The engineer was almost ready to believe that, but cunning was not the only weapon in his enemies' arsenal. How would this lean lawyer stand up under intimidation, bribes, threats? "I trust so, Martinez," said he. "Do you think they will try to get me sometime by an out-and-out gun-play?" "No, no, no." "Do you think they could if they tried?" Weir inquired, grimly. The attorney paused with finger and thumb on the point of his mustache, lifted his eyebrows and smiled broadly. "They'll consider twice before they attempt it, after your expert exhibition this evening," said he. "It was amazing, your speed, your accuracy." Steele tapped the man on the breast, who experienced a distinct tremor at that significant touch and at the veiled menace in the dam manager's eyes. "There's always one bullet in my gun for the man who betrays me, Martinez." The lawyer licked his lips. On general principles he disliked statements that committed one to the future. But it was necessary to say something. "To be sure. I should feel the same in your circumstances," he responded. Then as Weir turned to his car, he continued: "The inquest to-morrow morning should be over early. I'll visit you in the afternoon as planned." "Don't forget that letter," Weir called out. Martinez marveled. Kill a man, and still remember a letter! That magnified his respect immensely. Cool, that fellow! Then a slight shiver as if a chill from those black peaks west of the town had struck through his flesh rippled along his spine; for he had been over at the jail with the crowd and had viewed that dead body lying there on the stone floor. Not only cool, but dangerous and deadly, this engineer. He, Martinez, must be discreet; it would not do to risk gaining Weir's enmity. That cold-faced man could not be "monkeyed with." Martinez gnawed his mustache and eyed the dully illuminated office window. He wondered if those four men inside had not at last found their match, perhaps their master. Any one with half a brain could see there was going to be a desperate struggle between the four and the one, and he was not exactly sure yet that he wanted to venture farther into the affair. But the very danger fascinated him with its subtle and obscure features, exactly suited to his manipulation. A man who had been standing apart sauntered nearer. "Señor," he addressed the lawyer in Spanish. Martinez whirled about. "Ah, it's only you, Naharo." "He is a bad fighter, eh?" And the man, almost white because of intermixed blood, moved a hand in the direction Weir's car had gone. "Perhaps not bad. Quick with a gun, however," was the careful reply. "With his fists also. I saw, or if I did not see, I very nearly did so--it is the same--saw him use them in Bowenville. And on that dog of an Ed Sorenson who would have seduced my little Dolorosa, as he did Cristobal's daughter, if I had not perceived what he was at." The lawyer's ears were instantly pricked up. He caught the man by the shirt-sleeve.