OLD SAUREZ' DEPOSITION
In order to understand why Vorse and Burkhardt were attacking
Martinez' office it is necessary to trace the lawyer's movements and
the incidents which precipitated that act. Martinez had, as stated,
not been idle. Following the clue obtained from the woman who had
worked in the elder Weir's household, he visited the old Mexican named
as having been used as roustabout by Vorse in early days. This was old
Saurez, whom he knew. The wrinkled old fellow seldom came to town now,
spending most of the time sitting against the sunny side of his son's
house on Pina Creek, twenty miles south, where he lived.
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.
Beginning at the present he worked back through the past to the
killing of Jim Dent and the flight of Joseph Weir, extracting tales of
early fights, raids, accidents, big storms, violent deaths and
killings, making elaborate notes, winning the narrator's confidence
and gradually drawing forth the facts he really sought.
Out of all the rambling talk and vague accounts of the Dent and Weir
affair Martinez was able to piece together the fragments in a clear
statement. This was that Saurez had seen Weir and Dent in Vorse's
saloon. The pair had gambled for a time with Vorse, Burkhardt (at that
time sheriff), Sorenson and Judge Gordon. After losing for a time Weir
refused to continue in the poker game, although he was drunk. Dent
played on notwithstanding Weir's urgence to desist; he had already
lost all his money and began staking his cattle and finally his ranch.
At this stage Weir had gone to sleep at another table, with his head
on his arms. Vorse had locked the front door to keep out visitors
during the big game. But the back door remained open for air.
Saurez had busied himself cleaning the bar. 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. 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. As said, speaking of it
now made no difference, though he expected Martinez to keep his
promise to publish none of the stories while he was still alive; that
was agreed. When the Mexican had left the saloon Weir was yet
sleeping, having only raised his head at the pistol shots to stare
drunkenly and then relapse. What occurred afterwards Saurez did not
know. Weir left the country. Dent was buried, the story being told
that he had committed suicide. Every one believed it: had he not lost
his ranch at poker? That was the end of the business. Other affairs
happened and it was forgotten.
On this Saturday Martinez had persuaded Saurez to accompany him to San
Mateo. 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. He, Saurez, would be famous, and his sons and
grandsons would have copies of the book in their houses to show
visitors and the priest. Ah, it would be well to have the priest
witness Saurez' signature, then sceptical people would know indeed
that the stories were Saurez' own accounts. So on and so on.
The matter required infinite precautions, patience, skill on the
lawyer's part. He had prepared two or three dozen depositions of
events, as a husk for the real kernel. With Saurez in his office at
last he telephoned the priest to call at once and unostentatiously
caught on the street four other Mexicans of the better class, bringing
them in. When the priest arrived he closed the door and explained his
desire they should act as witnesses to Saurez' statements. He had
already solicited the _padre's_ advice as to the history; the others
all had heard of it; he gave them a number of the most harmless
depositions to read; and set Saurez to work making his mark on the
rest of the papers. During the reading and the accompanying lively
discussion of the witnesses, he had them pause to witness Saurez' mark
with their own names in the places provided. About the tenth
deposition when their attention was confused and flagging he slipped
the account concerning Weir and Dent, a many-paged attestation, upon
the table, so folded that nothing but the signing space was visible.
It was the critical instant for Martinez; his thin body was more
nervous than ever, his eyes brighter and more restless. But at last
the ordeal was over.
Saurez' heavy black cross was at the bottom of the important
deposition, the priest and the other four men had appended their
names, and all that remained to do was for Martinez to fill out the
acknowledgment and affix his seal. He whisked the document behind his
back and called attention to a humorous episode in a paper one of the
men still held, starting a laugh. Then he suggested they rest and
opened a bottle of wine, over which the others congratulated Saurez
and Martinez and predicted a wonderful fame for the "Chronicle."
Finally the lawyer perceived, as he said, that Saurez was weary.
Anyway, it was supper-time. The remaining papers could be signed
another day.
