n 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