In the Shadow of the Hills. George C. Shedd
trustworthiness first of all, then loyalty and ability.”
“Which leaves nothing,” Martinez smiled.
He preceded the engineer and swung the door open, stepping aside. To the visitor’s question regarding fees for the acknowledgments taken, he waved a declining hand.
“Nothing, nothing. Delighted to render you the service.”
“Very well.”
“I’ll attend to the letter,” the lawyer again assured him.
“Come out to the dam in a day or two.”
“To-morrow, if you wish.”
“To-morrow afternoon will do.”
Steele Weir’s frame filled the lighted doorway as he stepped forth from the office. He paused to accustom his eyes to the darkness, for during his colloquy with the attorney full night had descended. On the same side of the street with himself and perhaps twelve or fifteen paces off he saw a girl’s figure appear and disappear before a window as she moved along.
Then suddenly a tongue of red flame darted at him across the street, where lay a space of unlighted gloom. His hat was whipped off his head. The sharp report of a shot cracked between the adobe walls. With an unbelievably rapid movement Steele Weir drew the revolver 61 in his pocket, and which he had carried ever since his encounter with young Sorenson in the restaurant, fired twice where he had seen the flame and leaped aside into the darkness beside the doorway. There he waited, half crouching, for a further attack.
But none came. Men began to run towards the place. Shouts and calls echoed along the street. In two minutes a crowd was surging before Martinez’ door wildly asking questions.
Weir pocketed his pistol and walked back into the office, where he found his bullet-pierced hat lying on the floor and the attorney standing frozen with astonishment. A stream of people followed at his heels.
“Who did this shooting? Do you know, Felipe?” a tall raw-boned white man who led them asked hastily.
“This gentleman, Mr. Weir, was fired on, sheriff,” Martinez burst out volubly.
“And I fired in return,” the engineer stated. “The fellow was across the street in the dark. You might look over there.”
Turning and pushing his way through the packed door, the sheriff disappeared. The crowd melted away again. Presently as Weir glanced about he saw a new figure at the doorway, staring at him. He went towards the girl there outlined in the lamplight.
“Was that you I saw moving along just before the exchange of compliments, Miss Hosmer?” he asked.
“Yes. I was coming towards you on my way home.”
“It probably gave you a fright.”
“It did, indeed. I heard the shot and saw your hat knocked off. I just went cold in my tracks. At first I believed you killed.”
“I’m very much alive, as you see.”
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