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Perhaps you haven't heard he almost killed my boy Ed last night and you're allowing him to walk around with you as if he were a bosom friend. Do your duty, or we'll get a sheriff who will." "That's why I'm here, to do my duty." "You didn't have to bring this man here to do it." "I decided to bring him, however." From Vorse had come not a word.
Yes, shootings were not uncommon. Every one but he, Saurez, had likely forgotten all about the matter. That was long ago. Afterwards Vorse had sent the Mexican away for something or other, with an injunction to keep his mouth closed.
The new visitors, striking matches at the entrance, walked inside. The men were Vorse and Burkhardt. "If you had been here, we could have nailed him at once as soon as I had Saurez' story," the former said. "Martinez had half an hour and more to get the thing into somebody else's hands." "Well, I was looking after those men up in the hills," was the growled answer.
The old one said he had come in to pay a little visit to his old employer and have a chat. They talked for some time." "Was Vorse asking him questions?" "Yes. I think Saurez was telling him how he happened to be in town. I paid little attention to them, however. After a while I glanced up and saw Vorse standing by him. They were not talking.
If words had not been enough, Weir's cold, harsh face would have removed the men's last hope, for on it was not a single trace of relenting. A stone could have been no flintier. "Well?" Vorse inquired softly. His arched bony nose appeared thinner and more hawk-like. His lips were compressed in a white scornful smile, while his eyelids now drooped until but slits of light showed from the orbs.
Berder spoke he approached and said, kindly and respectfully, "Will you let me try to help you?" "Yes," said Mr. Berder; "you cannot make dings vorse." Acting upon this ungracious permission, Dennis folded his arms and studied the table for five minutes. "Come," said Mr. Berder, "standing dere and looking so vise as an owl von't help matters. Mr. Ludolph vill be here soon."
"But we still have the results of the attack on Martinez to deal with. I don't know how long he'll hold out against the men who dragged him off, probably not long. I suppose Burkhardt and perhaps Vorse took him, and they'll stop at nothing to get the paper they're after.
"Well, I suppose I can empty the till and lock the safe before going?" Vorse questioned. "No. Keep in front of the bar where you are," the sheriff commanded. "And have everything stolen." "Your bar-keeper will be back presently. He will look after things for you." "You say Burkhardt is locked up?" "Yes." "That will hurt his pride," Vorse laughed.
Finally Vorse, the saloon-keeper, turned his gaze towards the window and extracting a quill tooth-pick from a vest pocket began thoughtfully to pick his teeth. "You're the new manager at the dam?" he asked presently, still considering the street through the window. "I am." "And your name is Weir?" "You've got it right." The questions ended there.
Sorenson did not join Vorse, but instead he spoke. "Why haven't you locked up your prisoner, Madden?" he demanded harshly. "And you're letting him keep his gun. Don't you know enough to disarm a murderer and throw him into jail when you arrest him?" "I haven't arrested him yet," was the sheriff's answer. "Well, do it then. You have the warrant for the scoundrel.
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