serve the company's ends, to resign.

In his office immediately after dinner he gave the easterner a complete account of happenings in San Mateo since his arrival as manager, with a statement of his father's earlier residence here, of the fraud practiced by Sorenson and his companions on him and his tragically ruined life.

"This, you see, has resulted not only in bringing the animosity of these men against me but in aggravating their hostility to the company," he concluded. "I've never been a quitter. It would go sorely against the grain with me to quit now while under fire. But my own feelings or fortunes should have no weight; the company's interests alone are to be considered. I shall turn over the management to Meyers and retire if you desire; I count my contract not binding upon your board under the circumstances."

Pollock arose and began to pace the office, gently beating the air with his eye-glasses and thoughtfully regarding the floor.

"I should not do your remarkable story proper justice if I did not give it the serious attention it deserves," he said, after a time. "Certain aspects of the case would appear to favor our accepting your resignation, but on analysis, Weir, they turn out to be aspects only, not real arguments. Assuming the facts are as you relate, which I personally don't doubt, these men, if they will stop at nothing to injure you, will be no more reluctant to injure us. In fact, if you withdrew they would feel that they had gained a distinct triumph, forced us to yield to their will, and would be inspired to further and greater opposition. Personal hatred for you on their part is no ground for their fixing their enmity on the company. But that enmity, apparently, already existed before you came. Therefore if they hate you likewise, you and our company have a common bond. And that assures us of one thing, or several things: your vigilance, care of company property, and loyalty. Last, and aside from that, you are, I am confident, possessed of the exact qualities essential to the successful solution of present difficulties. We prefer as manager an energetic, determined, fighting man, however much disliked by envious neighbors, to some fellow less firm and more inclined to conciliation. The latter never gained anything with out-and-out foes, from what I've seen. So you perceive, Weir, that when my associates and I get into a row we're not quitters either. We shall therefore just dismiss all talk of your resignation."

"Very good; I wanted you to know the facts."

Pollock paced to and fro for a time longer.

"What really interests me is your own fight," he remarked at length. "If the paper you spoke of should be found, I would be pleased to have it translated for you. I should also like to consult with this man Martinez; he seems a clever fellow. You expect to settle with this quartet who defrauded your father, of course."

"Certainly. But the money isn't the main thing. For no amount of money would ever pay for the wrong done my father. I want to make these men suffer, suffer as he suffered. Call it a simple desire for revenge if you will; that's what it really is. They robbed him of his future as well as of his ranch and cattle. They took away hope and implanted in his breast terror and remorse wholly undeserved. But for them he might have been a happy, prosperous, well-thought of man in this state. Yes, revenge is what I want, not money. Revenge that will be for them an equivalent of hell."

"But they should pay the legal penalties of their crime as well," the lawyer spoke. "Recovery of the original amounts gained by fraud from both your father and this man Dent, and accumulated interest as well as damages, should be had. In all it should make a large amount."

"I suppose so. Probably enough to clean the four men out. But though of course I should enjoy getting the property or money that was rightfully my father's and now mine, still I'd let that go if I could secure the satisfaction of making the four men pay in the coin I want."

"Don't be a fool, Weir. Don't overlook any bets, as the saying is. Taking their property away from them will but add to their pain and to your pleasure. Now we must see if Dent's heirs can be found. I suggest that you employ some good attorney to start a hunt along that line, for an action by Dent's relatives will indirectly strengthen your own case. I'm doubtful about one thing, however——"

"What is that?"

"Your courts here, and the value of this old Mexican's deposition. The case could be brought in a Federal Court as you're a non-resident, which would solve the first point, but how much weight would this Mexican's testimony have against white men of standing and after a period of thirty years. If you could find another witness——"

"There was one, a white boy, so Martinez hinted," Weir said.

"Find him, find him. Search the whole country until you find him!"

"That's a big undertaking, when I don't even know his name or whether he's alive."

"Begin nevertheless."

"Well, I had better find my lost paper or secure another statement from old Saurez first. At present I have absolutely nothing that a court would look at; I haven't as much as I had yesterday. And even Martinez has been spirited away."

Pollock smiled.

"I'm interested, greatly interested," he said. "I'm not actively engaged in legal affairs at home and I may stay on here awhile longer. Perhaps I can assist you; it promises excitement, at any rate. After dry corporation matters, it should be a refreshing change—and I haven't had a real vacation in years. Possibly this is the time to take one."

"I appreciate your kindness in speaking so, Mr. Pollock."

"But I'm quite selfish; I'm seeking entertainment. And your peppery affairs promise it. Do you give me permission to take a hand?"

"Gladly."

"Then as a beginning I'll go to town. Saurez, you say, was the old Mexican's name? And give me the facts again as you know them about the affair of your father and the man Dent in the saloon."

Pollock listened closely as Steele Weir repeated the story.

"That's all I know, and it's meager at best," the engineer concluded.

"Pity you didn't get to read the deposition, which would have increased your fund of information. More unfortunate it is that you haven't the paper itself. But we'll do the best we can without it for the present. Kindly have some one drive me in to San Mateo."

"Atkinson, the superintendent, is going there for me. I thought he might pick up something of Martinez' whereabouts."

"Where does Judge Gordon live?"

"I can't tell you that. But you can easily learn when you reach town."

"Well, the Judge used to handle company matters, you know." The smile on Pollock's lips was inscrutable. "I used to have frequent conferences with him when I was here at the inception of our project. He is very shrewd in certain ways, but he impressed me as being not exactly—what shall I say?—'cold steel', for instance." And still wearing the thin smile, he went out.

If Weir had not had so many things to make his mind grave, from a missing paper and a missing lawyer to mysterious whiskey and fierce enemies, he would have leaned back and laughed.



CHAPTER XXI

THE WEAK LINK

Though the sun was bright that day, unseen forces were gathering in the sky above town, mesa and mountains, not of weather but of fate, to loose their lightnings. Sunday peace seemed to reign, the languid summer Sunday peace of tranquil nature. Yet even through this there was a faint breath of impending events, a quiver or excitement in the air, an increasing expectation on the part of men, who sensed but did not realize what was to come.

All day whispers and hints had passed among the people in San Mateo and out to isolated farms and up nearby creeks, kindling in the ignorant, brown-skinned Mexicans a lively interest and an exorbitant curiosity. Nothing was said definitely; nothing was promised outright. So in consequence speculation ran wild and rumors wilder. The hints had to do with the manager of the dam who had shot the strange Mexican: something was to be done with him, something was to happen to him. He had been arrested, or was to be arrested; he had confessed, or was about to confess the murder; he was going to kill other Mexicans, or had killed other Mexicans; he was about to raid San Mateo with his workmen and slay the town; he was to be hanged;—and so on eternally. Uncertain as was everything else, what was sure apparently was that something would happen at San Mateo that night.

