A light still burned in the Johnson ranch house, late as was the hour, when the car swung round a copse of aspens and brought it in view. Johnson himself came forth at sound of the automobile, with a sleepy Mary following.
“I wouldn’t go to bed, of course, knowing you were to come back,” said he. But his true reason appeared in his added words, “I was just about ready to saddle a horse and head up there myself. Mighty glad to see you safe back, Miss Hosmer. Mary has had some coffee on the fire ever since Weir went along, knowing you’d be cold and worn out.”
“Just the thing!” Steele exclaimed. “We’re both chilled. Come, Janet.” And he stepped from the machine.
Without demur the girl placed her hand in the one he offered and descended stiffly. Mary ran back into the house to attend to the coffee-pot and the visitors presently were seated at the kitchen table at places already laid, with cups of steaming strong coffee and plates of food before them.
Janet contented herself with the hot, reviving drink, but Weir ate heartily as well. Coming and going, forty miles of driving a rough mountain road had given him a laborer’s appetite.
“It’s late, one o’clock,” Mary said to Janet. “Why 178 don’t you stay with us the rest of the night? I wish you would.”
Janet put up an arm and drew down the face of the girl at her side and kissed her.
“You’re a good friend, Mary, to be so thoughtful,” she answered. “But father will be terribly anxious every minute I’m away. I must reach home as quickly as possible to ease his mind.”
Of Sorenson nothing had been spoken, though a repressed curiosity on the part of the ranchman and his daughter had been evident from the instant of Weir’s and Janet’s return.
At this point Johnson jerked his head in the direction of the creek.
“What did you do to him, Weir?” he growled.
“Not as much as I intended at first. But he made up for it himself. Ran his car against that granite ledge before the cabin while trying to get away, and smashed himself up badly. I carried him into the hut and left him there; he was alive when we drove off, but he may be dead by now. Bad eggs like him are hard to kill, however. I’ll start a doctor up there when I arrive in San Mateo; probably one from Bowenville.”
“Father won’t attend him now, so long as there’s another physician who can, I know,” Janet stated.
“I should say not!” Johnson asseverated. “If that young hound Sorenson had his deserts, we’d just leave him there and forget all about him.”
“That’s where our civilized notions handicap us,” Steele Weir said, with a slight smile. “But at that, if he were the only person concerned, I’d do no more than inform a doctor where he was and what had happened to him, and wash my hands of the affair. There are other things, though, to consider. Janet’s position, primarily. 179 Her case is similar to that of Mary’s awhile ago, and we must prevent talk.”
“Yes, of course.”
“The worst of the doings of a scoundrel like him that involve innocent people is the talk. There are always some people low enough to ascribe evil to the girl as well as the man in such a circumstance as this. I propose to see that Janet doesn’t suffer that. We avoided it in Mary’s case and we’ll do so in this, though the situation is more difficult. I’ve been thinking the matter over on the way down and have a plan that will work out, I believe, but it requires your help, Johnson.”
“I reckon you know you’ll not have to ask me twice for anything,” the rancher remarked.
“And we may have to shuffle the facts a bit.”
“All right. I’ll do all the lying necessary and never bat an eye.”
“It won’t require much decorating, the story. But you will have to go up and get him, starting at once.” Then he concluded, “I hate to have to ask you to make that drive late at night and in the darkness.”
“Never mind that. Glad to do it, if that’s what you want.”
“Take your wagon and fill the box with hay and bring him down. By coming back slowly he won’t be jarred, and he has to be brought out anyway. If he’s dead, well, bring his body just the same. A doctor should be easily at your house by the time you arrive; and your story is that a sheepherder found him lying by his wrecked car, carried him into the cabin and then came down and told you of the accident, on which you went and brought him in, not knowing, of course, in the dark who he was or what he was doing up there or how the smash-up had occurred. You might suggest that he 180 was camping there by himself to fish, and stop at that.”
Johnson nodded.
“I’ll say just enough and no more,” he remarked.
“If you start at once, you’ll be there by daylight if not before. That will get you back here by nine or ten o’clock. I don’t want him taken to San Mateo; that would stir up a swarm of inquiries and might even send some of the curious up to the spot. Let the trail get cold, so to speak. People aren’t half as curious about a thing three or four days after it happens as at the moment.”
“I’ve noticed that myself.”
