The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana

His purpose had been the wild impulse of unstable youth; there was no strength to it, no real resolution. Besides, he was a gentle-hearted lad, to whom Diane’s appeal for his mother and sister was irresistible.

“Thank you, Miss Diane,” he said, with a profound sigh. “Your kind heart has seen where my anger has been blind. Yes, I will return and help my mother. And I thank you, sir,” he went on, turning reluctantly to face the stare of the rancher’s eyes again. “You, too, have plainly shown me my duty, and I shall follow it, but – if ever – ”

“And you’ll do well,” broke in Jake, with a rough laugh that jarred terribly. “Your father’s paid his pound. If his son’s wise, he’ll hunt his hole.”

Archie’s eyes flashed ominously. Diane saw the look, and, in an instant, drew his attention to his horse, which was moving off toward the barn.

“See, Archie,” she said, with a gentle smile, “your horse is weary, and is looking for rest.”

The boy read her meaning. He held out his hand impulsively, and the girl placed hers into it. In a moment his other had closed over it, and he shook it tenderly. Then, without a word, he made off after his horse.

The blind man’s face was turned in his direction as he went, and when the sound of his footsteps had died away, he turned abruptly and tapped his way back to the door. At the threshold he turned upon the foreman.

“Two days in succession I have been disturbed,” he gritted out. “You are getting past your work, Jake Harnach.”

“Father – ” Diane started forward in alarm, but he cut her short.

“And as for you, miss, remember your place in my house. Go, look to your duties. Sweep, wash, cook, sew. Those are the things your sex is made for. What interest have you, dare you have, in that brainless boy? Let him fight his own battles. It may make a man of him; though I doubt it. He is nothing to you.”

Diane shrank before the scathing blast of that sightless fury. But she rallied to protest.

“It is the women-folk, father.”

“Women-folk? Bah!”

He threw up his hands in ineffable scorn, and shuffled away into the house.

Jake, still smarting under the attack, stood leaning against the verandah post. He was looking away down at the bunkhouse, where a group of the men were gathered about Archie Orr, who, seated on his horse, was evidently telling his tale afresh.

Diane approached him. He did not even turn to meet her.

“Jake, I want Bess at once. Hitch her to the buckboard, and have her sent round to the kitchen door.”

“What are you goin’ to do, my girl?” he asked, without shifting his gaze.

“Maybe I shall drive over to see those poor women.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t have her.”

Jake turned, and looked down at her from his great height. Archie Orr had just ridden off.

Diane returned his look fearlessly, and there was something in the directness of her gaze that made the giant look away.

“I think I can,” she said quietly. “Go and see to it now.”

The man started. It seemed as if he were about to bluster. His bold, black eyes flashed ominously, and it was plain from his attitude that a flat and harsh refusal was on his lips. But somehow he didn’t say it. The brutality of his expression slowly changed as he looked at her. A gentle light stole slowly, and it seemed with difficulty, into his eyes, where it looked as out of place as the love-light in the eyes of a tiger. But there was no mistaking it. However incongruous it was there, and the lips that had been framing a cruel retort merely gave utterance to a quiet acquiescence.

“All right. I’ll send her round in five minutes.”

And Diane went into the house at once.

Meanwhile, a great discussion of young Orr’s affairs was going on at the bunkhouse. Arizona had vacated his favorite seat, and was now holding the floor. His pale face was flushed with a hectic glow of excitement. He was taxing his little stock of strength to the uttermost, and, at least, some of those looking on listening to him knew it.

“I tell you ther’ ain’t nothin’ fer it but to roll up to old blind hulks an’ ast him to send us out. Ef this dog-gone skunk’s let be, ther’ ain’t no stock safe. Guess I’ve had my med’cine from ’em, and I’m jest crazy fer more. I’ve had to do wi’ fellers o’ their kidney ’fore, I guess. We strung six of ’em up in a day on the same tree down Arizona way, as that gray-headed possum, Joe Nelson, well remembers. Say, we jest cleaned our part o’ that country right quick. Guess ther’ wa’n’t a ‘bad man’ wuth two plugs o’ nickel chawin’ around when we’d finished gettin’ ’em. Say, this feller’s played it long enough, an’ I’m goin’ right now to see the boss. He’s around. Who’s comin’?”

