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

“I had urged you to speak, had I not?”

“Grant that. But I don’t stand excused.”

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

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

“Part of it. Nor does it fool father, for he said only yesterday that there’s something more at bottom of the feeling against you than merely a fight of moneyed interests. He knows from what I told him that that dead man tried to murder you; yet he hears constant 92 talk of your ‘crime,’ of evidence being gathered against you by the county attorney, Mr. Lucerio, and of the penalty you shall pay. All absurd, to be sure.”

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

“That’s true.” And she appeared to reflect upon the circumstance.

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

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

All at once she spoke.

“They will put you in jail if they can, and bring you to trial, and––and–––”

“And hang me, that’s what you hesitate to say,” Steele finished for her. “Whom do you mean by ‘they’?”

“The people.”

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

“Why deny it!” she sighed. “It’s generally known 93 that four men, with a few more at their skirts, run things. They nominate the men who are to fill office––there’s only one political party in the county worth mentioning––and give them orders and expect them to obey. For that reason father would never accept an office. He could be coroner; he could be county treasurer; he could go to the legislature; or anything else––if he would but wear their political livery. But he prefers to be a free man. I used to think nothing of it, see no wrong in such a state of affairs, for everything went along well enough and about the same as ever as far as I could see.”

“Possibly you didn’t see everything that was occurring below the surface even then.”

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

“That was proper; he should know it.”

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

Steele experienced a warm glow of pleasure.

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

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

“You mustn’t allow it to disturb you. I’m really presuming upon your kindness of heart and innocence in enjoying your company now. Acquaintance with 94 me is a rather serious matter here in San Mateo and carries consequences. You don’t think for an instant that I’d allow my personal pleasure––and pleasure it is to be with you, needless to say––to bring you into ill-favor among your friends and to make you the subject of gossip. I appreciate your good spirit towards me; and I admire you greatly. But it will be well if I admire you at a distance hereafter.”

“I don’t see whose business it is except mine.”

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

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

“Who what?” she demanded.

“I nearly overstepped the bounds.”

“Oh, that’s it.”

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

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

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

The touch of her fingers on his sleeve, the light swing of her form at his side, the subtle fragrance that emanated from her hair and face, this intimate nearness 95 on the dark road, the heavy scent of flowers in the bordering fields,––all sent the blood thumping from his heart. If he––if he were in Ed Sorenson’s place, what love he could pour out!

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

“See, the moon is rising,” she said.

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

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

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

“That’s best.”

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

“You give me a tremendous amount of happiness.”

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

“Go ahead. It’s nothing terrible, I wager.”

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

Weir turned his head to listen to the approach of a horseman. He could see the man galloping towards 96 them for town, having turned into the road from a lane a short distance off, his horse’s hoofs striking an occasional spark from a stone. Then the engineer looked smilingly at Janet Hosmer.

“I’ll tell you anything––or almost anything.” One subject alone was sealed.

“It’s that name.”

“Name?”

“‘Cold Steel.’ How did you get it?”

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

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

“And to my enemies?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you learn that?”

“It––well, it was let slip inadvertently in my presence.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

For one dazed minute they stared after him.

“Shoot him!” she suddenly said, through shut teeth.

“I haven’t my gun along, or I’d be glad to oblige you.”

“He deserves killing, the wretch!”

“On more accounts than one,” he replied, quietly.

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

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

A wan smile greeted his words.

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