“Just the thing!” Steele exclaimed. “We’re both chilled. Come, Janet.” And he stepped from the machine.
Without demur the girl placed her hand in the one he offered and descended stiffly. Mary ran back into the house to attend to the coffee-pot and the visitors presently were seated at the kitchen table at places already laid, with cups of steaming strong coffee and plates of food before them.
Janet contented herself with the hot, reviving drink, but Weir ate heartily as well. Coming and going, forty miles of driving a rough mountain road had given him a laborer’s appetite.
“It’s late, one o’clock,” Mary said to Janet. “Why 178 don’t you stay with us the rest of the night? I wish you would.”
Janet put up an arm and drew down the face of the girl at her side and kissed her.
“You’re a good friend, Mary, to be so thoughtful,” she answered. “But father will be terribly anxious every minute I’m away. I must reach home as quickly as possible to ease his mind.”
Of Sorenson nothing had been spoken, though a repressed curiosity on the part of the ranchman and his daughter had been evident from the instant of Weir’s and Janet’s return.
At this point Johnson jerked his head in the direction of the creek.
“What did you do to him, Weir?” he growled.
“Not as much as I intended at first. But he made up for it himself. Ran his car against that granite ledge before the cabin while trying to get away, and smashed himself up badly. I carried him into the hut and left him there; he was alive when we drove off, but he may be dead by now. Bad eggs like him are hard to kill, however. I’ll start a doctor up there when I arrive in San Mateo; probably one from Bowenville.”