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Updated: June 4, 2025
"What's your name?" he asked. "Mary Mary Johnson." "Mary, I'm interfering in your affairs only because I know what men will do. You must take no chances. If this fellow is really anxious to marry you, he'll do it here in Bowenville." After a few sobs she wiped her eyes. "He said he didn't dare get the license in San Mateo, or his folks would have stopped our marriage."
And what a vivid, charming, never-surrender enemy! Lucky the chap who had won this high-spirited girl. The memory of her eyes and her personality was still with him when he ate his supper that evening in a restaurant in Bowenville.
He had colored at mention of the Johnson ranch, as if he had been caught with a hand in a jam pot. And it meant only one thing: she knew of the Bowenville episode. Involuntarily his eyes flashed to her left hand with which she was brushing back the hair under her hat brim. There was no diamond solitaire on its third finger. Surely, something had happened. "Well, I must be returning home.
It was not because of what happened at Bowenville, unquestionably not, for it had to do with another girl " "Ha, a girl! And the engineer mixed in it?" "Listen. As I say, he would not have told his father, because he keeps such things quiet; it is four years since he last had to pay money to settle a matter. Some think he now behaves, but it is not true. But he is more careful.
Nor did her perplexity lessen when her car was left before the door during the afternoon by one of the camp mechanics to whom Weir had telephoned from San Mateo and who had put it in running order. Weir himself proceeded to Bowenville, where matters regarding shipments and the unloading of machinery engaged him the rest of the day.
For two hours Weir remained talking with the father, describing the affair at Bowenville, fending off his first bitter anger at the girl and gradually persuading him to see that Mary had been deceived, lured away on hollow promises and was guiltless of all except failing to take him into her confidence. At last peace was made.
"I shall not be able to tell the full seriousness of his injuries until I have him stripped on a table or bed. Probably there are other broken bones, ribs or something. We must get him down to Bowenville as quickly as possible, for his is a bad case. But I guess if he has pulled through so far he'll recover.
Hitherto carefully coated in an appearance of respectability fitted to a station of wealth, influence and prominence, he now stood as he truly was, domineering, repellant, lawless. Janet could at that minute measure the close kinship of father and son. "Fortunately a man in Bowenville recognized Ed, or I should never have known he had been injured," Sorenson went on.
"That's right, Sorenson," Burkhardt affirmed, his scowling face visibly clearing. "Ed went away somewhere this evening, that's the only drawback to your scheme. Said something about Bowenville and catching the night train to Santa Fé, and that he might be gone maybe a couple of days and maybe a week." "Hell!" Burkhardt exploded, in consternation. Vorse however remained cool.
From the main road leading to Bowenville Weir saw the car's trail turn aside into a mesa track pointing obliquely for Terry Creek canyon; and he suspected that Sorenson was making a long drive northward, skirting the mountain range and working away from the railroad-tapped region. Once he thought he caught a flash of light far ahead of him, but knew this was an illusion.
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