THE CURRENT OF EVENTS
Though outwardly the world's face was as calm as ever, though peace
seemed to bask on San Mateo and the broad mesa and lofty mountain
range, events were rapidly shaping themselves to bring a thunder crash
of contending forces. Not Weir, not even the little evil cabal
plotting so desperately against him, guessed the scope and power of
the passions to be released.
As a vital impulse towards the climax, though an unconscious one on
her part so far as the general play of circumstance was concerned,
Janet Hosmer informed Ed Sorenson of her determination to break their
engagement. This was the same evening she returned from the Johnson
ranch, when he called at her telephoned request. He went to her home
under the impression that his box of candy and bundle of new magazines
had restored him to favor. He was very jaunty, in fact, and bent on
persuading her to name an early day for their nuptials.
Imagine his wrath when she explained that she wished to say that she
could not marry him, at the same time handing him his ring and the
other trinkets he had bestowed upon her.
"Is it because of our little spat last night about the engineer?" he
demanded. "I apologized, Janet. I'm sorry still, and I love you above
everything else."
"I think not," said she.
"But I do, Janet. Above everything."
"No, not above yourself and your vices. You deceived me for a long
time, but now I know the truth. You aroused my suspicions when you
mentioned a Johnson girl; there's only one Johnson girl hereabouts, as
I learned; and this noon I visited her and her father. They informed
me fully about your conduct towards Mary at Bowenville and your
promises to marry her--that, when you were engaged to me. There are
other things I heard to-day. Of affairs with Mexican girls that are
shameful."
"Lies, lies!" was the passionate disclaimer. "Or if I have been
flirting a little, and never since my engagement, it's no more than
any fellow does."
"You can neither excuse nor justify your words and actions towards
Mary Johnson not a month ago."
"They're liars, I tell you."
"Will you confront them and say that?"
Taken by surprise Sorenson hesitated, flushed, and then made a gesture
of disdain.
"I'll not, because I'll not condescend to answer such baseless
charges," he stated. "I thought you had sense enough not to believe
every little thing you hear. Certainly I expect you not to believe
this, and I know you won't on consideration. Then we'll be married. I
came here to-night to urge you to marry me soon."
"I'll never marry you, and we're no longer engaged. You've acted
faithlessly and dishonorably. You're not the decent man I thought you
were."
"Don't you still love me, Janet?"
"No. I don't think I ever loved you; I was loving a man who didn't
exist, an illusion I imagined to be Ed Sorenson, not your real self.
If I loved at all, which I now doubt! And you never loved me, though
you may think you did and still do. But it's not so; for no man who
really loved a respectable girl could at the same time do what you
did. Think of it! While pretending to love me, you were secretly
trying to inveigle that poor ignorant girl away from home. You're not
a man; you're a beast. The shame and disgust and humiliation I suffer
at the thought of my position during that time, your effort to
hoodwink both Mary Johnson and me, so fills me with anger I can't talk
to you. Go, go! And please don't even speak to me hereafter, on the
street or anywhere else."
Instead of departing the man grasped her wrist and gave her a venomous
look.
"It was this sneak of an engineer, after all, who told you this lie
and turned you against me," he snarled.
"Let me go. Mr. Weir said nothing. It was you yourself who betrayed
yourself, or I should not have known as I do, thank heavens. Stop
holding my wrist!"
For an instant Sorenson wavered between whether he should obey her
command or strike her as his rage prompted. A very devil of passion
beating in his breast urged him to show her her place, deal with her
as he would like to do and as she deserved--throw her down and drag
her by the hair until she crawled forward and clasped his knees in
subjection. But the look in her eyes cooled this half-insane,
whiskey-inspired desire.
He took his hand off her wrist, picked up his hat.
"You can't throw me down this way," he sneered. "You're going to marry
me just the same, whether you think so or not. I have a voice in this
engagement, and you can't break your word and promise to me because
it happens to strike your fancy. Not for a single minute!"
"If you were a gentleman and a decent man you wouldn't say that."
"I'm not either, by your judgment, so I do say it. I say it again:
you're going to marry me, willingly or unwillingly. Now if after
thinking it over, you want to forget all this and go on as before, all
right. If not, our engagement still holds just the same. You may
release me, but I haven't released you. Remember that. And keep away
from that engineer if you know what's best for you!"
