t he tried to steal yet
another girl from San Mateo, and fleeing when overtaken was pitched
from his car and crushed against a rock. He will steal no more
daughters of San Mateo."

Sensation on sensation. The crowd fairly hummed with new excitement
resulting from these disclosures. Ed Sorenson's ways were known to
most and the revelations seemed true to his character; and from
believing the statements of the son to accepting those concerning the
father was but a step. Cattle--girls! It began to look as if this
engineer was in the right.

With half of his attention Weir was harkening for the sound of
starting automobiles. He had heard the scuffle of feet when the party
slipped away from the jail door into the shadows. He had almost
measured their passage to the alley. Ah, and now! There was a quick
grind of gears, the pop of exhausts, then a dying of the sounds as the
cars left the grounds.

"You wished to kill me when you came here, but I had not then and have
not now any intention of dying," he stated. "For I have work to
do--and work for you if you want it. Instead of stealing your cattle
and daughters as the Sorensons did, I'll give you jobs. We are about
to begin digging canals and ditches on the mesa; I want men and
teams--you and yours at good pay for a good day's work. Our quarrel of
the past need not be remembered. I have never been your enemy, only
the enemy of the four men who deceived and oppressed you. And now they
are gone, two dead and two off to be tried for their crimes."

Weir stood for a moment silent, while they as silently stared at him.

"Ha, bueno, we shall work!" Naharo exclaimed.

"We shall work and build your ditches, senor," cried a score of
voices.

Then the cry swelled to a noisy chorus. The crowd began to stir and
disintegrate and break into groups, gesticulating, talking, discussing
all the astonishing items of news given by the engineer, from the
particulars of the Sorensons' depravity to announcement of renewed
hire.

"Senor, we hold you in greatest respect," said a man to Weir, smiling
in friendly fashion.

"And also your pistol," said a companion, laughing.

"No one will need to wear pistols here in San Mateo from now on," was
the answer. And he politely bade them good-night.

His belief was sincere. San Mateo had gained an end of violence, and
henceforth his weapon would gather dust. He had triumphed. Not only
had he subdued his enemies, but he had won the good will of t