"You were keen enough at the time for your share of Joe Weir's stuff," he said. "So you'll play the hand out to the end now, the bad cards as well as the good. You're no better than the rest of us, and it was you who hatched the scheme for cleaning him up and who put over the story." "I know, I know. But--but this would be too much like cold-blooded murder." "Murder!" Sorenson grated. "Did you look straight into this fellow Weir's eyes? Didn't you see something there that resembled murder? He'd like only the chance to kill us one by one with his own hands: I saw that much. Just as Burkhardt said, it's him or us. After you told me about him, I had only to take one look. If he has the goods on us--well, he'll have to die. Make up your mind to that. We're back to the time of thirty years ago and fighting for our lives. We were not only all in on the Weir job, but the Dent killing--all of us. Remember that. If the facts become known, we'll be run into some other county and court and hanged. And every enemy we've made in these years past will put up his head and clamor for our blood. Let that sink into your mind." The effect of this low fierce utterance was to hammer the truth home. The Judge was ashen. Vorse's face appeared like an evil mask. Burkhardt glowered savagely. At that instant there sounded the faint report of a shot in the street. Then as the group sat unmoving, rigid, keyed to the highest pitch of expectancy, there followed quickly two more shots. Afterwards, silence. "A gun-play!" issued from Vorse's lips, softly. They all sprang up to hasten to the door. CHAPTER V A SHOT IN THE DARK Steele Weir driving his car down the street in the dusk had caught sight of Felipe Martinez standing near the cattle company's office. He stopped close by, beckoned. Martinez would do as well as another. "You're a notary, I suppose?" he questioned. "Yes, Mr. Weir. Most of us lawyers here are," he replied politely, when he had advanced. "I've some papers I want acknowledged to-night. Must get them into the mail going down to Bowenville in the morning." "Only too pleased to facilitate your business, Mr. Weir. My office is down a few doors." "Jump in." "It's but a few steps." "Then I'll get out here." And the engineer stopped the engine and descended to the ground. Along the street open doorways and windows were already beginning to make yellow panels of lamplight in the thin gloom. The air was still warm, balmy, scented by the lingering aroma of the greasewood smoke of supper fires in Mexican ovens. Stars were jeweling the sky. Few persons moved in the twilight.