d as to have a
chair and we'll expedite your business."

As Martinez filled out the acknowledgment blanks on the papers, his
eyes furtively skipped over the vital portions of the documents. The
latter were connected with company business. He had hoped they would
be personal so that he might learn something more of this manager's
affairs, possibly more of his secret antagonism for Sorenson and his
friends. Any intrigue appealed to the thin, slippery lawyer's soul,
but most of all some one's else intrigue into which he might
profitably put a finger. However, from these papers he was to learn
nothing.

He had considered all possibilities of the affair, all possible
solutions of what long ago might have occurred between Joseph Weir,
undoubtedly the father of the man sitting across the table from him,
and the four men now conferring in Sorenson's office. This was no
petty squabble, he divined. There was something going on under the
surface that was big--big! And very dangerous too, for the spirit of
that moment in Vorse's bar was not to be mistaken; it had been tense,
electric. Utmost caution on Martinez's part would therefore be
necessary.

As between the two parties, his sympathies at present inclined towards
Weir. The refusal on the latter's part to reemploy the Mexican workmen
on their own terms was purely a matter of policy, and the lawyer's
first gusty anger had long been forgotten. But not so Sorenson's
sneering words of that afternoon. They struck to the heart of his
vanity, breeding an animosity that would last. Had not the banker
stated that the lawyer should hold no political office whatever? After
all his services? Had he not definitely shown that Martinez might
never expect anything there? Well, the lawyer wasn't one tamely to
yield his rights; he did not propose always to remain a scrimping,
pettifogging attorney, existing on crumbs.

When with a flourish he had appended his name to the acknowledgments
and affixed his seal, he sat back thoughtfully studying the engineer,
who was carefully examining the paragraphs for errors. He knew his
business, did Martinez; the man would find no mistakes. Then the
lawyer's eyes suddenly glistened. He arose and closed the door as Weir
thrust the documents into a stout linen envelope, addressed and
stamped.

"I'll be pleased to see your letter goes in the mail in the morning,"
he said, returning to his place. "The stage leaves at eight-thirty."

"Post-office is closed