In the Shadow of the Hills Part 33

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 pa.s.sed 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. Hors.e.m.e.n 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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 a.s.sociated 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 carca.s.s 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 circ.u.mstance, and he only noted the surprise and silence along the street at the engineer's pa.s.sage. 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 eyeb.a.l.l.s 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."