The Night Riders Part 4

She'd fixed my chest up, an' got me trussed neat an' all, an' set right down aside me fer a gas. You know her ways, kind o' sad an'

saft. Wal, she up an' tells me how she'd like gittin' in to Whitewater next winter, an' talked o' dances an' sech. Say, she wus jest whoopin' wi' the pleasure o' the tho't of it. Guess likely she'd be mighty pleased to git a-ways. Wal, I don't jest know how it come, but I got yarnin' of a barbecue as was held down Arizona way. I was tellin' as how I wus ther', an' got winged nasty. It wa'n't much. Y'

see I was tellin' her as I wus runnin' a bit of a hog ranch them times, an', on o-casions, we used to give parties. The pertickler party I wus referrin' to wus a pretty wholesome racket. The boys got good an' drunk, an' they got slingin' the lead frekent 'fore daylight come around. Howsum, it wus the cause o' the trouble as I wus ga.s.sin'

'bout. Y' see, Brown was one of them juicy fellers that chawed hunks o' plug till you could nose Virginny ev'ry time you got wi'in gunshot of him. He was a cantankerous cuss was Brown, an' a deal too free wi'

his tongue. Y' see he'd a lady with him; leastways she wus the pot-wolloper from the saloon he favored, an' he guessed as she wus most as han'some as a Bible 'l.u.s.tration. Wal, 'bout the time the rotgut wus flowin' good an' frekent, they started in to pool fer the prettiest wench in the room, as is the custom down ther'. Brown, he wus dead set on his gal winnin', I guess; an' 'd.y.k.e Hole' Bill, he'd got a pretty tidy filly wi' him hisself, an' didn't reckon as no daisy from a b.u.m saloon could gi' her any sort o' start. Wal, to cut it short, I guess the boys went dead out fer Bill's gal. It wus voted as ther' wa'n't no gal around Sp.a.w.n City as could dec'rate the country wi' sech beauty. I guess things went kind o' silent when s.h.a.ggy Steele read the ballot. The air o' that place got uneasy. I located the door in one gulp. Y' see Brown was allus kind o' sudden. But the trouble come diff'rent. The thing jest dropped, an' that party hummed fer a whiles. Brown's gal up an' let go. Sez she, 'Here, guess I'm the dandy o' this run, an' I ain't settin' around while no old hen from d.y.k.e Hole gits scoopin' prizes. She's goin' to lick me till I can't see, ef she's yearnin' fer that pool. Mebbe you boys won't need more'n half an eye to locate the winner when I'm done.' Wi' that she peels her waist off'n her, an' I do allow she wus a fine chunk. An' the 'd.y.k.e Hole'

daisy, she wa'n't no slouch; guess she wus jest bustin' wi' fight. But Brown sticks his taller-fat nose in an' shoots his bazzoo an'----

"An' that's most as fer as I got when along comes that all-fired 'dead-eyes' an' points warnin' at me while he ogled me with them gummy red rims o' his. An', sez he, 'You light right out o' here sharp, Arizona; the place fer you sc.u.m's down in the bunkhouse. An' I'm not goin' to have any skulkin' up here, telling disreputable yarns to my gal.' I wus jest beginnin' to argyfy. 'But,' sez I. An' he cut me short wi' a curse. 'Out of here!' he roared. 'I give you ten minutes to git!' Then she, Miss Dianny, bless her, she turned on him quick, an' dressed him down han'some. Sez she, 'Father, how can you be so unkind after what Arizona has done for you? Remember,' sez she, 'he saved you a hundred head of cattle, and fought Red Mask's gang until help came and he fell from his horse.' Oh, she was a dandy, and heaped it on like bankin' a furnace. She cried lots an' lots, but it didn't signify. Out I wus to git, an' out I got. An' now I'll gamble that swine Jake'll try and set me to work. But I'll level him--sure."

One of the men, Lew Cawley, laughed silently, and then put in a remark. Lew was a large specimen of the fraternity, and history said that he was the son of an English cleric. But history says similar things of many ne'er-do-wells in the Northwest. He still used the accent of his forebears.