“And another thing, I don’t wish his father to learn of the matter just yet. Under other circumstances he should be the first to know, but I want the news kept from him for a special reason. Besides, it would be better if he found out about it from others and through roundabout channels. His son up there I don’t see doing any talking himself for some time if he does live. When he is able to talk, I believe he’ll decide to keep his mouth shut or just accept the explanation given that he was fishing or something of that kind. When the doctor has looked him over, either he or you will carry him to Bowenville. If we could ship him at once to Gaston, where there’s some sort of a hospital, I suppose, or even to Santa Fé, that would be the thing. He’d be out of the way; there’d be no talk; there would be no explanations to make except to the doctor.”
“Every doctor round these parts probably knows him,” Johnson said, “and so would insist on taking him home.”
“There’s a new one at Bowenville, father says,” Janet put in. “A young man, just starting practice. He 181 hasn’t been there but a few weeks and may not know Ed.”
“He’s the man for us!” Weir declared. “We’ll send for him. Now we must be going.”
Steele arose from the table and stretched his shoulders.
“And I’ll hitch up my team immediately,” the rancher said.
“I’ll go with you,” Mary exclaimed.
“Tut, tut, girl.”
“I can help you, and I want to do something to help Mr. Weir and Janet Hosmer, even if it’s only a little bit. I’m strong, I don’t care if it is late––anyway, I’d just have nightmares if I stayed here alone,––and I can help you with him. I’m going,” she ended, obstinately.
Johnson eyed her for a moment, then yielded.
“Nothing to be afraid of now,” he rejoined, “but if you would rather go along with your dad, all right.”
Five minutes later Steele and Janet were emerging from the canyon upon the mesa. The drizzling rain still continued and the unseen mist beat cool upon their cheeks as the car swung away from Terry Creek for town. Except for the stream of light projected before them, they were engulfed in Stygian darkness; and save for the slithering sound of the tires on the wet road, they moved in profound night silence.
“That business is arranged,” Steele said, after a time. “But we still have the results of the attack on Martinez to deal with. I don’t know how long he’ll hold out against the men who dragged him off, probably not long. I suppose Burkhardt and perhaps Vorse took him, and they’ll stop at nothing to get the paper they’re after. How they learned of it, I don’t know, but find out about it they did; and they’ll force the information they want from Martinez if they have to resort to hot irons. 182 That’s the kind of men they are. The lawyer will stick up to a certain point––then he’ll tell. That brings you into their way.”
“You also,” Janet answered.
“I’ve been there for some time,” was his grim response. “But in your case it’s different. I’m worried, I tell you frankly.”
“Do you think they would dare try to intimidate me in my own home and with father to protect me?” she cried, incredulously.
“Not there, perhaps. But if they could inveigle you away, yes. They wouldn’t use hot irons in your case, of course, and I can’t guess just what they would do, but they would do––something. Those men think I have the ‘goods’ on them; I repeat, they would stop at nothing to save themselves if worst came to worst; their fear will make them fiends. One couldn’t suppose they would dare seize Martinez in all defiance of law––but they did. One can’t believe they would dream of torturing him for information––but I haven’t a doubt that’s what they’ve done. So you see why I’m worried about you. If anything happened, if any harm came to you now, Janet––”
His voice was unsteady as he spoke her name and ceased abruptly. She thrilled to this betrayal of his feeling.
“I wish I could just stick at your side, then I know I should be safe,” she said.
And for answer she felt his hand grope and press her own for an instant.
“You can count on me being somewhere around.”
“I know that,” she said, confidently.
San Mateo was asleep, buried in gloom when they entered it, and quiet except for the barking of a dog 183 or two that their passage stirred to activity. But in Dr. Hosmer’s cottage a light was burning and as the car came to a stop at its gate the door was flung open and the doctor himself appeared framed in the doorway. He ran hastily down the walk to meet them.
“Janet!” he cried. And the girl flung her arms about him.
“Juanita told you? Oh, it was dreadful! But Mr. Weir has brought me home safe.”
Dr. Hosmer too agitated to speak reached out and grasped the engineer’s hand, pressing it fervently.
At about that moment three men sat in the rear of Vorse’s saloon. The shades were drawn and the front part of the long room was dark. Only a dull light burned where they sat. They were talking in low tones, with long pauses, with worried but determined, savage faces––Vorse, Burkhardt, Sorenson.
“Where the devil is she, that’s what I want to know!” Burkhardt growled. “I’ve been over twice and looked through a window. Doc was there.”
“She’s in bed and asleep, probably,” Sorenson said.
“I don’t believe it. The old man would be in the sheets himself if that were the case. Didn’t I call up twice by ’phone too? She was out, they said.”
