A QUEER PAPER
When Mary Johnson next opened her eyes it was at a little shake by her
father. She had slept heavily despite the jolting of the wagon; and
now looked about drowsy-eyed and at a loss to know where she was. Her
clothes and face were damp, her hands cold. She wasn't sure yet but
this was still a dream--the team and wagon, the cabin before which
they stood, the trees and rocks scattered about the grassy park-like
basin, and the soaring mountain peaks on every hand that were just
touched by the first early sun-rays.
The rain and mists were gone, leaving the dawn clear, gray, sharp,
scented with the pungent odor of balsam and pine. From a distance came
the subdued murmur of Terry Creek, which here high in the mountain
range had its source in springs and brooks flowing from pools. All was
peaceful.
Mary's look came to rest on the cabin. Over it reared the great pines
that grew in a clump behind. Its door was ajar, but the log house for
any sign of occupancy might have been untenanted. Immediately the girl
glanced back along the road they had come and beheld there in the dim
shadow at the foot of the lofty granite ledge a shapeless black lump.
She shivered.
"You awake?" her father asked.
"Yes." And she began to climb down over the wagon wheel.
"Wait here. I'll go in first. He might be----" But though the rancher
did not complete his sentence the words spoken carried their own grave
implication.
He came out again presently. Mary gazed at his face to read from it
the news it might carry, and it was with a breath of relief she
perceived that the injured man was still alive, for her father himself
appeared easier of mind. Neither would by choice have a dead man for a
passenger on the ride home, even Ed Sorenson.
"He's breathing, but is still unconscious," Johnson declared. "Must
have got a crack in the head along with the rest. Face is covered with
dried blood. From the stuff inside the house he must have been fixing
for quite a stay--blankets, grub, whiskey, candles, and so on. We'll
eat a bite ourselves before starting back; get the pail out of the
wagon and bring some water and I'll make a pot of coffee. There's a
fireplace and wood inside."
"I'll get the water, but I'll stay out while you're boiling it," the
girl said. "I don't want to see him until I have to go in and help
carry him out."
She went off for the water, on her return setting the bucket by the
door. Then curious to see the place of Ed Sorenson's accident, she
wandered back along the trail to the ledge. There she beheld the
crumpled, fire-blackened remains of his automobile in a heap near the
stone wall. Apparently the car had first struck a small boulder, which
had flung Sorenson out on one side and forward, then leaping this hit
the ledge full force.
At the instant he must have been off the road and headed wrong, she
guessed. The rapid daybreak of the mountains had by now dispersed the
last dimness and indeed the crags far above were bright with sunshine.
She could plainly see the ruin that the machine was, fire having
completed what the smash had left undamaged, and the part of the rock
that was smoked by the flames, and was able to smell yet the reek of
burnt oil, varnish and rubber.
With the eyes of the curious she stared at the wreck, at the ledge, at
the ground, absorbed with simple speculations and filled with a sense
of awe. The machine must have made a big sound when it struck. It was
a lot of money gone quickly, that car. Not enough of it left to make
it worth hauling away. And so on and so on.
Then all at once her wandering regard detected something white in a
crevice between two stones. At first she thought it the gleam of a
bird or a chipmunk. The thing was some yards off from the spot where
she stood, but the flutter persisted. So she approached it to learn
its nature.
The thing was a paper. One corner of a sheet stuck up from the crack
in which it lay and was waved gently by the rising dawn breeze. She
drew it out and perceived it was fastened to other sheets that were
folded, all damp from the rain though not soaked because the cranny
had admitted little moisture. It was the last sheet which had come
partly unfolded, apparently as it fell, so was left in sight or she
would never have noticed the white flutter. This last sheet was blank,
but the others, neatly folded though wrinkled, were covered with
writing she saw on spreading them open. However, she could not read
the pages; the matter was typewritten, but it was not English. Some
foreign language, maybe.
If Mary could not read the document, she could at least logically
deduce how it had happened to be in its present resting-place. The
paper was here because the wrecked automobile was here, so when Ed
Sorenson was pitched out the folded sheets of paper must have been
propelled from his pocket by the same force and at the same instant.
It hit a rock after flying through the air and slid down into the
crack.
Perhaps it was only a business document; it looked like one. Again
perhaps it told something about his crooked private affairs--about his
schemes for ruining girls, possibly. Very likely, indeed. That seemed
to be about all he engaged himself at. When she found some one who
could read it, she would know for certain. She would just take it
along with her and say nothing about her find until she could have
somebody who understood the writing read it over for her.
In places the typing had stained from dampness, but not seriously. She
could dry out the pages over the kitchen stove at home. So folding the
sheets again, she doubled the document, tied it in her handkerchief
and placed it inside her waist, where it could not be lost. Perhaps
there were other papers. But a further search disclosed none,
whereupon as her father was shouting to her from the cabin to come she
retraced her steps.
When they had drunk their coffee and eaten some of Sorenson's food,
making their meal before the door, they carried the unconscious man
out to the wagon, bearing him in the blanket on which he lay. Other
blankets they spread over him. Johnson also placed at the prostrate
figure's feet the rest of the eatables in the cabin.
"No need to leave this stuff to the pack-rats," said he. "We'll just
consider it a little pay towards fetching him out."
"He ought to be willing to pay you a whole lot more when he learns the
trouble you've been to."