“Yes, an’ Archie Orr’s a pore sort o’ crittur to git left wi’ two women-folk,” said Raw Harris, rising from his upturned bucket and putting forth his argument, regardless of its irrelevance. “Not a stick to shelter him – which I mean ‘them.’ An’ not a dog-gone cent among ’em. By G – , Arizona’s right.”

“That’s it,” put in Joe Nelson; “you’ve hit it. Not a dog-gone cent among ’em, an’, what’s more, owin’ blind hulks a whole heap o’ bills on mortgage. Say, that was mostly a weak move him askin’ the boss fer help. Why, I guess old Marbolt hates hisself on’y one shade wuss’n he hated Manson Orr. Say, boys, ef we’re askin’ to lynch Red Mask, we ain’t askin’ in any fancy name like ‘Orr.’ Savee?”

There was silence for a moment while they digested the wisdom of the suggestion. Then Jacob Smith nodded, and Lew Cawley murmured —

“Dead gut every time, is Joe.”

This loosened their tongues again until Tresler spoke.

“See here, boys, you’re talking of lynching, and haven’t a notion of how you’re going to get your man. Don’t even know where to lay hands on him. Do you think Marbolt’s going to turn us all loose on the war-path? Not he. And how are two or three of us going to get a gang of ten or twelve? Besides, I believe it’ll be easier to get him without a lynching party. Remember he’s no ordinary cattle-rustler. I say lie low, he’ll come our way, and then – ”

“That’s it, lie low,” broke in Joe Nelson, shaking his gray head over a pannikin of tea, and softly blowing a clearing among the dead flies floating on its surface. “Maybe y’ ain’t heard as the sheriff’s come around Forks. Guess he’s fixed a station ther’.”

“He’s already done so?” asked Tresler.

“Yup.”

“By Jove! The very thing, boys. Don’t roll up. Don’t do any lynching. The sheriff’s the boy for Red Mask.”

But Arizona, backed by Raw Harris, would have none of it. They were of the old-time stock who understood only old-time methods, and cordially resented any peaceful solution to the difficulty. They wanted a lynching, and no argument would dissuade them. And after much discussion it was Arizona’s final word that carried the day.

“Now, you see, Tresler,” he said huskily, for his voice was tired with sustained effort. “You’re the remarkablest smart ‘tenderfoot’ that ever I see. Say, you’re a right smart daddy – an’ I ain’t given to latherin’ soap-suds neither. But ther’s suthin’s I calc’late that no ‘tenderfoot,’ smart as he may be, is goin’ to locate right. Hoss thieves is hoss thieves, an’ needs stringin’. Ther’ ain’t nuthin’ for it but a rawhide rope fer them fellers. Guess I’ve seen more’n you’ve heerd tell of. Say, boys, who’s goin’ to see the boss? Guess he’s right ther’ on the verandah.”

Though there was no verbal reply as the wild American turned to move off, there was a general movement to follow him. Raw Harris started it. Pannikins were set down upon the ground, and, to a man, the rest followed in their leader’s wake. Tresler went too, but he went only because he knew it would be useless – even dangerous – to hold back. The general inclination was to follow the lead of this volcanic man. Besides, he had only voiced that which appealed to them all. The gospel of restraint was not in their natures. Only Joe Nelson really endorsed Tresler’s opinion. But then Joe was a man who had lived his youth out, and had acquired that level-headedness from experience which Tresler possessed instinctively. Besides, he was in touch with Diane. He had lived more than ten years on that ranch, during which time he had stood by watching with keenly observant eyes the doings of the cattle world about him. But he, too, in spite of his own good reason, moved on to the verandah with the rest.

And Jake saw the movement and understood, and he reached the verandah first and warned the blind man of their coming.

And Tresler’s prophecy was more than fulfilled. As they came they saw the rancher rise from his seat. He faced them, a tall, awesome figure in his long, full dressing-gown. His large, clean-cut head, his gray, clipped beard, the long aquiline nose, and, overshadowing all, his staring, red eyes; even on Arizona he had a damping effect.

