In the Shadow of the Hills by George C. Shedd (the best ebook reader for android txt) 📕

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,