Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine — page 26: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

368 ~flee, to hide in some dark hole, to cover her shame from her father and the world, but in the hands of this determined man she felt herself powerless. What he willed, she dumbly did. Terry Creek flowed out of the mountains four miles north of San Mateo, an insig- nificant stream entering the Burntwood half-way down to Bowenville. The John- son ranch-house was a mile up the cafion, where the rocky walls expanded into a grassy park of no great area. They reached the girl’s home about half past nine that night. For two hours Weir remained talking with the father, describing the occurrence at Bowenville, fending off his first bitter anger at the girl, and gradually persuading him to see that Mary had been deceived, lured away on hollow promises, and was guiltless of all except taking him into their confi- dence. : At last peace was made. Mary wept for atime, and was patted on the head by her rough, bearded father, who exclaimed: “There, there, don’t cry... You’re back again; we’ll just forget it.” Ouiside of the house, however, where he had accompanied Weir to his car, he said with an oath: “ But Pl not forget Ed Sorenson, if I go to hell for it. My little girl!” ‘“‘ She’s half a child yet, that’s the worst of his offense,” Steele replied, savagely. “Mary said you choked him.” “ Some. Not enough.” “ Vi not forget hfs—or you, Mr. Weir.” Steele mounted into his machine. He thoughtfully studied the,rancher’s bearded, aveather-tanned face, illuminated by the moonlicht. “At present Pd say nothing about this matter to any one. Later on you may b able to use it in squaring accounts.” “I hope so,’ was the answer, with a bit= ter note. ‘‘ But talking would only hurt Mary, not Ed Sorenson. Whatever the Sorensons do is all right, you know, because they’re rich. The daughter of a poor man tike me would get all the black end of the gossip; and I can’t lift a finger, that’s what grinds me, unless I go out and shoot him, then hang for it. For he’s got a mort- ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. gage on my little bunch of stock, and on my ranch here. If I opened my mputh about his son, I’d be kicked off of Terry Creek, lock, stock, and barrel. : ‘“That’s the way Sorenson keeps all of us poor devils, white or Mexican, eating out of his hand. I’ve just been poor since I came here a boy; the gang in San Mateo won’t let anybody but themselves have a chance. And I reckon old man Sorenson wouldn’t care much if his boy had ruined my girl. Cuss him a little, maybe; that would have been all. But I won’t forget the whelp. oe day my chance will come to play even.’ “Sure; if one just keeps quiet and waits,” - Steele agreed. ‘ Well, I must hit the trail. If you want work any time, come over to the dam; we can always use a man with a team.” ‘ Johnson nodded. “After hayin’s done, maybe. And, re- member, I’m much obliged to you for look- ing after my little girl. I won’t forget that, either. : He reached up diffidently and shook hands with the engineer. Weir’s grip was strong and sincere. CHAPTER V. A SECRET CONFERENCE, ON a certain afternoon Felipe Martinez, the lean and restless attorney who had acted as the Mexican workmen’s mouth- piece, observed through the broad plate- glass window of the San Mateo Cattle Com- pany’s office an incident that greatly inter- ested him. For the moment he forgot the resentment kindled by Sorenson’s abrupt refusal and brutal words when he asked for the nomi- nation for county attorney. - The election was in the autumn; the nomination was equivalent to election; and Felipe consid- ered that he had too long been kept apart from that particular spoil. Martinez had once had a slight difference with the cattleman, and now outrageously Sorenson had recalled it. He had stated that Martinez should hold no office; he gave offices only to men who did exactly as he comniclooolks.conn