“Couldn’t do much with her father there, anyway. We’ve got to get the paper by soft talk,” Vorse commented. “I still half believe Martinez was lying when he said it had been in that old chair. She couldn’t have got to the office and away in the hour or two before he told without some one seeing her, and no one did so far as we can learn. We locked the door too the second time we went back and it hasn’t been opened since; and we were there ten minutes after our first visit when we 184 learned the papers weren’t among those in his pocket. I think he’s got it cached away somewhere still.”
“Then we’ll give him another dose of our medicine.”
“If I know anything about men, he told the truth,” Sorenson said.
“Well, if the girl has it, we’ve got to get it from her if I have to wring her neck to do it.” It was Burkhardt’s inflamed utterance.
A pause followed.
“Sorenson, your boy is engaged to her,” Vorse stated.
“Yes.”
“Then it’s up to him to get it first thing in the morning. Maybe it goes against the grain to let him know about this business of the past, but it ain’t going to knock him over; he’s no fool, he’s a wise bird, he understands that a good many things are done in business that aren’t advertised. He knows we weren’t missionaries in the old days. And she’ll hand it over for him when she might not for any one else.”
“That’s right, Sorenson,” Burkhardt affirmed, his scowling face visibly clearing.
“Ed went away somewhere this evening, that’s the only drawback to your scheme. Said something about Bowenville and catching the night train to Santa Fé, and that he might be gone maybe a couple of days and maybe a week.”
“Hell!” Burkhardt exploded, in consternation.
Vorse however remained cool.
“Then you must start telegrams to head him off, start them the instant you get home. Telephone to Bowenville the message you want sent and have the operator dispatch it to all trains going both ways since early evening, in order to make sure. If you can reach him within two or three hours, wherever he is, he can hop off, 185 catch a train back and be here by to-morrow evening. Make your message urgent. And meanwhile we’ll do what we can to get hold of that paper. At any rate we can keep her from seeing Weir. If we have to watch her we’ll do it; and if we have to stop her from going to the dam we’ll do that someway too. You might invite her over to-morrow to spend the day at your house.”
“Do you think she’ll be likely to come if she reads that document?” the banker inquired coldly.
“Why not? Tell her right off the bat that the thing is a lie and a forgery and that you want to explain about how it was made. She might fall for that and carry the document to you. She’s always had a good opinion of you, hasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Then why should she change at a mere story.”
“You’re right,” Sorenson exclaimed with sudden energy. “The matter described happened so long ago that she won’t probably attach as much importance to it as we’ve imagined she would. I’ll ask her to bring it to me to see––and that will be all that’s necessary, once it’s in my fingers.”
“And what about him?” Burkhardt asked, striking the floor with his heel.
“Just leave him there for the present. To-morrow we’ll have another talk with him,” the cattleman stated. “Better offer him a couple of thousand to go to another state; he’ll grab at the chance, I fancy. Money heals most wounds. But, Vorse, keep your cellar locked and the bartender away from it. We can start Martinez away sometime to-morrow.”
“Don’t know about that. To-morrow night will be our busy night,” the ex-sheriff said.
“We might let Gordon handle him,” Vorse suggested.
“I thought perhaps you intended to keep the Judge in ignorance of this Martinez matter. He seems to be getting sort of feeble.”
“He’s not too feeble to take his share of the unpleasant jobs along with the rest of us,” Vorse answered, unfeelingly. “I shall have him in here first thing in the morning and tell him what’s happened and what we’ve done and what he has to do.”
“Sure,” said Burkhardt.
“Well, that’s agreeable to me,” Sorenson stated, looking at his watch and rising: “Time we were turning in, if there’s nothing more.”
At the dam camp Meyers, the assistant chief engineer, and Atkinson, the superintendent, were still awake, smoking and talking in the office.
“I smelt enough booze on those fellows who came stringing in here to fill the reservoir,” the latter was saying. “Some one’s feeding it to them.”
“Nobody drunk, though.”
“No. But who’s giving it to them and why? I asked one fellow and he said he’d been to a birthday party, and wouldn’t tell where. They were all feeling pretty lush, even if they weren’t soused. And to-morrow’s Sunday!”
“They’ll all be idle, you mean?”
“Sure. If there’s more liquor, they’ll be after it. All day to drink in means a big celebration. The whiskey is sent up from town, of course, and I reckon sent just at this time to get us all in bad while Mr. Pollock’s here.”
“We’ll look up the bootlegging nest to-morrow,” Meyers said, with finality.