"Old blind-hunks knows something. With all respect, Arizona has winning ways; but," he added, before the fiery Southerner could retort, "if I mistake not, here comes Jake to fulfil Arizona's prophecy."

Every one swung round as Lew nodded in the direction of the house. A huge man of about six feet five was striding rapidly down the slope.

Tresler, who had been listening to the story on the outskirts of the group, eyed the newcomer with wonder. He came at a gait in which every movement displayed a vast, monumental strength. He had never seen such physique in his life. The foreman was still some distance off, and he could not see his face, only a great spread of black beard and whisker. So this was the much-cursed Jake Harnach, and, he thought without any particular pleasure, his future boss.

There was no further talk. Jake Harnach looked up and halted. Then he signaled, and a great shout came to the waiting group.

"Hi! hi! you there! You with the pants!"

A sn.i.g.g.e.r went round the gathering, and Tresler knew that it was he who was being summoned. He turned away to hide his annoyance, but was given no chance of escape.

"Say, send that guy with the pants along!" roared the foreman. And Tresler was forced into unwilling compliance.

And thus the two men, chiefly responsible for the telling of this story of Mosquito Bend, met. The spirit of the meeting was antagonistic; a spirit which, in the days to come, was to develop into a merciless hatred. Nor was the reason far to seek, nor could it have been otherwise. Jake looked out upon the world through eyes that distorted everything to suit his own brutal nature, while Tresler's simple manliness was the result of his youthful training as a public schoolboy.

The latter saw before him a man of perhaps thirty-five, a man of gigantic stature, with a face handsome in its form of features, but disfigured by the harsh depression of the black brows over a pair of hard, bold eyes. The lower half of his face was buried beneath a beard so dense and black as to utterly disguise the mould of his mouth and chin, thus leaving only the harsh tones of his voice as a clue to what lay hidden there.

His dress was unremarkable but typical--moleskin trousers, a thin cotton s.h.i.+rt, a gray tweed jacket, and a silk handkerchief about his neck. He carried nothing in the shape of weapons, not even the usual leather belt and sheath-knife. And in this he was apart from the method of his country, where the use of firearms was the practice in disputes.

On his part, Jake looked upon a well-built man five inches his inferior in stature, but a man of good proportions, with a pair of shoulders that suggested possibilities. But it was the steady look in the steel-blue eyes which told him most. There was a simple directness in them which told of a man unaccustomed to any browbeating; and, as he gazed into them, he made a mental note that this newcomer must be reduced to a proper humility at the earliest opportunity.

There was no pretense of courtesy between them. Neither offered to shake hands. Jake blurted out his greeting in a vicious tone.

"Say, didn't you hear me callin'?" he asked sharply.

"I did." And the New Englander looked quietly into the eyes before him, but without the least touch of bravado or of yielding.

"Then why in h---- didn't you come?"

"I was not to know you were calling me."

"Not to know?" retorted the other roughly. "I guess there aren't two guys with pants like yours around the ranch. Now, see right here, young feller, you'll just get a grip on the fact that I'm foreman of this layout, and, as far as the 'hands' are concerned, I'm boss. When I call, you come--and quick."

The man towered over Tresler in a bristling att.i.tude. His hands were aggressively thrust into his jacket pockets, and he emphasized his final words with a scowl. And it was his att.i.tude that roused Tresler; the words were the words of an overweening bully, and might have been laughed at, but the att.i.tude said more, and no man likes to be browbeaten. His anger leapt, and, though he held himself tightly, it found expression in the biting emphasis of his reply.

"When I'm one of the 'hands,' yes," he said incisively.

Jake stared. Then a curious sort of smile flitted across his features.

"Hah!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

And Tresler went on with cold indifference. "And, in the meantime, I may as well say that the primary object of my visit is to see Mr.

Marbolt, not his foreman. That, I believe," he added, pointing to the building on the hill, "is his house."