"I wouldn't touch his money if he offered me a thousand dollars; I'd
throw it back in his face. I'm not doing this for pay, or friendship,
or charity; I'm doing it to help Janet Hosmer and because Weir asked
me. If the Sorensons had all the money on earth, they couldn't give me
a penny as between man and man. If they owed it to me, that would be
another matter. They'd pay it if I had to stick a gun down their
throats to make them come across."
"We don't need any of their money, I guess," Mary said.
"Nope. We're poor but we're straight. So we're better off than they
are--richer, if we just look at it that way."
Once during the long drive, as they neared the ranch house, a low moan
came from the form on the straw in the wagonbed. Both Johnson and Mary
looked around quickly, then regarded each other.
"Beginning to suffer," said the parent. "It's a wonder there's a whole
bone in his body. I hope the doctor is down below waiting for us."
This proved to be the case when about ten o'clock Johnson drove his
worn-out team into his dooryard. Weir's car was there and with it the
engineer himself and a young medical practitioner. Climbing up into
the wagon, the doctor made a hasty examination of the patient.
"Hips broken. Slight concussion of the skull, but not dangerous," was
his opinion. "I shall not be able to tell the full seriousness of his
injuries until I have him stripped on a table or bed. Probably there
are other broken bones,--ribs or something. We must get him down to
Bowenville as quickly as possible, for his is a bad case. But I guess
if he has pulled through so far he'll recover. If you'll drive your
wagon down to the mouth of the canyon, we'll transfer him to my car,
which is double seated, and then you can accompany me to town; Mr.
Weir says you are willing to go along and help. I'll send you back
from Bowenville."
"Yes, I'll go along. Mary will ride down with us and bring back the
team and wagon."
"Strange what he was doing up there in the mountains with an
automobile alone," the doctor remarked.
"Oh, he might have wanted a day's fishing, or was taking a look at
cattle or range, something like that," Johnson stated.
"Mr. Weir said a sheepherder found him. Wasn't that it, sir?"
The engineer turned to the rancher.
"Wasn't that the way of it?"
"Yes. Showed up here late and said he had found the man and carried
him into the cabin. Said his wrecked car was still burning, so the
accident couldn't have occurred very long previous. Said we ought to
bring him down immediately as he was badly hurt. So I sent word to Dr.
Hosmer, and my girl and I set off at once, the sheepherder going back
with us. Said he just happened to be looking for a stray sheep or he
would never have come on this man, as he was heading his band for a
pass to get over on the west side of the range. S'pose we'll never see
him again."
"Do you know who this man is?"
"His face seems sort of familiar," Johnson replied, scratching his
chin. "But he looks like a city chap, by his clothes, what's left of
them. No papers or anything on him to tell his name. Might have come
over the pass himself from the other side; men go everywhere in these
hill-climbing cars they make nowadays."
"Somebody will be seeking information soon and then we'll know," the
physician said. "He'll probably give his name and address himself when
he comes round. But if I'm not mistaken he'll need another sort of
car if he does any moving about when he's out of bed."
"Why's that?"
"Speaking off-hand, I'll say he'll never walk again. That's the way
broken hips usually turn out; and if his spine is injured, as I
suspect, he will probably be paralyzed from the waist down. Hard luck
for a young man like him. He'll wish at times he was killed
outright."
Unobserved by the speaker Weir and Johnson exchanged a meaningful
look. In the minds of both moved the same thought, that Providence had
punished Ed Sorenson according to his sins and more adequately than
could man. Dreadful years were before him. He would, in truth, wish a
thousand times that he had died at the foot of the ledge.
Half an hour later the visitors had departed, the rancher going with
the physician and his charge to Bowenville, Weir returning to San
Mateo. Mary had driven the wagon up from the mouth of the canyon,
unharnessed the horses, watered and fed them, and now was seated in
the kitchen staring absently out the open door. After so much
excitement she felt distrait, depressed.
Finally she produced and dried the papers over the stove, in which she
had re-kindled a fire.
"Funny how anybody should want to talk or write anything but English,"
she remarked to herself, gazing at the pages.
She attempted to extract some sense from the strange words. At the
bottom of the last sheet she deciphered, Felipe Martinez' name under
the notorial acknowledgment. All at once in scanning certain lines she
came on names that were plain enough--Sorenson, Vorse, Burkhardt,
Gordon. The last must mean Judge Gordon. Then presently she found two
more names that excited her curiosity--James Dent's and Joseph
Weir's.
Springing to her feet she stared at the sheets in her hand. For some
reason or other her blood was beating with an odd sensation of
impending discovery.
"Why--why----" she stammered. "Why, those are the men father told
about being shot, and him looking on as a boy! This is a queer paper!
I wish he were here."
Possession of it gave her a feeling of uneasiness. Her father had
warned her never to speak of the matter to any one--and here was
something about it in writing, or so she guessed. He had said Sorenson
and the other men would kill him at once if they learned he had been a
witness. That meant they would kill her too if they found out that she
not only knew about their crime but had this paper as well.
She looked about. Finally she retied the document in a tea-towel,
tight and secure, and buried it deep in the flour barrel. They would
not think of looking in the flour. But she went to the door just the
same and gazed anxiously down the canyon as if enemies might put their
heads in sight that very minute.