“I have already seen some thirty or forty people, a few of whom recalled your father, but no more. But this afternoon,” he continued, “I discovered a woman who worked at the Weir ranch house.” Martinez perceived the engineer’s attention quicken. “She said the Weirs had a little boy of four years of age, perhaps five. You, Mr. Weir, of course. They suddenly paid and discharged her one day, packed a trunk and drove hurriedly off; and the next morning Sorenson took possession of the ranch and she went home. They drove off in a great haste––there was no railroad anywhere near here then––and that was the last she ever saw or heard of them.”
“Yes.”
“One thing more there was: she said there was a story that went around for awhile afterwards that Weir and another had lost their ranches and cattle gambling. For that reason Weir left the country; and for that reason, too, the other man, Dent, by name, committed suicide in Vorse’s saloon where they had gambled. She said Saurez, an old man living with his son up a little creek, would know about that, for he used to clean out Vorse’s bar-room in those days.”
Steele Weir grasped Martinez’s shoulder in a quick grip.
“He did! Get everything he knows out of him,” he commanded.
“Leave it to me, Mr. Weir. I understand how to wheedle facts out of these old fellows.”
But it was doubtful if the engineer heard his words. He had dropped his hand, stood opening and shutting 88 his fingers, while on his face grew the hard implacable look that always whetted the attorney’s curiosity.
Weir walked up on the hillside when Martinez had ridden away and there sat down on a rock. It was a rift, though but a faint rift, that this news made in the blank dark wall he had to confront; and he wished to think. Proof as well as knowledge of what had happened in his father’s case was what he must have. Acting on intuition he had been able to put fear into the hearts of the four men responsible for making his father’s life a hell, but proof of their guilt was necessary to make them suffer in a similar fashion, to reveal their crime to the world, to destroy them. Now at last, here was a possibility. If this former roustabout of the saloon knew anything!
Well, he must be patient––the mill of the gods grinds slowly. But when finally he had gained all the strands and woven the net! Unconsciously his hands arose before his face like talons closing on prey and shut on air, until their veins swelled. That was how he would serve them, those men. Though they might fall on their knees and implore mercy, not one beat of pity should move his heart.
It was almost dark when he arose. Behind him the great peaks soared against the last greenish twilight. In the shacks the camp lamps were showing at windows. At one side and in the canyon the concrete core of the dam appeared white in the gloom, like a bank of snow. The murmur of voices, an occasional distant laugh, came from men’s quarters.