The witnesses departed, much pleased with the affair.
"Walk up and down outside for a little time while I straighten the
sheets, then we'll go eat and afterwards I'll drive you home to bed,"
the attorney said. "The fresh air will give you an appetite. Behold,
you're already becoming a famous man! I shall preserve these documents
safely as they are tremendously important to our town, our state, our
country!" And a grandiloquent gesture accompanied the words. "Come
back in a little while, my friend, then we'll see how much food you
can hide away."
Saurez much gratified at these words and at everything went out
slowly, for he was troubled by rheumatism. The instant his back
disappeared Martinez sprang to the table, swiftly filled out the
acknowledgment of the old man's signature to the Weir document,
clapped the page under the seal and pressed home the stamp. Then
pushing the folded statement into an envelope and that into his
pocket, he leaned back with a sigh of exhaustion. The thing was
accomplished at last, but the strain had been great. Weir's command to
secure evidence had been obeyed. Only the promise to await Saurez'
death, troubled Martinez, and with a convenient sophistry he decided
that an agreement not to print the narrative in a book did not extend
to using it in court. Weir would be delighted--it was a famous coup.
How long Martinez sat reveling in this well-earned satisfaction he was
unaware, until with a start he glanced at his watch. Three-quarters of
an hour had passed. He went out to look for Saurez. But he was not in
sight and though several persons had seen him they could not say where
he had gone. Martinez went again into his office. When another
half-hour had drifted by he decided the old man had encountered
friends and either caught a ride home or gone with one to supper. So
Martinez proceeded to his own meal.
Yet he was pervaded by an unaccountable uneasiness. The sun had set in
a bank of clouds and night was not far off. He made another search for
the old Mexican, inquiring here and there, until he was informed by
one that he had seen Saurez in Vorse's saloon talking with Vorse and
sipping a glass of brandy. That was half an hour before. A chill of
fear spread over the lawyer's skin.
Determined, however, to learn the worst, he stole to the saloon and
peered over the slatted door. The Mexican bar-keeper was wiping a
glass; Vorse was not in sight; and--ha! there was Saurez himself
drowsing by a table. Martinez slipped in and made his way to the
rear.
"Come; time to go home," he said softly, giving the old Mexican's
shoulder a shake. This did not arouse the sleeper, so he added force
to his hand, at which the other sagged forward limply.
Martinez jumped back. 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. The old one said he
had come in to pay a little visit to his old employer and have a chat.
They talked for some time."
"Was Vorse asking him questions?"
"Yes. I think Saurez was telling him how he happened to be in town. I
paid little attention to them, however. After a while I glanced up and
saw Vorse standing by him. They were not talking. Then Vorse came away
and said the old man had fallen asleep, and he went out to supper."
Martinez again lifted the head and darted glances over the dead man's
breast. There were no wounds, but on the shriveled brown throat he saw
what might have been a thumb-mark. He could not be sure, yet that was
his guess.
"He was an old man," Miguel remarked.
"Yes. You should notify his son and also the undertaker, so the body
can be taken care of. I'll telephone the latter too when I reach my
office."
This Martinez did, informing Saurez's family that the old man had
died while apparently asleep at Vorse's, and expressed his sympathy
and sorrow.
One feature of the case he instantly perceived; he was released from
any obligation to keep silent regarding the old man's declaration.
Fortunate was he to have obtained it before Vorse had got wind of his
purpose. At the thought of Vorse he arose and locked both front and
back doors of the building, pulled down the window shades and turned
out the light.
It was almost dark by now. 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. With his
tongue made garrulous by brandy and by the presence of his old
employer the old man had doubtless related everything that occurred
between him and Martinez; and the vulture-like, bald-headed
saloon-keeper, recognizing that he had been unconsciously betrayed had
immediately acted to close this witness' lips forever against a second
utterance.
