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Updated: May 17, 2025
Ed himself, in all probability, did not realize the true menace of old Saurez' deposition, or he would at once have brought it to him instead of continuing on his trip: the boy no doubt thought it sufficient to keep it until he returned or mailed it back from somewhere; he perhaps had taken it along for a more careful reading. Good boy, anyway.
All at once he saw the players spring up in their game, Dent talking angrily about cheating, marked cards and so on. Then the guns came out when he pointed at a card that was marked for it had been marked with pinpricks as Saurez saw later on examining the deck, which Dent had perceived in spite of the whisky in him. And Sorenson and Vorse had both shot him where he stood.
When Saurez beheld Lee, he grinned and removed the cigarette from his lips. "It will be a fine ditch, this," was his remark. Work on the canal section near the river advanced without incident until, one morning early in November, the plows unexpectedly uncovered a forty-foot-wide body of granite just beneath the surface.
Lee at once sent Saurez and other Mexicans abroad in the native settlements with offers of double wages and this drew the most indolent back to camp again. They were flung into the night shift, which toiled with increased vigour at news of the impending storm.
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.
In the darkness he felt safer. Any one passing would suppose him away. Perhaps he should spend the night elsewhere at the dam, for instance. Again the same shudder shook his frame that he had experienced on seeing the mark on Saurez' throat. Vorse had killed the old Mexican, of that he was convinced.
He regarded the paper in silence for a time, busy with his thoughts, absently twisting his beard, until at length a look of satisfaction grew on his face. "Well, well, this is fine," he went on presently. "I never thought I should be able to pay the obligation I owe him, and I won't fully at that, but this will help. No, that paper doesn't tell all, for I reckon Saurez didn't see all."
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.
Martinez in the ten days that had elapsed since informing Weir he had learned of Saurez' possible knowledge of the past had proceeded to make himself agreeable to the gray-headed old man. He had explained his "history." He exercised all the arts of graciousness and flattery.
Next he stood quite still, staring. Then he approached and lifting the drooping head, gazed at the wrinkled face and glazed eyes. "Miguel, come here!" he exclaimed, anxiously. "Saurez is dead." "Dead!" The bar-keeper ran to the spot, eyes large with alarm and excitement. "Dios, I thought him asleep! See, there is the glass in which I gave him brandy at Señor Vorse's order.
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