Part 33 (2/2)

”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 vanis.h.i.+ng. 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-fas.h.i.+oned 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.”

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