Families visiting about in wagons spread the news. Horsemen were at pains to ride to outlying Mexican ranch houses, for what messenger is so welcome as he who brings tales of great doings? He might be sure of an audience at once. So it was that the plan craftily put in operation by Weir's enemies, to gather and inflame the people, under cover of whose pressure and excitement when the engineer was arrested he might be slain by a pretended rescue or popular demonstration, whichever should serve best, produced the expected result. During the afternoon wagons and horsemen and men on foot began to appear in town, to join already aroused relatives or friends at their adobe houses or to loaf along the main street in groups.

Outwardly there were few signs in the aspect of the Mexican folk of something extraordinary developing. But to the sheriff, Madden, aroused from an afternoon nap at his home by a telephoned message from the county attorney requesting him to come to the court house, the unwonted number in the town was in itself a significant fact.

"I didn't know this was a fiesta, Alvarez. What's up with you people?" he asked of one he met on the street.

"The fiesta is to be to-night, eh?" the man laughed. "Have you this engineer locked up yet?"

"What engineer?"

"The killer, the gun-man, that Weir. It is said he is already arrested and is to be hanged from the big cottonwood at dark beside the jail. It is also said he is still loose and bringing five hundred workmen to burn the town, rob the bank, kill the men and steal the girls."

"If he is to do either, it's news to me," Madden said, and proceeded to the office of Lucerio, the county attorney.

Madden was a blunt man, who for policy's sake might close his eyes to unimportant political influence as exercised by the Sorenson crowd. But he was no mere compliant tool. This was his first term in office. He had never yet crossed swords with the cattleman and the others associated with him, because the occasion had never arisen. When he had allowed himself to be nominated for sheriff, though Sorenson might imagine Madden to be at his orders, the latter had accepted the office with certain well-defined ideas of his duty.

"What do you want of me?" he asked Lucerio, for whom he had little liking.

"I desire to tell you, Madden, that at eight o'clock I'll have a warrant for you to serve on the engineer Weir. You'll go to the dam and arrest him and bring him in to the jail."

"Well, apparently the whole country except me knew this was to happen. The town's filling up as if it were going to be a bull-fight."

"I know nothing of that."

"All right; give me the warrant."

"At eight o'clock. I don't want it served before then."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"Sorenson? And Vorse and Burkhardt? They've stirred up this charge against the man." Lucerio making an angry answer, he continued. "Well, everybody knows you jump when they pull the string. I'll have to serve the warrant, naturally. But I'm going to tell you what I think: you've faked the evidence you've got; we had the truth from Martinez and Janet Hosmer at the inquest; you're trying to railroad Weir to the gallows."

"Mr. Sorenson shall know what you've said. As for me"—the Mexican swelled with outraged dignity—"the evidence was placed in my hands. It warrants the engineer's arrest and trial. You attend to your department and I'll attend to mine."

"All to the good, Mr. County Attorney. I'll arrest him; he won't make me any trouble on that score. But you won't find it so easy to prove his guilt. And afterwards, just look out, for if he doesn't come gunning for you and fill your carcass full of lead, I miss my guess. You won't be able to hide behind Sorenson, either."

He left the county attorney at that, the latter unable despite all his efforts to hide his uneasiness and alarm. Madden reaching the street looked at his watch; it was half past five, so he started home for supper.

Some way before him he saw Martinez walking. The lawyer did not stop to converse with any of the loiterers along the street, but moved steadily along. He had come out of Vorse's saloon and was going towards his office. Just then the sound of an automobile caused Madden to turn his head in time to see Weir speed along but stop with a sudden application of brakes as he caught sight of the attorney.

A hail brought Martinez to the car. A few minutes' rapid speech there followed. Then the lawyer mounted beside Weir, the machine went on, turning into a side street and vanishing. To Madden there was nothing unusual in the circumstance, and he only noted the surprise and silence along the street at the engineer's passage. The Mexicans would know the man wasn't yet arrested at any rate, he thought. But he should like to learn what was the purpose in bringing them all to town! He would keep an eye open for any lynching nonsense if it were attempted.

Weir and Martinez were hastening to Judge Gordon's house, for shortly before the engineer had received an unexpected call from Pollock for him to join him there. Evidently the eastern lawyer had turned a card of some sort; and Weir had gone at once, wondering what the meeting might portend. The sight of Martinez, free and composed of hearing, walking along the street, further amazed him.

He perceived, however, when the lawyer stepped out to the car from Vorse's place that he was pale, his mouth tight-drawn and his eyes glittering.

"You got my message?" the latter asked, quickly.

"The telephone message, yes. Janet Hosmer got the paper also."

"They dragged me to Vorse's cellar," Martinez whispered fiercely. "They beat me with their fists, Vorse and Burkhardt. Then they tied me and squeezed my eyeballs till I could stand the pain no longer and told. I've been there ever since, bound and without food or water, the devils! Sorenson came with them last night, afterwards. And now he and Vorse came again—there they are back there in the bar yet—and gave me a draft on a Chicago bank for a thousand dollars and said to get out and stay out of New Mexico and never open my mouth about what had happened."

"Get in with me," Weir ordered.

At Judge Gordon's house the lawyer said:

"You are going in here? He's one of them."

"I know it. Come in, however. I may need you. You're not going to leave San Mateo, but there's no reason why you shouldn't cash the draft. That's only part of the damages you'll make them pay for what you underwent."

"It isn't money I want from them," Martinez replied, between his teeth.

Judge Gordon lived in a rambling adobe house two squares from the Hosmer dwelling. It was old but had been kept in good repair, and as he had never married he had lived comfortably enough with an old Mexican pair as servants. One of these, the woman, admitted the visitors at their knock and conducted them, as if expected, to the Judge's study, a long room lined with cases of books, mostly legal, and filled with old-fashioned furniture.

That something had occurred to change the Judge's aspect during the hours in which Pollock had been closeted with him was at once apparent. He looked older, broken, haggard of face, terrified.

"I met Mr. Martinez and brought him along," Weir said.

"Was that necessary?" Judge Gordon asked, heavily.

"He's my attorney, for one thing."

"And I've been a prisoner in Vorse's cellar for twenty-four hours for another, and you're one of those responsible for my being there and for the torture to which I was subjected," Martinez exclaimed, glaring.

"Mr. Martinez, I give you my word of honor that I knew nothing of your incarceration until this morning."

"That for your word of honor!" the lawyer cried, snapping his fingers in the air. "And in any case, you're an accessory after the fact. You let me stay."

Pollock stepped forward.

"Is this Mr. Martinez? Glad to meet you, sir. Mr. Weir has spoken very favorably of you and of your handling of legal matters for the irrigation company, of which I am a director. Pollock is my name. Are you a notary? Ah, that is good. There will be some papers to acknowledge and witness and so on."

He pointed at seats, seemingly having direction of matters, and the visitors sat down. Judge Gordon had sagged down in the padded leather chair in which he sat; his face was colorless, his eyes moving aimlessly to and fro, his white mustache and hair in disorder.