Without waiting for a reply he stepped aside, and would have moved on.

But Jake had swung round, and his hand fell heavily upon his shoulder.

"No, you don't, my dandy c.o.c.k!" he cried violently, his fingers painfully gripping the muscle under the Norfolk jacket.

Springing aside, and with one lithe twist, in a flash Tresler had released himself, and stood confronting the giant with blazing eyes and tense drawn muscles.

"Lay a hand on me again, and there'll be trouble," he said sharply, and there was an oddly furious burr in his speech.

The foreman stood for a moment as words failed him. Then his fury broke loose.

"I told you jest now," he cried, falling back into the tw.a.n.g of the country as his rage mastered him, "that I run this layout----"

"And I tell you," broke in the equally angry Tresler, "that I've nothing to do with you or the ranch either until I have seen your master. And I'll have you know that if there's any bulldozing to be done, you can keep it until I am one of the 'hands.' You shan't lack opportunity."

The tone was as scathing as the violence of his anger would permit. He had not moved, except to thrust his right hand into his jacket pocket, while he measured the foreman with his eyes and watched his every movement.

He saw Harnach hunch himself as though to spring at him. He saw the great hands clench at his sides and his arms draw up convulsively. He saw the working face and the black eyes as they half closed and reduced themselves to mere slits beneath the overshadowing brows. Then the hoa.r.s.e, rage-choked voice came.

"By G----! I'll smash you, you----"

"I shouldn't say it." Tresler's tone had suddenly changed to one of icy coldness. The flash of a white dress had caught his eye. "There's a lady present," he added abruptly. And at the same time he released his hold on the smooth b.u.t.t of a heavy revolver he had been gripping in his pocket.

What might have happened but for the timely interruption it would be impossible to say. Jake's arms dropped to his sides, and his att.i.tude relaxed with a suddenness that was almost ludicrous. The white dress fluttered toward him, and Tresler turned and raised his prairie hat.

He gave the foreman no heed whatever. The man might never have been there. He took a step forward.

"Miss Marbolt, I believe," he said. "Forgive me, but it seems that, being a stranger, I must introduce myself. I am John Tresler. I have just been performing the same ceremony for your father's foreman's benefit. Can I see Mr. Marbolt?"

He was looking down into what he thought at the moment was the sweetest, saddest little face he had ever seen. It was dark with sunburn, in contrast with the prim white drill dress the girl wore, and her cheeks were tinged with a healthy color which might have been a reflection of the rosy tint of the ribbon about her neck. But it was the quiet, dark brown eyes, half wistful and wholly sad, and the slight droop at the corners of the pretty mouth, that gave him his first striking impression. She was a delightful picture, but one of great melancholy, quite out of keeping with her youth and fresh beauty.

She looked up at him from under the brim of a wide straw sun-hat, trimmed with a plain silk handkerchief, and pinned to her wealth of curling brown hair so as to give her face the utmost shade. Then she frankly held out her hand in welcome to him, whilst her eyes questioned his, for she had witnessed the scene between the two men and overheard their words. But Tresler listened to her greeting with a disarming smile on his face.

"Welcome, Mr. Tresler," she said gravely. "We have been expecting you.

But I'm afraid you can't see father just now. He's sleeping. He always sleeps in the afternoon. You see, daylight or night, it makes no difference to him. He's blind. He has drifted into a curious habit of sleeping in the day as well as at night. Possibly it is a blessing, and helps him to forget his affliction. I am always careful, in consequence, not to waken him. But come along up to the house; you must have some lunch, and, later, a cup of tea."

"You are awfully kind."

Tresler watched a troubled look that crept into the calm expression of her eyes. Then he looked on while she turned and dismissed the discomfited foreman.

"I shan't ride this afternoon, Jake," she said coldly. "You might have Bessie shod for me instead. Her hoofs are getting very long." Then she turned again to her guest. "Come, Mr. Tresler."

And the New Englander readily complied.

Nor did he even glance again in the direction of the foreman.