n, where
the rocky walls expanded into a grassy park of no great area. They
reached the girl's home about half-past nine that night.

For two hours Weir remained talking with the father, describing the
affair at Bowenville, fending off his first bitter anger at the girl
and gradually persuading him to see that Mary had been deceived, lured
away on hollow promises and was guiltless of all except failing to
take him into her confidence. At last peace was made. Mary wept for a
time, and was patted on the head by her rough, bearded father, who
exclaimed, "There, there, don't cry. You're safe back again; we'll
just forget it."

Outside of the house, however, where he had accompanied Weir to his
car, he said with an oath:

"But I'll not forget Ed Sorenson, if I go to hell for it. My little
girl!"

"She's half a child yet, that's the worse of his offense," Steele
replied, savagely.

"Mary said you choked him."

"Some. Not enough."

"I'll not forget him--or you, Mr. Weir."

Steele mounted into his machine. He thoughtfully studied the rancher's
bearded, weather-tanned face, illuminated by the moonlight.

"At present I'd say nothing about this matter to any one. Later on you
may be able to use it in squaring accounts," the engineer advised.

"I hope so," was the answer, with a bitter note. "But talking would
only hurt Mary, not Ed Sorenson. Whatever the Sorensons do is all
right, you know, because they're rich. The daughter of a poor man like
me would get all the black end of the gossip; and I can't lift a
finger, that's what grinds me, unless I go out and shoot him, then
hang for it. For the bank's got a mortgage on my little bunch of
stock, and on my ranch here, and Sorenson, of course, is the bank.
Gordon and Vorse and a few others are in it too, but he's the bull of
the herd. If I opened my mouth about his son, I'd be kicked off of
Terry Creek, lock, stock and barrel. That's the way Sorenson keeps all
of us poor devils, white and Mexican, eating out of his hand. I've
just been poor since I came here a boy; the gang in San Mateo won't
let anybody but themselves have a chance. And I reckon old man
Sorenson wouldn't care much if his boy had ruined my girl. Cuss him a
little, maybe; that would be all. But I won't forget the whelp. Some
day my chance will come to play even." "Sure; if one just keeps quiet
and waits," Steele agreed. "Well, I must hit the trail. If you want
work any time, come over to the dam; we can a