"Let us begin on business at once," Pollock stated, on his feet as was usual when entering a discussion and removing his eye-glasses. "I called on Judge Gordon this afternoon after my talk with you, Weir, and disclosed the evidence which has been gathered relative to the fraud perpetrated on your father and the crime against the man Dent. I assumed, and rightly, that to a man of the Judge's legal mind the facts we hold would prove the futility of resistance, and I set out to convince him of the wisdom of sparing himself a long losing fight, in which he would be opposing not only the evidence which was sure to convict him, and not only you, Mr. Weir, but our company which proposed to see the fight through. I went so far, Weir, as to promise him immunity from your wrath and from public prosecution."

Weir arose slowly.

"No," said he, "no."

"But, my dear fellow——"

"No. He made my father's life a hell for thirty years. Why should I spare him?"

"If granting him freedom from prosecution did actually spare him anything, I should say 'No' also, standing in your place. But with the facts made public as they will be, with Judge Gordon losing his legislative office and the esteem in which he had been held, with him relinquishing the bulk of his fortune as he agrees, with his finding it necessary to go elsewhere to live at his time of life, with the thought constantly in his mind of how low he has been brought, don't you think he will be suffering quite adequately? I should think so. He would probably die quicker in prison, but I believe he will suffer more outside. See, I don't hesitate to measure the alternatives, for the Judge and I have discussed and canvassed the whole situation, which was necessary, of course, in order to arrive at a clear understanding." And Pollock smiled genially.

"Does he admit my charges?"

"He hasn't denied them."

"Will he admit them?"

"I've outlined exactly what we must have—deeds to his property and an acknowledged statement of the Joseph Weir and James Dent affair, supplementing the Saurez affidavit, which by the way he at first thought we did not possess but which an account of what happened last night in the mountains and your recovery of the same"—Pollock's eyelid dropped for an instant towards Weir—"convinced him of. This statement is not to be produced as evidence against his associates except in the last extremity, and if not needed is always to be kept secret. We are to give him, when the papers are signed, a draft for ten thousand dollars. This will permit him to have something to live on. He states that he will want to go from San Mateo at once."

During this speech Weir's eyes had glanced to and fro between the lawyer ticking off his words with his glasses and the figure in the leather chair. Old and shattered as Judge Gordon had suddenly become, wretched as Weir saw him to be, the engineer nevertheless felt no pity. The man had been in the conspiracy that had ruined his father; he suffered now not because of remorse but through fear of public opinion; and was a fox turned craven because he found himself enmeshed in a net. And to save his own skin he was selling out his friends.

Weir's face went dark, but Pollock quickly stepped forward and drew him into a corner of the room.

"Keep calm, man," was the lawyer's low advice. "Do you think if we had him tied up as tightly as I've made him believe that I should propose a compromise in his case. He's the weak link. Do you think I've had an easy time the last three hours bringing him to the point he's at? I had to invent evidence that couldn't possibly exist. I had to give him a merciless mental 'third degree.' I told him if he refused I was going to Sorenson with the same offer, who would jump at the chance. And, my dear man, we haven't, in reality, enough proof to convict a mouse since you lost that paper. So now, so far as he's concerned, you must bend a little, a very little—and you'll be able to hang the remaining three."

This incisive reasoning was not to be denied.

"I yield," said Weir.

Beaming, Mr. Pollock walked back to the table.

"Mr. Weir consents," he stated. "Mr. Martinez, if you will go to your office and bring the necessary forms and your seal we can make the transfers and statement and wind the matter up."

An hour later Judge Gordon had signed the deeds, stock certificates from his safe and bills of sale spread before him, passing the ownership of lands, cattle and shares in companies to Pollock for equitable division between Weir and the Dent heirs if found. The old Mexican servants were called in and witnessed his shaky signatures to the papers.

At the statement regarding the Dent shooting and Weir fraud, which Pollock had dictated to Martinez with Gordon's assistance, he staggered to his feet while the pen dropped from his hand.

"I can't sign it, I can't sign it; they would kill me!" he groaned.

The two aged servants stared at him wonderingly.

"My dear Judge, they'll never know of it until it's too late for them to do anything—if they ever know," came the easterner's words, in smooth persuasiveness.

Judge Gordon brushed a hand over his eyes.

"Give me a moment," he muttered.

He stood for a time motionless. Then he walked across the room and opened a door and entered an inner chamber.

"He won't live a year after this," Pollock whispered to his companions.

The speaker could have shortened the time immensely and have still been safe in his prophecy. For when at the end of five minutes he sent the woman to request the Judge to return, she stumbled out of the bed-chamber with affrighted eyes. She said the Judge was asleep on his bed and could not be aroused.

Sleep of the profoundest, the men discovered on going in. And in his fingers was an empty vial. So far as Judge Gordon was concerned Weir had had his revenge.



CHAPTER XXII

AN OLD ADOBE HOUSE

Revenge Weir had. But even in death Judge Gordon, true to his evasive, contriving character, had tricked him; and the irony lay in the fact that in this last act the trick was unpremeditated, unconscious, unintentional. Instead of the signed confession, necessary above everything else, which seemed almost in his fingers, the man had left a little poison vial.

Night had settled over the earth when the three men, after directing the Mexican servants to bring the undertaker, went out of the house, for considerable time had been occupied in the discussion and the preparation of papers preceding Judge Gordon's tragic end. With him Mr. Pollock carried the documents pertaining to the property restitution. These, considered in connection with the suicide, would constitute something like a confession, he grimly asserted.

Avoiding the main street of San Mateo they drove out of the town for camp. The first part of the ride was pursued in silence, for each was busy with his own thoughts in consequence of the sudden shocking termination of the meeting. When about half way to camp, however, their attention was taken from the subject by a sight wholly unexpected, a scene of high colors and of a spirit that mocked at what had just happened.

Some way off from the road, at one side, two bonfires burned brightly before an adobe house, the flames leaping upward in the darkness and lighting the long low-roofed dwelling and the innumerable figures of persons. At the distance the place was from the highway, perhaps two hundred yards, one could make out only the shadowy forms of men—of a considerable number of men, at that.

"I never saw any one at that old tumble-down house before, Martinez," Weir remarked, lessening the speed of the car. "Always supposed it empty."

"No one does live there. The ground belongs to Vorse, who leases it for farming to Oterez. Perhaps Oterez is giving a party there. They are dancing."

Weir brought the machine to a full stop, with suspicion rapidly growing in his mind. The place was owned by Vorse, for one thing, and the number about the house was too large for an ordinary Mexican family merry-making, for another. In view of what had occurred the previous night all "parties" in the neighborhood of the dam deserved inquiry, and this house was but a mile from camp.

They could now hear the sound of music, the shrill quick scrap of a pair of fiddles and the notes of guitars. Against the fire-light too they could distinguish the whirl of skirts.

"Just run over there, will you, Martinez, and have a look at that dance?" Weir said. "See how much whiskey is there, and who the people are."