With a scowl he stalked out of the house, leaving a very angry, very
tremulous and very heart-sick girl. The fellow was in truth not a man,
she perceived, but a creature so conscienceless and loathsome that she
seemed contaminated through and through by his touch, his words, and
their previous relations. How grossly he had deceived her as to his
real character! What a horrible future as his wife she had escaped!
Nor was she yet free, for he promised to make an infinity of trouble.
That day she could do nothing. Her father noting her face asked what
was the trouble, and she told him the whole affair.
"I've heard rumors of late about him and was worried," he said. "You
did the only thing, of course. Pay no attention to his words; I'll see
he doesn't annoy you."
It was three or four days afterwards that she called Weir up at the
dam in a desire to hear the voice of a man she knew to be straight and
upright.
"I've wondered if a girl is allowed to look at your dam," she said on
impulse, when they had chatted for a moment. "Father, who was at your
camp to attend an injured man, says you're making famous progress."
"I'd be more than delighted to show you the work. But--I wonder----"
"Don't let what people say disturb you," she replied quickly, divining
his thought. "I've arranged all that." A somewhat obscure remark to
Weir.
"Then come any time--and often. I hope to be able to conduct you
around, the first visit at least. Next week I may not be able to do so
as a committee of directors arrive who'll take my time."
"Oh, indeed," Janet answered, politely.
"A manager has to be directed occasionally, or he may run wild," she
heard, with his laugh.
"I'll come before they do," she said.
Quite as she had announced she did run up to the canyon and go with
Weir over the hillsides and dam, asking questions and displaying a
great interest in the men and the operation of the machinery. The
concrete work was nearing an end. Already tracks were laid for the
dump trams that were to carry dirt from steam-shovels to the dam to
form its main body.
She perceived the immense labor of the project and the coördinated
effort required. The necessity in itself of dragging hither from
Bowenville all of the supplies, the material, the huge machines, was
overwhelming. The responsibility of combining scientific knowledge and
raw industry to an exact result struck her as prodigious. The handling
of hundreds of subordinate workmen and assistants of various grades
and skill demanded exceptional ability, understanding, will and
generalship. Yet these things the man at her side, Steele Weir,
accomplished and supplied; and appeared quite calm and unmoved about
it, as if it was all a matter of course.
She glanced at the ground, flushing. The thought of Ed Sorenson,
making only a pretense of doing anything useful and because his father
was rich doing nothing in reality but waste himself in vicious
practices, was in her mind. What must have the engineer believed of
her all this while when he knew Sorenson's true nature and infamous
record? Did he suppose her a light-headed feather, indifferent to
everything except that her husband should be rich? Very likely. There
were plenty of girls of that type. He naturally would suppose her
one.
And she could say nothing to put herself in a better light and to gain
his respect--for that she now desired greatly. She saw him as he was,
a big man, a strong man, a man whose respect was to be prized. Beside
him she felt herself small and ordinary. That was all right, but she
was determined he should not believe her insignificant, shallow,
unworthy, mercenary.
While she could not explain matters openly without shaming herself
and still lowering herself in his estimation, he being only an
acquaintance, yet there were ways of getting at the end. Janet could
act adroitly, like most women, when it best served the purpose.
"Do you know, I just learned from friends of yours on Terry Creek that
you're a public benefactor as well as an engineer," she stated, when
they paused on the hillside for a last look at the dam.
"I?" he exclaimed.
His eyes came around and found hers fixed on him.
"I happened to stop at the Johnson ranch. They didn't say so, but I
know they would be pleased to death if you would go to dinner there
some day. They have some fine fat chickens, if you like chicken fried
or baked, and they hesitate to ask you only because they're afraid
you'll refuse."
"Fried chicken is my weakness. Of course I'll go; at the first spare
chance."
But all the while Steele Weir's mind was eddying with wonderment. 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. I just thought I'd give you a tiny
hint," said she. An odd smile rested on her lips as she spoke, for
hints may carry multiple suggestions.
"By Jove!" Weir said suddenly.
Man of action though she knew him to be, she never anticipated he
would or could act so directly. He reached out and seized her left
hand and scanned it significantly. Then he raised his eyes.
"What does this mean?" he asked, tapping the finger with one of his
own. "Does this mean----"
It was Janet's turn to become scarlet. She tried to smile again, but
it was a wavering smile that appeared.
"What does what mean?" she fenced.
"That--well, that the ring is off permanently?"
"Oh, yes."
"And that there's now a chance for me?"
Janet's eyes at that popped open very wide indeed. Meanwhile Weir
still held to the palm resting in his own.
"You?" she breathed, faintly.
"Me, yes."