“What can we do if we do locate it? They’re not selling the stuff, I judge, but giving it away. That clears their skirts and forces us to deal with the men 187 themselves if there’s any dealing done. Probably they hope to start a big row among us that way.”
“We’ll await Weir’s advice.”
“Well, I’ve waited all I’m going to to-night. Seems to me for a steady, quiet, self-respecting, dignified, unhooked, unmarried, unmortgaged, unromantic man he’s skylarking and gallivanting around pretty late.”
On the rocky creek road the ranchman and his daughter Mary were driving up among the trees on their way to the cabin, a lantern swinging from the end of the wagon tongue, the horses straining against the grade. On Johnson’s beard the moisture formed beads which from time to time he brushed away. From the trees collected drops of water fell on their hands and knees. All about as they proceeded the bushes and rocks appeared in shadowy outline, to disappear in the night once more, yielding to others.
“Isn’t this cabin where we’re going the one we drove to three years ago when you were hunting some cattle?” Mary asked.
“Yes.”
“I never thought then that Ed Sorenson would be lying up there all mashed to pieces,” she said, with awed voice.
“I guess he didn’t either,” was the dry response.
“He ought to be ready to stop chasing girls after this,” she declared.
“He won’t if he can walk; his kind never does quit.”
“Then his kind ought to be locked up somewhere like mad dogs. In a ’sylum, maybe.”
“I guess you’re right on that, Mary. They’re dangerous.”
“Funny we didn’t know he’d been up there, going past 188 our house. He must have been there first before taking Janet.”
“Sneaked up in the night, probably. He’d have to have grub and so on if he expected to stay even a day or two. Crooks always look after their bellies, be sure.”
“I reckon Janet Hosmer will like Mr. Weir a whole lot now, don’t you?”
“She ought to, if she doesn’t.”
A long silence followed while Mary apparently pursued the line of thought opened up by this speculation.
“If she has the good sense I think she has,” the rancher stated at length, for his mind at least had been following out the subject, “she’ll not only like him a whole lot, but she’ll lead him to the altar and put her brand on him.”
He spoke to unhearing ears. For just then Mary sagged against him, her head sank on his shoulder. He put an arm around her form and let her sleep, thus roughly expressing his tenderness and love. Weir had not only rescued Janet Hosmer from the clutches of the man now lying injured; he also had once saved Johnson’s own child Mary from the scoundrel’s grasp.
Weir might ask anything of him, even to the laying down of his life in his defense.
When Mary Johnson next opened her eyes it was at a little shake by her father. She had slept heavily despite the jolting of the wagon; and now looked about drowsy-eyed and at a loss to know where she was. Her clothes and face were damp, her hands cold. She wasn’t sure yet but this was still a dream––the team and wagon, the cabin before which they stood, the trees and rocks scattered about the grassy park-like basin, and the soaring mountain peaks on every hand that were just touched by the first early sun-rays.
The rain and mists were gone, leaving the dawn clear, gray, sharp, scented with the pungent odor of balsam and pine. From a distance came the subdued murmur of Terry Creek, which here high in the mountain range had its source in springs and brooks flowing from pools. All was peaceful.
Mary’s look came to rest on the cabin. Over it reared the great pines that grew in a clump behind. Its door was ajar, but the log house for any sign of occupancy might have been untenanted. Immediately the girl glanced back along the road they had come and beheld there in the dim shadow at the foot of the lofty granite ledge a shapeless black lump. She shivered.
“You awake?” her father asked.
“Yes.” And she began to climb down over the wagon wheel.
“Wait here. I’ll go in first. He might be–––” But though the rancher did not complete his sentence the words spoken carried their own grave implication.
He came out again presently. Mary gazed at his face to read from it the news it might carry, and it was with a breath of relief she perceived that the injured man was still alive, for her father himself appeared easier of mind. Neither would by choice have a dead man for a passenger on the ride home, even Ed Sorenson.
“He’s breathing, but is still unconscious,” Johnson declared. “Must have got a crack in the head along with the rest. Face is covered with dried blood. From the stuff inside the house he must have been fixing for quite a stay––blankets, grub, whiskey, candles, and so on. We’ll eat a bite ourselves before starting back; get the pail out of the wagon and bring some water and I’ll make a pot of coffee. There’s a fireplace and wood inside.”
“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, 191 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 192 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 193 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 194 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 195 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. 196 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.
“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 199 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 confrères 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 200 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, 201 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 202 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 203 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 204 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 205 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 206 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; 207 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 208 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.