"You'll leave him here?" "Yes, while I take you away. We could do nothing for him in any case; his injuries are grave and need a doctor's help. The best service we can perform in his behalf is to start your father or some other physician here as quickly as possible. He may live or he may die; that isn't in our hands. He's unconscious and not suffering, and probably will not feel pain for some hours if he does live, so we can go without feeling that we're robbing him of any of his chances of recovery. Your conscience may rest quite easy on that point. Come, we'll start at once. The quicker we reach your father, the quicker he will arrive here." When they were in his car he wrapped a robe about her against the sharp chill. "I am cold; my teeth are chattering," she said. "You've been under a great strain. Just lie back and rest and think of something else than what has happened, if you can," he urged. "I'll try to." The lamps blazed out at his touch of the switch and the car began to move. She closed her eyes. She did not wish to see the scene of the smash, with the leaping fire and the horrible pile of crushed metal. Indeed, she drew the robe before her face, where she kept it for some time. "Are we past the place?" she asked, finally. "A long way past." "Thank heaven! Nothing shall ever drag me up this road again!" "It will not take us long to reach Johnson's and be off this trail altogether, for it's down-hill going all the way." "You said nothing about the paper? Did you get it?" "No; it wasn't on him. I'll return for another look, but it fell in the fire, I think, and burned." "Do you know what was in it, Mr. Weir?" "No. But I can guess." "I know a little of its contents, from what he said before you entered. It was a statement, something about his father and others doing dishonest acts, I think. He didn't seem to be quite clear what it was about either, but he spoke of your father and declared he hoped the others had swindled him, which he inferred had happened. I didn't know your father ever had been in this country. That's the reason you hate those men, Mr. Sorenson and Mr. Vorse and Mr. Burkhardt; because of some injury they worked your father." "That's the reason. And that too is why they're trying to get rid of me one way or another. But they didn't hire the Mexican to attempt to shoot me; Ed Sorenson employed him. Martinez, when you told me the man's name, telegraphed around the country from Bowenville till he got track of the fellow. He also secured evidence that a white man resembling Ed Sorenson had been seen talking with him at the place he came from. So we can draw our conclusions." "Then he hired the man to assassinate you!"