“Now, who is he gunning for?” Pollock asked himself aloud, “I rather wish he had invited me along.”
But neither he nor Weir himself, nor any soul in San Mateo, knew that at last the furious torrent of events had burst upon the community. Weir sensed something. But Sorenson brooding on the morrow thought the moment had not yet come. His son was occupied with his own treacherous scheme. Even Vorse and Burkhardt smashing their way into Martinez’ office saw nothing beyond the immediate necessity. Yet the flood was bearing down on all.
CHAPTER XIV
OLD SAUREZ’ DEPOSITION
In order to understand why Vorse and Burkhardt were attacking Martinez’ office it is necessary to trace the lawyer’s movements and the incidents which precipitated that act. Martinez had, as stated, not been idle. Following the clue obtained from the woman who had worked in the elder Weir’s household, he visited the old Mexican named as having been used as roustabout by Vorse in early days. This was old Saurez, whom he knew. The wrinkled old fellow seldom came to town now, spending most of the time sitting against the sunny side of his son’s house on Pina Creek, twenty miles south, where he lived.
Martinez in the ten days that had elapsed since informing Weir he had learned of Saurez’ possible knowledge of the past had proceeded to make himself agreeable to the gray-headed old man. He had explained his “history.” He exercised all the arts of graciousness and flattery. Beginning at the present he worked back through the past to the killing of Jim Dent and the flight of Joseph Weir, extracting tales of early fights, raids, accidents, big storms, violent deaths and killings, making elaborate notes, winning the narrator’s confidence and gradually drawing forth the facts he really sought.
Out of all the rambling talk and vague accounts of the Dent and Weir affair Martinez was able to piece together 136 the fragments in a clear statement. This was that Saurez had seen Weir and Dent in Vorse’s saloon. The pair had gambled for a time with Vorse, Burkhardt (at that time sheriff), Sorenson and Judge Gordon. After losing for a time Weir refused to continue in the poker game, although he was drunk. Dent played on notwithstanding Weir’s urgence to desist; he had already lost all his money and began staking his cattle and finally his ranch. At this stage Weir had gone to sleep at another table, with his head on his arms. Vorse had locked the front door to keep out visitors during the big game. But the back door remained open for air.
Saurez had busied himself cleaning the bar. All at once he saw the players spring up in their game, Dent talking angrily about cheating, marked cards and so on. Then the guns came out when he pointed at a card that was marked––for it had been marked with pinpricks as Saurez saw later on examining the deck, which Dent had perceived in spite of the whisky in him. And Sorenson and Vorse had both shot him where he stood. Yes, shootings were not uncommon. Every one but he, Saurez, had likely forgotten all about the matter. That was long ago.