“Well?” he questioned, as the men halted before him. Then, as no answer was forthcoming, he repeated his inquiry. “Well?”

And Arizona stepped to the front. “Wal, boss, it’s this a-ways,” he began. “These rustlers, I guess – ”

But the blind man cut him short. The frowning brows drew closer over the sightless eyes, which were focussed upon the cowpuncher with a concentration more overpowering than if their vision had been unimpaired.

“Eh? So you’ve been listening to young Orr,” he said, with a quietness in marked contrast to the expression of his face. “And you want to get after them?” Then he shook his head, and the curious depression of his brows relaxed, and a smile hovered round his mouth. “No, no, boys; it’s useless coming to me. Worse than useless. You, Arizona, should know better. There are not enough ranches round here to form a lynching party, if one were advisable. And I can’t spare men from here. Why, to send enough men from here to deal with this gang would leave my place at their mercy. Tut, tut, it is impossible. You must see it yourselves.”

“But you’ve been robbed before, sir,” Arizona broke out in protest.

“Yes, yes.” There was a grating of impatience in the blind man’s voice, and the smile had vanished. “And I prefer to be robbed of a few beeves again rather than run the chance of being burned out by those scoundrels. I’ll have no argument about the matter. I can spare no hand among you. I’ll not police this district for anybody. You understand – for anybody. I will not stop you – any of you” – his words came with a subtle fierceness now, and were directed at Arizona – “but of this I assure you, any man who leaves this ranch to set out on any wild-goose chase after these rustlers leaves it for good. That’s all I have to say.”

Arizona was about to retort hotly, but Tresler, who was standing close up to him, plucked at his shirt-sleeve, and, strangely enough, his interference had its effect. The man glared round, but when he saw who it was that had interrupted him, he made no further effort to speak. The wild man of the prairie was feeling the influence of a stronger, or, at least, a steadier nature than his own. And Jake’s lynx eyes watching saw the movement, and he understood.

The men moved reluctantly away. Their moody looks and slouching gait loudly voiced their feelings. No words passed between them until they were well out of ear-shot. And Tresler realized now the wonderful power of brain behind the sightless eyes of the rancher. Now, he understood something of the strength which had fought the battle, sightless though he was, of those early days; now he comprehended the man who could employ a man of Jake’s character, and have strength enough to control him. That afternoon’s exhibition made a profound impression on him.

Their supper was finished before they set out for the house, and now the men, murmuring, discontented, and filled with resentment against the rancher, loafed idly around the bunkhouse. They smoked and chewed and discussed the matter as angry men who are thwarted in their plans will ever do. Tresler and Joe alone remained quiet. Tresler, for the reason that a definite plan was gradually forming in his brain out of the chaos of events, and Joe because he was watching the other for his own obscure reasons.

The sun had set when Tresler separated himself from his companions. Making his way down past the lower corrals he took himself to the ford. Joe thoughtfully watched him go.

Seated on a fallen tree-trunk Tresler pondered long and deeply. He was thinking of Joe’s information that the sheriff had at last set up a station at Forks. Why should he not carry his story to him? Why should he not take this man into his confidence, and so work out the trapping of the gang? And, if Jake were —

He had no time to proceed further. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of wheels, followed, a moment later, by the splash of a horse crossing the ford. He turned in the direction whence the sound came, and beheld Bessie hauling a buckboard up the bank of the river; at the same instant he recognized the only occupant of the vehicle. It was Diane returning from her errand of mercy.

Tresler sprang to his feet. He doffed his prairie hat as the buckboard drew abreast of him. Nor was he unmindful of the sudden flush that surged to the girl’s cheeks as she recognized him. Without any intention Diane checked the mare, and, a moment later, realizing what she had done, she urged her on with unnecessary energy. But Tresler had no desire that she should pass him in that casual fashion, and, with a disarming smile, hailed her.

“Don’t change a good mind, Miss Marbolt,” he cried.

Whereat the blush returned to the girl’s cheek intensified, for she knew that he had seen her intention. This time, however, she pulled up decidedly, and turned a smiling face to him.

