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.