Martinez himself was in danger. The perspiration dampened his face as
he realized that as far as he was concerned the die was cast. He must
fling in his fortunes with Weir to the utmost. He would first stand in
defense on his right as a lawyer to secure evidence for a client, but
if this failed--and what rights would Vorse halt for?--he must depend
upon the paper. Once they had that, they would speedily put him out of
the way as they had done Saurez. But if they had it not, they would at
least hesitate to wreak their vengeance until they could get it into
their possession. He must place it in Weir's hands at once, then if
questioned refuse to inform them of its whereabouts. Perhaps they
would try to seize it some time this night. He stood up, lighted the
lamp, saw that all was well in the office and took his hat.
A peremptory knock sounded on the door of the rear room.
"Open up there, Martinez," a voice commanded.
He stole thither, listened.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Never mind. Open this door or I'll pull it down," came in hoarse
tones he recognized as Burkhardt's. The man, or men, outside had
chosen the rear to force an entrance if necessary, where there would
be no spectators. "Jerk it open quick," Burkhardt continued savagely.
"We want you." Then again, "We knew you were there, though you kept
the place dark. Move lively before I use this ax."
Never did Martinez' mind work more rapidly. Likewise his eyes darted
everywhere in search of the object he needed. Then he glided to a
decrepit arm-chair and turning it over stuffed the document in a rent
in its padded seat, out of sight underneath. Next he filled his
pockets with other papers signed by Saurez. Last, he hastily tore open
the little telephone book and ran a forefinger down the H's.
"Doctor Hosmer's, hurry," he exclaimed. "Number F28."
Blows were already sounding on the rear door, but the lock was strong
and resisted. Of all the persons he knew Janet Hosmer was the only one
he could trust to keep her word. And he dare not wait until Weir could
come.
"Is this you, Janet? Martinez talking," he said, when he heard her
answer. "Listen. I'm at my office; men are trying to break in to get
a paper valuable for Mr. Weir's defense. They must not get it. He's to
be arrested and tried for murder of the man he killed. You and I know
he's innocent. This is a life and death matter. The paper is hidden in
the old chair. The men are breaking down the door. I'll get them away
long enough for you to come and obtain it. Give it to Weir--at once,
to-night, immediately. Promise me you will, promise! My own life
probably hangs on it. Return to your house and stay for half an hour
and if he hasn't arrived by that time, go to the dam. Thank you, thank
you--from my heart! Start now."
The words had tumbled out in an agitated stream, occupying but a few
seconds. The panels were splintering in the door now, as the ax
smashed a way through. Martinez had no need to look up Weir's number;
and it was in a strain of terror and excitement that he waited for the
connection.
"See Janet Hosmer at once," he shot at the engineer, followed by the
rest of the warning already quoted which had so electrifying an effect
upon Steele Weir.
But the words had broken off abruptly. For as the door crashed off its
hinges Martinez dropped the telephone receiver and darted for the
front entrance, shooting back the bolt and flinging it open. He almost
plunged into Vorse who was on guard there.
"Stand still," the man ordered. And Martinez kept the spot as if
congealed, for in the saloon-keeper's hand was a revolver with an
exceedingly large muzzle.
Burkhardt burst in, ax still in hand, eyes bloodshot with rage. Vorse
turned and closed the front door. Then he glanced over the lawyer's
table and ran a hand into his inside coat pocket bulging with
documents. He glanced through one or two.
"Here's what we're after," said he. "We'll take him to my place where
we can quietly settle the matter." His eyes rested on the Mexican with
ominous meaning.
"Come along, you snake," Burkhardt growled, seizing their prisoner's
arm. "Out the back way--and keep your mouth shut. Don't try to make a
break of any kind, if you know what's best for you."
Martinez' yellow skin was almost white.
"But, gentlemen, what does this all mean?" he began, endeavoring to
pull back.
"You'll learn soon enough."
"Step right along," Vorse added. "Take him away, Burkhardt, then I'll
blow out this light."
With no further word Martinez accompanied his captors into the gloom
of the night. They moved in silence through the dark space behind the
row of store buildings. The lawyer felt that at least the way was
clear for Janet Hosmer.