he was not exactly sure yet that he wanted to venture farther
into the affair. But the very danger fascinated him with its subtle
and obscure features, exactly suited to his manipulation.

A man who had been standing apart sauntered nearer.

"Senor," he addressed the lawyer in Spanish.

Martinez whirled about.

"Ah, it's only you, Naharo."

"He is a bad fighter, eh?" And the man, almost white because of
intermixed blood, moved a hand in the direction Weir's car had gone.

"Perhaps not bad. Quick with a gun, however," was the careful reply.

"With his fists also. I saw, or if I did not see, I very nearly did
so--it is the same--saw him use them in Bowenville. And on that dog of
an Ed Sorenson who would have seduced my little Dolorosa, as he did
Cristobal's daughter, if I had not perceived what he was at."

The lawyer's ears were instantly pricked up. He caught the man by the
shirt-sleeve.

"Come with me," he said.

Once they were in his office he carefully closed and locked the door,
drawing the window shades. Literally he rubbed his hands one over the
other as he bade Naharo take a chair. Then the pair of them rolled and
lighted cigarettes.

"Perhaps I should say no more, Senor Martinez."

"It will go no farther. And if the engineer and Ed Sorenson had a
fight, then it must have been for that reason the latter's father
spoke as he did to-night. You heard him."

"Yes. And I did not understand why. 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. So his father did not know about this."

"Tell it all, Naharo."

The other inhaled a puff of smoke and half-closed his eyes. Though
nearly white, he retained the Mexican's high cheek bones, and languor,
and unforgiving nature.

"I was in Bowenville, freighting up flour to the store of Smith's. I
had loaded by evening, to make an early start next day. I had gone
into the restaurant for supper, taking a seat far down at the end of
the counter near the kitchen. I was tired and thinking only of my
food. As I ate, there was a crash in one of the stalls and I looked
about. There was a fight, of course. But it ended at once. Then I