Presently with a gentle movement she drew her hand free. She had been
quite dumbfounded, but not so dumbfounded that she did not realize
that this new situation had requirements of its own. He appeared
absolutely sincere and resolute.
"But I never dreamed of such a thing!" she stammered.
"Nor I--because until now I hadn't the right. All I ask is that you
give me your friendship--and a chance--and--well, we'll see."
"There's no reason why we shouldn't be friends," said she. "We are
already, aren't we?"
"Yes--now. I never actually thought so before."
"Things have changed," she stated. And her lips closed with a firm
pressure as she spoke. "Or I shouldn't have been here inspecting the
dam, should I?" Again the smile flashed upon her face. "You may
consider this a preliminary inspection to that of your high and mighty
directors, and I assure you my verdict--is that the word?--is
favorable. Now I must be going to the car. Father likes his meals on
time."
"And when shall I see you again?"
The note of eagerness in his voice set her heart moving a bit faster.
If he carried on his engineering work as he did his friendship, no
wonder he got things done.
"Why, when you wish to call, Mr. Weir. Both father and I shall be
pleased to have you come any time."
"I'll certainly avail myself of the privilege," said he. "You must
really go now?"
With a feeling of exaltation at this new turn of affairs he watched
her drive away from camp, a feeling that persisted during the
succeeding days.
The three directors arrived. That was Thursday evening; and Friday and
Saturday were devoted to a discussion of construction plans,
inspection of the works, analysis of costs and so on. Weir found the
men what he expected: quick to comprehend facts, incisive of mind, and
though of course not engineers yet able to measure results; while they
on their part were appreciative of the exceptional progress made and
of his thorough command of the project. They knew the first hour that
the right manager was in charge at last.
Saturday afternoon Sorenson and Judge Gordon called at headquarters,
by appointment, to discuss the grievance held locally against the
company. Weir was present at the meeting.
"As to whether the Mexican workmen who were discharged were actually
giving a full return in work for the wages, as you maintain,
gentlemen," said Mr. Pollock, one of the directors and a corporation
lawyer from New York, in reply to the visitors' statement, "that is a
question not of opinion but of fact."
"Fact, yes," Judge Gordon argued. "Fact supported by the evidence of
the three hundred workmen against that of a single man, your manager,
who had just come."
"Are not your three hundred men prejudiced witnesses?" the New Yorker
inquired, a slight smile upon his thin face.
"No more than is Mr. Weir."
"But Mr. Weir is the manager and consequently has the power of
decision in such matters."
"Not to the extent of revoking unfairly your promise, given orally, to
be sure, but still given, to employ local labor." Sorenson was the
speaker and his heavy face wore an expression of ill-disguised
contempt.
"Agreed. Local labor was to be hired," said Pollock. "But our company
isn't a philanthropic institution; it's run on strictly business
principles. Any agreement we made implied that local workmen should
give exactly what other workmen would give in work."
"They did so," Judge Gordon affirmed.
"There was no trouble until this man came," Sorenson remarked. "I
suppose he felt that he had to show his authority."
"Ah, but there was if not trouble at any rate dissatisfaction on our
part," Pollock stated, tapping a finger on the table. "Construction
wasn't progressing as we knew it should, which was the very reason for
getting a new manager, one who could speed it up. But as I said, it
all comes down to a question of fact. You gentlemen offer your
workmen's avowals of industry to support your claim; Mr. Weir, on the
other hand, gives us some definite records to back up his side. Here
they are for the last week the workmen from San Mateo and neighborhood
worked--his first week here; and for the succeeding weeks under the
men shipped in; in material used, in cubic yards of concrete
construction, and in percentage of work finished. Examine them if you
please. They show daily and weekly results to be just a trifle less
than double for the corresponding time the imported workmen have been
here. In other words, the new men have, while shortening the time of
completion, given twice as much work for exactly the same wage paid
your Mexicans. In other words, too, your local laborers cancelled our
agreement by their own incompetence."
"Your manager could easily have doctored those records," Sorenson
stated, coldly.
"You scarcely mean that, sir," Pollock instantly replied icily, his
amiability vanishing.
"Come, Judge, we may as well go, I think. We're appealing to a
prejudiced court." And Sorenson arose.
