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Updated: May 9, 2025
"And old Saurez was found dead in Vorse's saloon by me an hour after he had signed this," he said. "Draw your own conclusions." Madden shifted on his seat. He glanced at the document and at the others and then gazed out the door at the darkness. "Looks like a clear case; I always imagined if these men's past was dug into there would be a lot of crooked business turned up.
Mary questioned, in some awe. "I knew of him, but I was only a lad then. I saw it all through the back door of Vorse's saloon where it happened, but I've never breathed about it to a soul. I didn't want to be murdered some dark night. Those four men would see that the job was done quick even now, I'm saying, if they were on to the fact. I know 'em, if nobody else does."
"And I've been a prisoner in Vorse's cellar for twenty-four hours for another, and you're one of those responsible for my being there and for the torture to which I was subjected," Martinez exclaimed, glaring. "Mr. Martinez, I give you my word of honor that I knew nothing of your incarceration until this morning." "That for your word of honor!" the lawyer cried, snapping his fingers in the air.
"If you can spare the time, I should like to have a little talk with you," said he. "Pardon me if I appear presumptuous, but as you're aware, Mr. Weir, I overheard your words to Judge Gordon in Vorse's saloon. I inferred check me at any instant if you consider this none of my business! that there exists some unpleasant feeling between you two gentlemen and possibly others.
One Mexican, a ranch hand from one of Vorse's ranches, wearing a great high-peaked felt hat and chaps, insolently thrust himself before the trio, spitting at Weir's face and in Spanish begging companions to help him release Sorenson. His right hand was resting on his holster as if but awaiting an excuse to use his gun. "Get to one side," was Weir's harsh order.
The report sounded a second before that of Vorse's and three before Madden's, who also had fired. Then, if ever, Steele Weir had displayed his amazing speed in beating an enemy to his gun, for Vorse had indeed been quick, keyed by a knowledge that for him this meant imprisonment or freedom, a slow death or liberty.
Then as the group sat unmoving, rigid, keyed to the highest pitch of expectancy, there followed quickly two more shots. Afterwards, silence. "A gun-play!" issued from Vorse's lips, softly. They all sprang up to hasten to the door. Steele Weir driving his car down the street in the dusk had caught sight of Felipe Martinez standing near the cattle company's office. He stopped close by, beckoned.
And every enemy we've made in these years past will put up his head and clamor for our blood. Let that sink into your mind." The effect of this low fierce utterance was to hammer the truth home. The Judge was ashen. Vorse's face appeared like an evil mask. Burkhardt glowered savagely. At that instant there sounded the faint report of a shot in the street.
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.
You saw that big show at the old house half way down the road? That crowd is made up of my workmen, who are being entertained with free whiskey, and there's no telling but what they may come here to tear things up. The whiskey is furnished by Vorse, I suspect, and is being served at Vorse's place. Your warrant is inspired by Vorse and others, isn't it?
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