The Mexican jumped down, climbed through the barb-wire fence bordering the field and disappeared towards the house.

"I told you about some one giving the men booze last night," the engineer addressed his remaining companion. "We found the place off south along the hills where that business happened, and stationed a man there to warn us if another attempt was made to use the spot. But I shouldn't be surprised if this is the location used for to-night; it has all the signs. We suspected that this evening would be the real blow-out and if the men are going there I shall send down the foremen and engineers to break it up. Vorse's owning this house and his being the source of the liquor is almost proof. I met Atkinson returning to the dam when you sent him back from town and he'll know something is up if the workmen have been melting away from camp. This is simply another damnably treacherous move of the gang against us to interfere with our work, starting a big drunk and perhaps a row. We'll stop it right at the beginning."

"Are the officials of this county so completely under Sorenson and his crowd's thumbs that they won't move in a case like this?" Pollock questioned.

"Yes."

"Then we must act on our own initiative, as you say."

"That's our only recourse. Giving whiskey isn't actually an illegal act—and they're giving it away, not trying to sell it here without a government licence."

"The thing's illegal if it's part of a conspiracy to disrupt our work, and if we can secure proof that such is the fact it will but add one more item to the score to be settled with these San Mateo outlaws."

"There are more men going there. See them?" Weir asked. "You hear them on the road ahead of us. They're ducking through the fence and crossing to the house. Our workmen. The thing's plain now; they had word there would be another 'party' to-night, but they didn't know just where until they received word this evening. I suppose the whole camp except a few men will be here."

"Won't they turn ugly if you interfere?"

"Can't help that. I'll send men down with axes and when the booze is poured on the ground it makes no difference then; the men will be kept sober. If they are stubborn, I'll run a new bunch in and fire these fellows. But I don't imagine they will quit work, however surly, for they know whiskey's no excuse. Men usually cool down after a night's sleep."

From where they sat and since Weir had turned out his car lamps, they could see the steady string of men emerging from the darkness of the field and approaching the house, to quickly dissolve in the gathering already there. In their lively steps, as well as in the eager voices occasionally raised along the dark road, the men's desire to join in the debauch was apparent.

With the swelling of the crowd the scraping of the fiddles became louder, the dancing more furious, shouts and yells more frequent, while a dense line of men passing and jamming in and out of the door pointed only too plainly that inside the house liquor flowed. This would be no matter of a few drinks per man, but a big drunk if not stopped.

Martinez confirmed this opinion on his return.

"There are two barrels inside and a couple of fellows are dipping it up in tin cups like water," said he. "They're not even troubling to draw the stuff; the barrels have been placed on end and the heads knocked out. It will be the biggest spree San Mateo ever saw, with plenty of fighting after awhile. Women, you know, always start fights during a spree."

"Those surely are not women from town," Weir exclaimed.

"Oh, no. I never saw them before. Brought in here from somewhere—Santa Fe perhaps, El Paso more likely. You know the kind who would mix with that crowd—tough girls. They're wearing low necks and short skirts, red stockings and all that. You know the kind. Out of joints and dives somewhere. There's only a dozen, but they keep circulating and dancing with different ones. I just put my head through a window to look inside, which is lighted by a big kerosene lamp hanging from the roof; and I tell you, gentlemen, it made me sick the way those two fellows were dipping up whiskey and the crowd drinking it down."

"And more men coming all the time," Weir stated.

"And more coming, yes. It will be very bad there by midnight. Vorse and Burkhardt and Sorenson are managing the thing, of course." Martinez lighted a cigarette and stepped into the car. "No mistake about that, for Vorse's bartender is one of the men at the barrels. And I imagine Judge Gordon knew this thing was coming off though he made no mention of it."

"Since we were ignorant of the matter, he naturally wouldn't inform us," Pollock remarked, dryly.

"Time to put a stop to the show before it grows bad," Weir stated resolutely. And he started the machine.

"If it can be stopped," Martinez replied.

That was the question, whether or not now it would be possible even to reach and destroy the barrels inside the house, what with the numbers who would oppose the move and what with the state of intoxication that must rapidly prevail at the place.

For as they drove away they could already detect in the mad revel about the old adobe dwelling a faster beat in the sharp shrieking music, a wilder abandon in the movements of the figures about the flames, a more reckless, fiercer note in the cries and oaths.

"This is deviltry wholesale," Pollock said. "On a grand scale, one might put it."

So thought a horseman who approached and halted almost at the same spot where the car had rested. This was Madden who with a warrant for Weir's arrest in his pocket had arrived opposite the house a moment after the automobile's departure. He had secured the warrant at eight o'clock according to the county attorney's request, but he had taken his own time about setting off to serve it.

For a quarter of a mile he had been interested in the evidences of unwonted hilarity at the usually untenanted structure. Now he sat in his saddle, silent and motionless, observing the distant scene. He easily guessed the men were from the construction camp and that liquor was running.

"I can almost smell it here, Dick," he addressed his horse.

But two circumstances puzzled him. One was that there had been no news in town of such a big affair impending for the night; the second, that there were women present—for no Mexican, however ignorant, would take or allow his women folks to attend such a howling show. Coming on top of the crowd in town, he wondered if this business might not be linked up with Weir's affairs. These were his workmen and this was Vorse's farm-house and very likely Vorse's liquor. After he had arrested the engineer he would look into the thing.

Fifteen minutes later, when he had gone on, other passers-by paused for a minute on the road to stare at the amazing picture across the field. These were Dr. Hosmer and Janet, Johnson and his daughter Mary: the two men being in the doctor's car, the two girls in Janet's runabout.

"What on earth is going on there!" Janet exclaimed, when the two machines had pulled up.

The two fires, fed by fresh fuel, were leaping higher than ever, bringing out in strong relief the long squat building, the dark, restless, noisy throng, and the space of illuminated earth. Against the night the flames and building and mob of hundreds of men seemed a crimson vision from some inferno to an accompaniment of mad music.

"The camp's gone on a tear; drive ahead," her father said. "This isn't a sight for you girls to look at."

And with that the two cars sped forward towards the dam, where on this night so much was converging. For their occupants already had had an experience that had started them at once to seek the man around whose figure were swirling a hundred passions and dark currents of destiny.



CHAPTER XXIII

WITH FANGS BARED

That Sunday afternoon Janet Hosmer had awakened about sunset from an after-dinner sleep, rested and refreshed, with her mind continuing to be occupied by thoughts of Steele Weir about whom had eddied her dreams. The man was no longer the mystery he had been, since now she knew all the circumstances of his life, and on that account was nearer, more human, and yet as compelling.

That on his part his interest went beyond mere friendship she had recognized from his voice and eyes when they were together. Ah, in truth, how his tones deepened and his look betrayed his feelings! At the thought Janet's heart beat faster and her cheeks grew warm and an indefinable joy seemed to fill her breast. She would not deny it: his presence, his touch gave her a greater happiness than she had ever known. At a single stride, as it were, he had come into the middle of her life and dominated her mind and changed her whole outlook.

