In the Shadow of the Hills

by George C. Shedd

Afterwards Vorse had sent the Mexican away for something or other, with an injunction to keep his mouth closed. As said, speaking of it now made no difference, though he expected Martinez to keep his promise to publish none of the stories while he was still alive; that was agreed. When the Mexican had left the saloon Weir was yet sleeping, having only raised his head at the pistol shots to stare drunkenly and then relapse. What occurred afterwards Saurez did not know. Weir left the country. Dent was buried, the story being told 137 that he had committed suicide. Every one believed it: had he not lost his ranch at poker? That was the end of the business. Other affairs happened and it was forgotten.

On this Saturday Martinez had persuaded Saurez to accompany him to San Mateo. It would be necessary to sign the stories, he explained lightly, to give them proper weight and in order that when the book was published after Saurez’ death they would be seen to be true accounts, with Saurez’ picture that a photographer would make appearing in the middle. He, Saurez, would be famous, and his sons and grandsons would have copies of the book in their houses to show visitors and the priest. Ah, it would be well to have the priest witness Saurez’ signature, then sceptical people would know indeed that the stories were Saurez’ own accounts. So on and so on.

The matter required infinite precautions, patience, skill on the lawyer’s part. He had prepared two or three dozen depositions of events, as a husk for the real kernel. With Saurez in his office at last he telephoned the priest to call at once and unostentatiously caught on the street four other Mexicans of the better class, bringing them in. When the priest arrived he closed the door and explained his desire they should act as witnesses to Saurez’ statements. He had already solicited the padre’s advice as to the history; the others all had heard of it; he gave them a number of the most harmless depositions to read; and set Saurez to work making his mark on the rest of the papers. During the reading and the accompanying lively discussion of the witnesses, he had them pause to witness Saurez’ mark with their own names in the places provided. About the tenth deposition when their attention was confused and flagging 138 he slipped the account concerning Weir and Dent, a many-paged attestation, upon the table, so folded that nothing but the signing space was visible. It was the critical instant for Martinez; his thin body was more nervous than ever, his eyes brighter and more restless. But at last the ordeal was over.

Saurez’ heavy black cross was at the bottom of the important deposition, the priest and the other four men had appended their names, and all that remained to do was for Martinez to fill out the acknowledgment and affix his seal. He whisked the document behind his back and called attention to a humorous episode in a paper one of the men still held, starting a laugh. Then he suggested they rest and opened a bottle of wine, over which the others congratulated Saurez and Martinez and predicted a wonderful fame for the “Chronicle.” Finally the lawyer perceived, as he said, that Saurez was weary. Anyway, it was supper-time. The remaining papers could be signed another day.

The witnesses departed, much pleased with the affair.

“Walk up and down outside for a little time while I straighten the sheets, then we’ll go eat and afterwards I’ll drive you home to bed,” the attorney said. “The fresh air will give you an appetite. Behold, you’re already becoming a famous man! I shall preserve these documents safely as they are tremendously important to our town, our state, our country!” And a grandiloquent gesture accompanied the words. “Come back in a little while, my friend, then we’ll see how much food you can hide away.”

Saurez much gratified at these words and at everything went out slowly, for he was troubled by rheumatism. The instant his back disappeared Martinez sprang to the table, swiftly filled out the acknowledgment of the 139 old man’s signature to the Weir document, clapped the page under the seal and pressed home the stamp. Then pushing the folded statement into an envelope and that into his pocket, he leaned back with a sigh of exhaustion. The thing was accomplished at last, but the strain had been great. Weir’s command to secure evidence had been obeyed. Only the promise to await Saurez’ death, troubled Martinez, and with a convenient sophistry he decided that an agreement not to print the narrative in a book did not extend to using it in court. Weir would be delighted––it was a famous coup.

How long Martinez sat reveling in this well-earned satisfaction he was unaware, until with a start he glanced at his watch. Three-quarters of an hour had passed. He went out to look for Saurez. But he was not in sight and though several persons had seen him they could not say where he had gone. Martinez went again into his office. When another half-hour had drifted by he decided the old man had encountered friends and either caught a ride home or gone with one to supper. So Martinez proceeded to his own meal.

Yet he was pervaded by an unaccountable uneasiness. The sun had set in a bank of clouds and night was not far off. He made another search for the old Mexican, inquiring here and there, until he was informed by one that he had seen Saurez in Vorse’s saloon talking with Vorse and sipping a glass of brandy. That was half an hour before. A chill of fear spread over the lawyer’s skin.

Determined, however, to learn the worst, he stole to the saloon and peered over the slatted door. The Mexican bar-keeper was wiping a glass; Vorse was not in sight; and––ha! there was Saurez himself drowsing by a 140 table. Martinez slipped in and made his way to the rear.