"Our decision to view the matter like Mr. Weir is because his position
is sustained by these facts, not because we're prejudiced, as you
insinuate. But I may add that it would not be strange if we were
prejudiced, as we've become convinced that you gentlemen haven't been
sincere in your attitude towards our company and if anything are
strongly hostile. Any one may be deceived for a time, and we were, but
not permanently. You would have done much better to have recognized
that we have a perfect right to build this project on land that we
bought and with water that we acquired. For it will be built in any
case and in spite of such local opposition as may be made." Pollock
flicked the ash from his cigar with a careful finger. "That is a mere
piece of information or a declaration of war, whichever way you wish
to take it."
"I told you we were wasting our time coming here," the cattleman said
to his companion.
"Good day, gentlemen," said Judge Gordon, politely.
And the pair went out to Sorenson's machine.
Shortly after, the two other directors left to catch a train at
Bowenville, Pollock planning to stay with Weir to formulate a report
during the next day or two for presentation to the entire directorate
at its next meeting. Sorenson caught a glimpse of the car whirling
through town, with Weir at the wheel, who with Pollock accompanied the
departing men that certain unsettled points might be discussed up to
the last moment.
As Weir and Pollock were returning, the latter eyed the engineer and
laughed.
"You've evidently brushed these fellows', Sorenson's and Gordon's, fur
the wrong way to please them. But they'll probably leave us alone from
now on."
"They'll not leave me alone."
"Eh? How's that?"
"Well, I have, as it happens, a little trouble with them on my own
hook. A private matter antedating the building of the dam. They're
after me. I had to put a piece of lead into a fellow who tried to kill
me from the dark one night. I speak of it in case you should be told
and wonder; otherwise I should not have mentioned the thing. I'm not
popular in San Mateo, in consequence."
"Ah, I had heard nothing of that. It interests me. You were not
touched."
"My hat, that was all."
"Very interesting, very interesting, indeed," was Pollock's only
comment. But if his tone was casual, his eyes were busy in sidelong
study of the engineer, making a new appraisal and drawing fresh
conclusions.
Meanwhile several knots were being tied in the web of circumstance.
Sorenson took his telephone and conversed briefly with Vorse, passing
the information that he had just seen the three directors leaving for
the east. So they were out of the way. In reply the saloon-keeper
stated that he would start the whisky end of the game that evening.
By the morrow, Sunday, when the camp was at rest, the workmen would
all be "celebrating." Burkhardt had reported the last load of
"southern cattle" shipped in and driven on the range the previous
evening--a seemingly innocent statement that Sorenson understood
perfectly. Up in the hills, safely hidden in the timber, lay the fifty
men brought from Mexico to make the assault on the dam the next night,
men whose instruments of destruction would be fire and dynamite.
Twenty-four hours more would bring the moment of action.
Ignorant of all this Ed Sorenson had been forming a little individual
scheme that would promote his own affairs, chief of which was to win
Janet Hosmer. Drinking heavily ever since his rebuff, he had sunk into
a condition of evil determination and recklessness that made him fit
for any desperate act. After much meditation fed by whisky, he had
evolved a plan that would bring him success. Thereupon he had loaded
his car with a quantity of selected stuff and made a mysterious
journey at night.
"She'll learn I meant business," was his frequent soliloquy.
And while these strands were being knit into the skein Martinez was
producing another. Quietly, carefully, persuasively, he had been
pursuing his own particular course of eliciting history for use in his
"Chronicle," as he named it,--and for another use concerning which he
was as still as death.
That he was successful in obtaining what he had been after was made
known to Weir about dusk that evening while he was talking with
Pollock in his office. But that he had not been so lucky in covering
his tracks was likewise apparent.
The telephone rang. Steele took down the receiver.
"See Janet Hosmer at once," Felipe Martinez' terrified voice came over
the wire. "She'll have it, the paper--the one you want. They've
learned I got it; they're after me now. Hammering on the door. If you
don't hurry----"
His words ceased abruptly in an anguished quaver. At the same time
Weir heard carried to him the sound of a crash as of a door smashed.
Excusing himself hurriedly, Steele Weir seized his holster from a nail
and buckled on the belt. Then snatching his hat, he ran outside the
building to his car.
"Now, who is he gunning for?" Pollock asked himself aloud, "I rather
wish he had invited me along."
But neither he nor Weir himself, nor any soul in San Mateo, knew that
at last the furious torrent of events had burst upon the community.
Weir sensed something. But Sorenson brooding on the morrow thought the
moment had not yet come. His son was occupied with his own treacherous
scheme. Even Vorse and Burkhardt smashing their way into Martinez'
office saw nothing beyond the immediate necessity. Yet the flood was
bearing down on all.