How he too had changed and grown in the coming! From the avaricious, calculating, heartless manager of the construction work, as she seeing through colored San Mateo eyes had believed him to be, he now stood forth a figure of power, undaunted by difficulties, undismayed by enemies however numerous, fearless to a fault, stern perhaps—but who would not have been made stern in his place?—and determined, cool, resourceful, alert, and of an integrity as firm and upright as a marble shaft. Yet beneath this exterior his heart was quick and tender for those who needed sympathy or help, and his hand swift to aid.

More than once a hot flush burned on Janet's face, as sitting there on the vine-hung veranda in the gathering dusk, recollection assailed her with memories of wasted kindnesses given the infamous Ed Sorenson, of trust bestowed and of love plighted. That passage in her life seemed to leave her contaminated forever. It burned in her soul like a disgrace or a dishonorable act. But Steele Weir—and she swam in glorious ether at the thought—did not appear to view it in that light.

Juanita running in the twilight to the house interrupted her introspection.

"I came to tell you," the Mexican girl exclaimed panting before Janet.

"Tell me what?" For Juanita's reappearance in itself was unusual, as Sunday afternoon and evening were her own to spend at home.

"People are saying Mr. Weir is to be arrested and hanged from a tree in the court house yard! Everybody has come to town to see. Three uncles and aunts and nine cousins of ours have already come to our house from where they live four miles down the river. All the town is talking about it. But though I said nothing, I knew how Mr. Weir had saved you and that he had done nothing to be hanged for. If anybody is to be killed it ought to be that Ed Sorenson."

"Are you sure of this, Juanita?"

"Yes, yes, Miss Janet. It is so."

"Then this is part of the plot against him; let me think. They might arrest him but they would never dare try to hang him, unless they could pretend——"

What they might pretend Janet never stated, as at that instant a motor car dashed up and stopped before the gate. Even in the gloom she made out that the figure garbed in a gray dust coat was Sorenson's. Springing out of the machine, he jerked the gate open and strode towards the house, while a premonition of a fresh and unpleasant turn of affairs quivered in Janet's mind.

"I've come back again, you see," he said. "Step inside where you can hear what I have to say."

The words were like an order; the man's manner, indeed, was overbearing and brutal. But the girl concealing her resentment, preceded him into the house and bade Juanita light a lamp.

"And now you get out!" Sorenson commanded the servant in so savage a tone that she fled to the kitchen without waiting to consult Janet's eyes. "I see your father isn't here," he continued, addressing Janet.

The latter made no reply. To be sure, Dr. Hosmer was not in the room but he was in the house, sleeping. Let the cattleman think him absent if he wished.

"So much the better; if he's not about, he won't try to interfere," the man went on. "Now, my girl, I've learned all about your tricks, and——"

"Sir, you talk like that to me in my own house!" Janet broke in, with a flash of eyes. "You will walk out of that door this instant and never set foot here again."

"Will I, you slippery young Jezebel? I'll do nothing of the kind until I'm ready, which will be when you've handed over that paper. Don't try to deny that you have it or Weir has it; I suppose he has now, and I'll be forced to go shoot him down as he deserves. But I came here first to make sure. It would be just like the rest of the schemes of you two to have you keep it, thinking I'd be fooled. I have half a notion to wring your white neck for lying to me to-day—lying, while all the time you knew my son was hanging between life and death."

So savage was his voice, so threatening his visage and air that Janet retreated a step. His hands worked as if he actually felt her soft throat in his clutch; his huge body and big beefy head swayed towards her ominously; while his eyes carried a baleful light that revealed in full intensity the man's real brutal soul. Hitherto carefully coated in an appearance of respectability fitted to a station of wealth, influence and prominence, he now stood as he truly was, domineering, repellant, lawless. Janet could at that minute measure the close kinship of father and son.

"Fortunately a man in Bowenville recognized Ed, or I should never have known he had been injured," Sorenson went on. "So your little scheme to keep me in ignorance went wrong. The doctor 'phoned me about five and I took my wife and we rushed there, and I have just this instant returned. Do you know what the doctor says? Ed will live, but be a life cripple, a useless wreck, a bundle of smashed bones, always sitting in a chair, always eating out his heart. And all because of you and that engineer! Ed was conscious; he told me the real story about which you lied,——"

"I did not lie," Janet stated, firmly.

Sorenson made an angry gesture as if to sweep aside this declaration.

"He told me how you promised to slip away with him to spend a week in the mountains, and how you warned this Weir so that the two of you could trick my son and get him out of the way. You, who always pretended to be so innocent and virtuous! And then Weir caused the accident up there in the hills that has crippled my boy for life! Did it to get him out of the path to you, and you helped, like the traitress you are; and the two of you took the paper."

Janet's form had stiffened at these insulting speeches.

"Your son is the liar," said she. "Did he tell you how he flung a blanket over my head as Juanita and I were coming out of Martinez' office? How he tied my hands and feet and carried me off like a victim—and victim he intended me to be! Yes, Mr. Weir rescued me because Juanita met and told him what had happened and he followed. Your son was drunk. He tried to commit a crime because I had rejected him a week before, on learning that during our engagement he had endeavored to mislead another girl. A drunkard and a criminal both, that's your son. And he alone brought on his accident by his drunken, reckless driving. Now I've told you the truth; leave the house!"

"You can't put that kind of a story over on me," he snarled. "I believe what Ed said. Even if he has had affairs with other girls, that makes no difference now. You tried to double-cross him; you've wrecked his body and life; and you shall pay for it."

Neither of the pair in their intense excitement had heard a wagon drive to a stop before the house. Whether in fact they would have heard a peal of thunder might be a question. Sorenson, enraged by his son's injury and burning for revenge, was oblivious to all else but his passion, while Janet Hosmer, divided between contempt and fear, had but the single thought of ridding herself of the man.

"You cannot injure me," she said, in reply to his savage utterance.

"I'll drive you and your father out of this town and this state," he exclaimed. "They shall know here in San Mateo, and wherever you go if it's in my power to reach there, what sort of a pretending, double-faced, disreputable wanton——"

"You coward!" Janet burst out.

Then she turned to flee out of the room to arouse her father. But Sorenson was too quick for her; he sprang forward and seized one of her wrists.

"No you don't, you perfumed wench!" he growled.

A scream formed on Janet's lips. The heavy, rage-crimsoned face bent over her as if to kill her by its very nearness. Brute the man was, and as a brute he appeared determined she should feel his power. She pulled back, jerking to free herself, and shrieked.

Intervention came from an unexpected quarter. Rushing into the room came the rancher Johnson, followed by his daughter.

"Let go of her," the man ordered, harshly.

Sorenson looked about over his shoulder.

"Keep out of this, and get out," he answered.

Johnson leaped forward and struck the other on the jaw. The cattleman releasing his hold on Janet staggered back, at the same time thrusting a hand under his coat.

But the rancher's pistol was whipped forth first.

