"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