Part 49 (1/2)
”But you never killed a man out of mere wanton desire to slay,” Steele responded firmly. ”I too have killed men in fights in Mexico. That fact doesn't weight my mind.”
”In the line of your duty, in the line of your duty. But I was drunk.
He was a friend. When I became sober, I saw him with a bullet hole in his head.”
”Do you remember nothing of shooting him?”
”Nothing, nothing.”
”How do you know you killed him?” his son demanded with inexorable logic. ”What is the proof?”
A low groan escaped his father.
”Men said I had killed him. But my own mind was blank.”
”Who were the men? Were they present at the time?”
”They were four--Sorenson, Vorse, Gordon, Burkhardt.”
”Were you arrested and tried?”
”No. They helped me to escape. Because of your mother, they said, and because they said they were my friends. But I never felt they were really friends. For they were always against new-comers and wanted to keep things in their own hands. You were only three or four years old at that time, Steele, so you wouldn't remember anything about matters there.”
”What were you doing at San Mateo, father?”
Now that the hideous past at last stood uncovered the son was able to turn upon it his incisive mind; he would drag out and scrutinize every bone of the skeleton which had terrorized his father and shadowed his own life Facts faced are never so dreadful as fears unmaterialized.
And more, he sought with all the love of a son for circ.u.mstances that would mitigate, excuse, or even justify his father's act.
”I was ranching,” was the low answer. ”I had come to San Mateo two years before from the east, bringing you and your mother and considerable money. I bought a ranch and stocked it with cattle; I was doing well, in spite of the fact I was new to the country and the business. Also I was making friends, and I had been nominated for the legislature of the Territory to run against Gordon. But I had taken to drinking with the men I met, other cattlemen, because I fancied no harm in it. And then while in a drunken stupor I killed Jim Dent.”
”Had you quarreled with him?”
”Never, never--till that moment I killed Jim. They said I quarreled with him then. But I remember nothing. Jim was my best friend; I would have trusted him with my life. Even now I can't make it seem real I shot him, though it must be true by those four witnesses.”
”What of your ranch? Your political nomination?”
”I withdrew from the latter; that was one of the terms made by Gordon on which they were to help me escape instead of turning me over for prosecution. And my ranch and cattle, I had to deed them over to the four men too.”
”Then their friends.h.i.+p wasn't disinterested,” Steele said quickly, with suspicion dawning on his face.
”They weren't really friends, I knew that.”
”How were they to arrange your escape?”
The senior Weir seemed to shudder at the question.
”By bribing the sheriff and county attorney. I was then to leave the country at once, never showing my face again, or I should be arrested.
I was still half dazed by whiskey and terror; I took your mother and you and fled this far, when my money gave out. So here I've remained ever since, for here I could hide and here was her grave.”