"You'd try that game, would you?" Johnson said, with his ragged beard out-thrust and stiff. "Put up your hands; I want to see how they look sticking up over your head."

Sorenson though now holding them in sight did not at once comply.

"Johnson, you're butting into something that doesn't concern you," he said, endeavoring to speak calmly.

"You've made one mistake in striking me; don't make another by keeping that gun pointed at my head. Remember I've a mortgage on your place that you'll wish renewed one of these days."

The expression of scorn on the rancher's face was complete.

"Trying that line, are you?" he sneered. "Think you can play the money-lender now and scare me? You didn't look much like a banker reaching for your gun; you just looked like a killer then, a plain bar-room killer—but I beat you to the draw. You've got fat and slow, haven't you, since early days when you use to put lead into poor devils whose stuff you wanted. And you didn't look like a banker to me, either, trying to bulldoze Janet when I came in; you looked like the big dirty coward you are. Aha, here's the doctor! Now just tell him how it comes you can order me out of his house, and why you were threatening Janet and making her scream."

The physician turned a white, angry countenance to Sorenson.

"I heard the scream. Is it true you were abusing my daughter?" he demanded, stepping in front of the man.

"I came here because I learned my son Ed had been broken to bits through her trickery and damnable——"

The words were cut off by the doctor's hand which smote the blasphemous lips uttering them.

Even more than Johnson's blow did this slap upon the mouth enrage the cattleman. His face became congested, his shoulders heaved, but behind the doctor was the revolver still directed at his head.

"You've come here uninvited and you've said too much," Doctor Hosmer stated in cold even tones. "You may be the town magnate, but you're only a ruffian and a crook after all. You can't bluff or bully us. More than that, you've insulted my daughter and me beyond any future reparation. As for your son, he got less than he deserved." He turned to the rancher. "You came just in time, it seems. Please see that he leaves the house."

Johnson waved with his gun significantly towards the door.

"Move right along lively," he added. "And I'll go along with you to see that you don't hamstring my horses, which I don't put past an underhanded cattle-thief like you."

Sorenson seemed striving for words that would adequately blast those before him, but they appeared lacking. With a last malignant glare he walked out upon the veranda and down across the yard, with his guard following him.

When Johnson returned after Sorenson's departure in his car, he was grinning sardonically.

"I shouldn't want him running among my cattle; he'd bite 'em and give 'em the rabies," he remarked.

Janet caught and pressed his toil-roughened hand.

"You'll never know how much I thank you for coming in just when you did," she cried.

"Pshaw, your father would have showed up and stopped him."

"I'm not so sure. Father has no weapon, and that man did have one. It was the sight of your pistol that made him cower. You couldn't have chosen a more lucky minute to arrive."

"Well, it was a little bit timely, as it turned out. Considering too that we were coming to see you anyway, it was just as well to walk in when we could do some good. Mary has something for you to read, if you read Spanish."

"Yes, I do."

"That's good. Show 'em what you have, daughter."

Mary drew a knotted handkerchief from her bosom and undid the knots. Appeared the doubled paper she had found. This she passed to Janet.

"Why,—why, this is the document I had!" the latter exclaimed, joyfully. "Where did you find it?"

"Up by the smashed automobile, when father and I were at the cabin." She exchanged a guarded look with her father. "There are names in it that made me think it might be valuable. So when father came back from Bowenville I showed it to him. But neither of us could read it. We thought we'd better bring it to you to read."

"It is valuable, very valuable. I had it when I was seized by Ed Sorenson and he took it away from me. Evidently, then, it fell from his pocket at the time of the accident. Yes, indeed, it's important. It means everything to certain parties. I'll read it, but you understand what it tells is private at present."

"We understand—and I think I know what it's going to say," Johnson remarked, grimly.

Thereupon while the others listened Janet read a translation of the long document. To her and her father the facts were not new, for Weir had already related such as he knew of the happenings in Vorse's saloon on that eventful day thirty years previous. Nor for that matter were they strange to Johnson and his daughter, though of course neither Janet nor her father were aware of the rancher's more intimate knowledge of the subject.

"A pretty good story as far as it goes, but like all lawyers' papers long-winded," Johnson stated, critically.

"What do you mean, far as it goes?" Janet asked, curiously. "Did you know this old Mexican? Did you ever hear him tell about the thing?"

"I knew he was there at the time, but he never told me anything."

Here Dr. Hosmer spoke.

"Saurez died yesterday. It must have been shortly after he made this deposition. He died in Vorse's saloon, which gives a color of suspicion to his death. In addition, Martinez, as you know, was dragged away somewhere."

"Then Vorse learned old Saurez had blabbed, and killed him," Johnson said, in a convinced tone. "Vorse is a bad bird, I want to say. But so are all of them, Sorenson, Burkhardt and Judge Gordon as well."

Janet brought the talk back to the subject.

"You make me still wonder, Mr. Johnson," she said. "You seemed to think there's more to the account than is told in this paper."

Again the rancher and his daughter glanced at each other, hesitatingly.

"Tell them, father," Mary broke forth all at once. "They know this much, and you know you can trust them."

The man, however, shook his head with a certain dogged purpose.

"If this is just a paper in some trifling lawsuit or other, it will be better if I keep my own counsel," he stated. "I've riled Sorenson considerable as it is now, and I don't care particularly about having him gunning on my trail active-like. If it really mattered——"

"It does matter; it matters everything," Janet cried, "if you really know something more!"

"Why?"

"Because it concerns Mr. Weir. The Joseph Weir described and named in this affidavit was his father. He believes these men robbed his father; this paper proves it, but not absolutely, for Mexican evidence here in this country doesn't carry as much weight against white men—especially men as rich and strong as these named—as it would in other places perhaps. You know that. This paper was obtained for Mr. Weir."

"Oho, so that's the way of it!" Johnson said, with a long drawn-out tone.

He regarded the paper in silence for a time, busy with his thoughts, absently twisting his beard, until at length a look of satisfaction grew on his face.

"Well, well, this is fine," he went on presently. "I never thought I should be able to pay the obligation I owe him, and I won't fully at that, but this will help. No, that paper doesn't tell all, for I reckon Saurez didn't see all." He glanced triumphantly at the doctor and the girl. "But I did."

"You!" both exclaimed.

But before he could explain, the memory of the cattleman's threat recurred to Janet to banish thoughts of aught else than Weir's danger from her mind.

"Mr. Sorenson said he was going up to the dam to shoot Mr. Weir," she exclaimed. "We must give warning."

"Did he say he was going himself?" Johnson asked.

"To get the paper, yes." Then Janet continued anxiously. "But the paper isn't all. His son told him what occurred in the mountains and I believe the man wants to harm Mr. Weir as well as to obtain the paper. Perhaps he plans on gaining the document first, then killing him. In any case, we must put Mr. Weir on guard."

"I'll just drive up there and tell the engineer," Johnson stated. "Shouldn't be surprised if I got a chance yet to use my gun. You girls can stay here."

