The Night Riders Part 37

The whole ranch was astir when Arizona returned with Doc. Osler. Nor did they come alone. Fyles had met them on the trail. He had just returned from a fruitless pursuit of the raiders. He had personally endeavored to track Red Mask, but the rustler had evaded him in the thick bush that lined the river; and his men had been equally unsuccessful with the rest of the band. The hills had been their goal, and they had made it through the excellence of their horses. Although the pursuers were well mounted their horses were heavier, and lost ground hopelessly in the midst of the broken land of the foot-hills.

Jake was closeted with the rancher at the coming of the doctor and his companions; but their confabulation was brought to an abrupt termination at once.

The doctor went to the wounded man, who still remained unconscious, while Fyles joined the rancher and his foreman in a discussion of the night's doings. And while these things were going on Arizona and Joe shared the hospitality of the lean-to.

The meeting in the rancher's den had not proceeded far when a summons from up-stairs cut it short. Diane brought a message from the doctor asking her father and the sheriff to join him. Marbolt displayed unusual alacrity, and Fyles followed him as he tapped his way up to the sick-room. Here the stick was abandoned, and he was led to his seat by his daughter. Diane was pale, but alert and determined; while her father wore a gentle look of the utmost concern. The doctor was standing beside the window gazing out over the pastures, but he turned at once as they came in.

"A nasty case, Mr. Marbolt," he said, the moment the rancher had taken up his position. "A very nasty case." He was a brusque little man with a pair of keen black eyes, which he turned on the blind man curiously.

"An artery cut by bullet. Small artery. Your daughter most cleverly stopped bleeding. Many thanks to her. Patient lost gallons of blood.

Precarious position--very. No danger from wound now. Exhaustion only.

Should he bleed again--death. But he won't; artery tied up securely.

Miss Marbolt says you desire patient removed to usual quarters. I say no! Remove him--artery break afresh--death. Sheriff, I order distinctly this man remains where he is. Am I right? Have I right?"

"Undoubtedly." Then Fyles turned upon the blind man. "His orders are your law, Mr. Marbolt," he said. "And you, of course, will be held responsible for any violation of them."

The blind man nodded in acquiescence.

"Good," said the doctor, rubbing his hands. "Nothing more for me now.

Return to-morrow. Miss Marbolt, admirable nurse. Wish I was patient.

He will be about again in two weeks. Artery small. Health good--young.

Oh, yes, no fear. Only exhaustion. Hope you catch villains.

Good-morning. Might have severed jugular--near shave."

Doc. Osler bowed to the girl and pa.s.sed out muttering, "Capital nurse--beautiful." His departure brought the rancher to his feet, and he groped his way to the door. As he pa.s.sed his daughter he paused and gently patted her on the back.

"Ah, child," he said, with a world of tolerant kindness in his voice, "I still think you are wrong. He would have been far better in his own quarters, his familiar surroundings, and amongst his friends. You are quite inexperienced, and these men understand bullet wounds as well as any doctor. However, have your way. I hope you won't have cause to regret it."

"All right, father," Diane replied, without turning her eyes from the contemplation of her sick lover.

And Fyles, standing at the foot of the bed watching the scene, speculated shrewdly as to the relations in which the girl and her patient stood, and the possible parental disapproval of the same.

Certainly he had no idea of the matters which had led up to the necessity for his official services to enforce the doctor's orders.

CHAPTER XVII

THE LIGHTED LAMP

Diane was by no means satisfied with her small victory. She had gained her point, it is true, but she had gained it by means which gave no promise of a happy outcome to her purpose.

Left alone with her patient she had little to do but reflect on her position, and her thoughts brought her many a sigh, much heart-racking and anxiety. For herself she allowed little thought. Her mind was made up as to her future. Her love was to be s.n.a.t.c.hed away while yet the first sweet glamour of it was upon her. Every hope, every little castle she had raised in her maiden thoughts, had been ruthlessly shattered, and the outlook of her future was one dull gray vista of hopelessness. It was the old order accentuated, and the pain of it gripped her heart with every moment she gave to its contemplation.

Happily the life she had lived had strengthened her; she was not the girl to weep at every ill that befell. The first shock had driven her to tears, but that had pa.s.sed. She was of a nature that can suffer bravely, and face the world dry-eyed, gently, keeping the bitterness of her lot to herself, and hiding her own pain under an earnest attempt to help others.

Tresler was her all; and that all meant far more than mere earthly love. To her he was something that must be cherished as a priceless gem entrusted to her care, and his honor was more sacred to her than her own. Therefore all personal considerations must be pa.s.sed over, and she must give him up.

But if his honor was safe in her keeping, his personal safety was another matter. In pitting herself against her father's will she fully realized the danger she was incurring. Therefore she racked her sorely taxed brain for the best means of safeguarding her charge.

She hardly knew what she feared. There was no real danger she could think of, but her instinct warned her to watchfulness, to be prepared for anything. She felt sure that her father would seek some means of circ.u.mventing the sheriff's mandate. What form would his attempt take?

After half an hour's hard thinking she made up her mind to consult her wise old counselor, Joe, and enlist his aid. With this object in view she went down-stairs and visited the lean-to. Here she found both Arizona and Joe. Arizona was waiting a summons from the rancher, who was still busy with Jake and Fyles. At first she thought of consulting her adviser privately, but finally decided to take both men into her confidence; and this the more readily since she knew her lover's liking for the hot-headed cowpuncher.

Both men stood up as she entered. Arizona dragged his slouch hat off with clumsy haste.

"Boys," the girl said at once, "I've come to ask you for a little help."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Left alone with her patient she had little to do but reflect]

"Makes me glad, missie," said the cowpuncher, with alacrity.

Joe contented himself with an upward glance of inquiry.

Diane nodded with an a.s.sumption of brightness.

"Well, it's this," she said. "Jack mustn't be left for the next few days. Now, I am his nurse, but I have household duties to perform and shall be forced to leave him at times. You, Arizona, won't be able to do anything in the daytime, because you are occupied on the ranch. But I thought you, Joe, could help me by being in the kitchen as much as possible. You see, in the kitchen you can hear the least sound coming from up-stairs. The room is directly overhead. In that way I shall be free to do my house."

"Guess you had trouble fixin' him up-stairs?" Joe inquired slowly.

"Doc. Osler wus sayin' somethin' 'fore he went."

Diane turned away. The shrewd old eyes were reading her like a book.

"Yes, father wanted him put in the bunkhouse."

"Ah." Joe's twisted face took on a curious look. "Yes, I guess I ken do that. What's to happen o' night time?"

"Oh, I can sit up with him. The night is all right," the girl returned easily.

"Guess we'd best take it turn about like," Joe suggested.

"No, it wouldn't do."

"Guess it wouldn't do. That's so," the other observed thoughtfully.

"Howsum, I ken set around the kitchen o' nights. I shan't need no lights. Y' see, wi' the door open right into the hall ther' ain't no sound but what I'll hear."

The man's meaning was plain enough, but the girl would not take it.

"No," she said, "it's in the daytime I want you."

"Daytime? I guess that's fixed." Joe looked up dissatisfied.

At this juncture Arizona broke in with a scheme for his own usefulness.

"Say, missie, any time o' night you jest tap hard on that windy I'll know you want the doc. fetchin'. An' I'll come right along up an' git orders. I'll be waitin' around."

The girl looked him squarely in the eyes, seeking the meaning that lay behind his words. But the man's expression was sphinx-like. She felt that these rough creatures, instead of acting as advisers, had a.s.sumed the responsibilities she had only asked their a.s.sistance in.

"You are good fellows both. I can't thank you; but you've taken a weight off my mind."