Janet gazed at him with a flushing face.

"The man could go to the dam and kill Mr. Weir and get safely home while you're starting with your team," said she. "No, we must drive there in a car. Father, you take Mr. Johnson in yours, and I'll carry Mary in mine. We'll go along of course, for we'll not remain here in the cottage alone with such terrible things happening in San Mateo."

And to this there was no dissent.



CHAPTER XXIV

THE ALARM

At the dam Weir found Meyers and Atkinson anxiously waiting his return. The sudden concerted melting away of workmen from camp had been warning to his subordinates that the danger of a general spree had taken definite form, which the report of a pair of young engineers confirmed when they followed a group of laborers to the old adobe house and beheld the beginning of the debauch.

"Get out all the staff, Meyers, and you, Atkinson, all the foremen and sober men left, then go down the road and put that joint out of business, taking axes and whatever is necessary."

"And if they fight?" Meyers asked.

"Try first to placate them. If that fails, some of you draw them off in order to permit the others to enter the house and destroy the whiskey. It's a tough job, but you may succeed. If the crowd turns ugly as it may, being drunk, come back. No need to take the risk of broken heads or being beaten up. See, however, if you can't outwit the outfit. Possibly you could push that mud house over from the rear by means of a beam; that would do the business. I leave it to you to decide what's best to do, men, after you've examined the situation."

"The camp will be unguarded except for you and the two men with you," Weir's assistant suggested. "If the crowd drinking down at that place should take the notion to come here and tear things up, there would be nothing to hinder them. A few should stay, anyway, I imagine—half a dozen, who can use guns."

"Well, pick out six to remain," the other agreed.

For Meyers' suggestion had raised a disagreeable possibility. It was never safe to ignore precautions when a gang of two or three hundred rough, active laborers, however loyal when sober, were made irresponsible and crazy by liquor; and one stage of drunkenness in such men was usually manifested in a wild desire for violence. The scheme of Weir's enemies might comprise using this very act for wrecking the camp.

Six men, to be sure, would offer little resistance to stemming the movement once it was started, but the sight of steel in the guards' hands might cause even a reckless mob to pause long enough for an appeal. If the men should be brought to listen, they could probably be diverted from their purpose, as impassioned crowds are easily swayed by men of force.

In any case the camp and dam should be defended to the last. That went without saying.

Meyers and Atkinson had little more than departed with their muster of engineers, foremen and sober workmen, some fifty in all, when the two cars driven by Dr. Hosmer and Janet arrived at headquarters. To the occupants of both machines the camp appeared singularly dark and silent, the office building and the commissary shack alone showing lights.

The four visitors entered the main room in the former building, where they found Mr. Pollock and Martinez.

"Mr. Weir stepped out for a moment to make a round of the camp and the horse corrals," the easterner replied in answer to an inquiry from the doctor. "Will you be seated?" And he politely placed chairs for Janet and Mary, while his look scrutinized the party with discreet interest.

"Oh, Mr. Martinez, you've escaped!" Janet exclaimed, after a surprised stare at the lawyer.

The Mexican smiled, bowed and drew one point of his black mustache through his fingers.

"I have indeed, Miss Janet," said he. "Not without an unpleasant experience, however. I understand you secured the paper concerning which I telephoned you, and though I understand it has since been lost—through no fault of yours—I desire to express my thanks for your excellent assistance in the matter."

"But it has been found again; we have it with us."

Martinez gave a start, none the less sincere for being dramatic.

"What! Saurez' deposition? Weir thought it burned. Why, this is the most wonderful luck in the world! It gives us the whip-hand again."

Janet nodded.

"Mary Johnson here found it in a crack in the rocks when she and her father went up to the cabin to bring Ed Sorenson down. Father has it. That's one reason we're here. But there's another; Mr. Sorenson has learned of his son's accident, has seen him, talked with him, been told lies and now is in a dreadful rage, threatening every one concerned. He was at our house and made a scene. He's coming here, or so he said, to kill Mr. Weir and obtain the document. So we hurried to the dam to give warning."

At this juncture Mr. Pollock stepped forward.

"Mr. Sorenson hasn't yet appeared, and I assure you he will be prevented from harming any one if he comes. You are Miss Janet Hosmer, I judge, of whom I've heard so much that is praiseworthy. Will you allow me to introduce myself? I'm Mr. Pollock, a company director, and to a degree in Mr. Weir's confidence."

Janet expressed her pleasure at his acquaintance and in turn introduced her father and the Johnsons.

"Mr. Weir spoke of you to us, but we weren't aware he had informed you of the paper." Then she added, "But he would wish to, naturally."

Weir's voice, without, in conversation with some one caused them all to look towards the door. In the panel of light falling on the darkness before the house they perceived the engineer's tall figure by a horse, from which the rider was dismounting. Letting the reins drag and leaving the horse to stand, the latter walked with Weir into the room.

"Why, this is a delightful surprise!" the engineer exclaimed on beholding the four who had come while he was out. "And unexpected." His eyes rapidly interrogated the different faces. "I suppose it's business, not pleasure, that brings you."

"That's so," said Johnson, the rancher, nodding.

"Well, Madden is here on business, too, it seems." He glanced at Mr. Pollock. "Mr. Madden is our sheriff and he has a warrant for my arrest." He turned back to the officer. "You come at a bad time for my affairs. You saw that big show at the old house half way down the road? That crowd is made up of my workmen, who are being entertained with free whiskey, and there's no telling but what they may come here to tear things up. The whiskey is furnished by Vorse, I suspect, and is being served at Vorse's place. Your warrant is inspired by Vorse and others, isn't it? The two circumstances coming at the same moment, the free drunk and my arrest, look fishy to me. What do you think? I'm in charge of a property here representing a good deal of money and I should hate to be absent if the men took the idea into their heads to turn the camp upside down, especially if the idea was inspired by Vorse and his friends."

"I haven't served the warrant yet," Madden replied.

"And you know that I'm not going to skip the country at the prospect of your serving it?"

"No. There's no hurry; I'll just sit around for a while. And understand, Weir, this arrest is none of my doings, except officially. I take no stock in the yarn about your having attacked the greaser you killed. Martinez' and Miss Janet's testimony at the inquest satisfied me in that respect."

Mr. Pollock now drew Weir aside for a whispered conference. When they rejoined the others the engineer made the lawyer acquainted with the sheriff.

"Mr. Weir has agreed to my suggestion to take you into our confidence, Mr. Madden," he stated. "There may be other warrants for you to serve soon, and I'm sure you will respect what we reveal. All of us here except you know the facts I'm about to relate; indeed, have shared in them to an extent; and in addition to our word we'll present proof. You know Dr. Hosmer and his daughter certainly, you probably know Mr. Johnson and the young lady with him, and are aware whether their statements are to be relied on."

"They are," Madden answered, without hesitation.

"You're already convinced of the truth of Weir's innocence in the charge of murder now being preferred against him. Well, now, a friend at court is worth something; and we propose to make you that friend."

"I'm not against him like most of the town, anyway," was the sheriff's answer.

"Go ahead with your explanation," Pollock said to the engineer.

Thereupon Weir briefly sketched out events for the officer as they had occurred and as showing the motives which had inspired his enemies in seeking to destroy him:—the original plot against his father, his determination to uncover the four conspirators, the episode at the restaurant in Bowenville, the discovery of Ed Sorenson as the hirer of the dead Mexican assassin, the obtaining of Saurez' deposition and Martinez' imprisonment in Vorse's saloon cellar, Janet's abduction and rescue and the loss of the paper.

"But the paper isn't lost," Dr. Hosmer interrupted. "Mary Johnson found it and here it is." With which he drew the crumpled document from his breast pocket and laid it on the table.

"You have it again!" Weir exclaimed. "You found it, Mary!" He stepped forward and took the girl's hand in his for a moment. "You're a friend indeed to bring this back to me."

"I owed you more than that," she said, coloring.

"But Mr. Sorenson has learned about his son and the paper and everything that happened, except Ed Sorenson told him lies instead of the truth," Janet put in. "He's terribly angry at all of us. He said he would kill you for crippling Ed."

"Sorenson is welcome to try," Weir responded, with a quick blaze in his eyes.

At this point Mr. Pollock interposed.

"You didn't finish your story, Weir. Relate for Mr. Madden's benefit what occurred at Judge Gordon's house."

This tragic conclusion to the afternoon's happenings the engineer told, though remarking that the company director should be the true narrator. At his announcement that Judge Gordon had taken his own life by poison his listeners remained dumbfounded.

"He's dead, then?" Madden asked, at last.

"Yes. And the transfer of property made to Mr. Pollock amounts to an acknowledgment of his guilt. Now, I should like to have Martinez read this deposition, for I've never heard its contents myself."

This the Mexican did, translating the Spanish paragraphs into English with fluent ease, ending by reading the list of witnesses. Martinez gave the paper a slap of his hand.

"And old Saurez was found dead in Vorse's saloon by me an hour after he had signed this," he said. "Draw your own conclusions."

Madden shifted on his seat. He glanced at the document and at the others and then gazed out the door at the darkness.

"Looks like a clear case; I always imagined if these men's past was dug into there would be a lot of crooked business turned up. But granting that everything is as shown, with Lucerio the county attorney under Sorenson's thumb and the community as it is there's a question if Saurez' statement even will be enough to convict them."

At that Janet jumped up, her eyes gleaming.

"That is not all the proof, not all by any means!" she cried.

"What more is there?"

"Mr. Johnson's evidence."

"Johnson's!" came in surprised tones from all four of the men uninformed of the rancher's story.

"Yes, he saw the man Dent killed and the plotters make your father, Mr. Weir, believe he had done the killing."

Steele stared at Johnson dumbfounded.

"Just that; I saw the whole dirty trick worked, looking through the back door of the saloon."

"Then you were the boy!" Weir gasped. "The boy who looked in! After thirty years I supposed that boy gone, lost, vanished beyond finding."

"I stayed right here," was the reply. "Of course I kept my mouth shut about what I had seen. I worked on ranches and rode range and at last got the little place on Terry Creek and married. Nothing strange in my remaining in the country where I grew up, especially as I only knew the cattle business."

Weir swung about to Madden.

"Here's a live witness," said he. "With the other proof his evidence should be final."

"Whenever you say, I'll arrest the men. As for this warrant I have, I'll just continue to carry it in my pocket," the sheriff stated. "I must remark that I never heard of a more villainous plot, taking it all around, than you've brought to light."

"And the charges must cover everything," Pollock said sternly. "From Dent's murder to the conspiracy against the irrigation company."

"I'll stay here in case you need me to stop any trouble with your workmen," Madden remarked.

But trouble though imminent was coming from another direction, as was suddenly shown when a man, dust-covered and hatless, rushed into the office.

"They're on the way," he cried.

"Who? The workmen?" Weir demanded.

"No. I don't know anything about the workmen, but a bunch of Mexicans, fifty or more, are headed this way to blow up the dam. I saw and heard them."

"Where?"

"At the spring a mile south. I was watching down there, where Atkinson had sent me after supper, relieving the man who kept lookout during the afternoon. That was where the booze was dealt out last night, you remember. I was sitting there when I heard a crowd coming. At first I thought it was our men, but when they stopped to drink and smoke, I saw by their talk they were Mexicans. But there was one white man with them, a leader. He and a Mexican talked in English. They're to raid the camp, crawling up the canyon, to dynamite the dam first, then fire the buildings."

"Then they're on the road here now?"

"Yes." The speaker licked his lips. "I cut along the hillside until I got ahead of them, but it was slow going in the dark and stumbling through the sage. They must be close at hand by this time, though I came faster than they did. The white man said to the Mexican that they wanted to reach the dam just at moonrise, and that will be pretty quick now."

"Go to the bunk-house and call the men waiting there, and get a gun yourself," Weir ordered. "The storekeeper will give you one." When the messenger had darted out, he looked at the others. "You must take these girls away from here, doctor, at once."

"But I don't go," Johnson snapped forth, drawing his revolver and giving the cylinder a spin.

"I never could hit anything, and haven't had a firearm in my hand for years, but I can try," Pollock stated. "This promises to be interesting, very interesting."

"Very," said Weir.

For a little he stood in thought, while the others gazed at him without speaking. His straight body seemed to gather strength and power before their eyes, his clean-cut features to become hard and masterful.

"Up the canyon he said they were coming, didn't he?" he remarked at last, more to himself than to them. "Very well, so much the better. Johnson, you and Madden take charge of the men when they come and line them along the hillside this side of the dam. Put out all lights." With which he strode out of the building.

They looked after him in uncertainty.

"I'm not going; you may be hurt, and need me," Mary stated, with a stubborn note in her voice.

"Then keep out of reach—and run for town if the ruffians get into camp," was her father's answer.

"I stay too," Janet exclaimed, resolutely.



CHAPTER XXV

NO QUARTER

The peril threatening the unfinished dam now alone engaged Steele Weir's mind. Personal considerations did not enter into his calculations, least of all thought of personal danger; for when he placed himself in an undertaking whatever rested under his hand, as in this case the irrigation company's property, became for him a trust to attend, to direct, to guard. Even more than if it had been his own property did he feel the obligation, for the interests concerned were not his. But the matter went deeper than a prospective money loss; it struck down to principles and rights—the principles of order and industry as against viciousness and havoc; the rights of law-abiding men who create as against the wantonness of lawless men who would destroy.

Were it his own workmen who, inflamed by drink and incited by a spirit of recklessness, were coming to wreck the camp in a moment of mad intoxication, he would have made allowances for the cause. Before resorting to extreme measures in defending his charge, he first would have sought to bring them to their senses. Drunken men are men unbalanced, irrational.