“This is better than I bargained for,” he went on. “I came here to think the afternoon’s events out, and – I meet you. I had no idea you were out.”

“I felt that Bess wanted exercise,” the girl answered evasively.

Without asking herself why, Diane felt pleased at meeting this man. Their first encounter had been no ordinary one. From the beginning he seemed to link himself with her life. For her their hours of acquaintance might have been years; years of mutual help and confidence. However, she gathered her reins up as though to drive on. Tresler promptly stayed her.

“No, don’t go yet, Miss Marbolt, please. Pleasures that come unexpectedly are pleasures indeed. I feel sure you will not cast me back upon my gloomy thoughts.”

Diane let the reins fall into her lap.

“So your thoughts were gloomy; well, I don’t wonder at it. There are gloomy things happening. I was out driving, and thought I would look in at Mosquito Reach. It has been razed to the ground.”

“You have been to see – and help – young Orr’s mother and sister? I know it. It was like you, Miss Marbolt,” Tresler said, with a genuine look of admiration at the dark little face so overshadowed by the sun-hat.

“Don’t be so ready to credit me with virtues I do not possess. We women are curious. Curiosity is one of our most pronounced features. Poor souls – their home is gone. Utterly – utterly gone. Oh, Mr. Tresler, what are we to do? We cannot remain silent, and yet – we don’t know. We can prove nothing.”

“And what has become of them – I mean Mrs. Orr and her daughter?” Tresler asked, for the moment ignoring the girl’s question.

“They have gone into Forks.”

“And food and money?”

“I have seen to that.” Diane shrugged her shoulders to make light of what she had done, but Tresler would not be put off.

“Bless you for that,” he said, with simple earnestness. “I knew I was right.” Then he reverted abruptly to her question. “But we can do something; the sheriff has come to Forks.”

“Yes, I know.” Diane’s tone suddenly became eager, almost hopeful. “And father knows, and he is going to send in a letter to Fyles – Sheriff Fyles is the great prairie detective, and is in charge of Forks – welcoming him, and inviting him out here. He is going to tell him all he knows of these rustlers, and so endeavor to set him on their track. Father laughs at the idea of the sheriff catching these men. He says that they – the rustlers – are no ordinary gang, but clever men, and well organized. But he thinks that if he gets Fyles around it will save his property.”

“And your father is wise. Yes, it will certainly have that effect; but I, too, have a little idea that I have been working at, and – Miss Marbolt, forgive the seeming impertinence, but I want to discuss Jake again; this time from a personal point of view. You dislike Jake; more, you have shown me that you fear him.”

The girl hesitated before replying. This man’s almost brusque manner of driving straight to his point was somewhat alarming. He gave her no loophole. If she discussed the matter with him at all it must be fully, or she must refuse to answer him.

“I suppose I do fear him,” she said at last with a sigh. Then her face suddenly lit up with an angry glow. “I fear him as any girl would fear the man who, in defiance of her expressed hatred, thrusts his attentions upon her. I fear him because of father’s blindness. I fear him because he hopes in his secret heart some day to own this ranch, these lands, all these splendid cattle, our fortune. Father will be gone then. How? I don’t know. And I – I shall be Jake’s slave. These are the reasons why I fear Jake, Mr. Tresler, since you insist on knowing.”

“I thank you, Miss Marbolt.” The gentle tone at once dispelled the girl’s resentment. “You have suspicions which may prove to be right. It was for this reason I asked you to discuss Jake. One thing more and I’ll have done. This Joe Nelson, he is very shrewd, he is in close contact with you. How far is he to be trusted?”

“To any length; with your life, Mr. Tresler,” the girl said with enthusiasm. “Joe is nobody’s enemy but his own, poor fellow. I am ashamed to admit it, but I have long since realized that when things bother me so that I cannot bear them all alone, it is Joe that I look to for help. He is so kind. Oh, Mr. Tresler, you cannot understand the gentleness, the sympathy of his honest old heart. I am very, very fond of Joe.”

The man abruptly moved from his stand at the side of the buckboard, and looked along the trail in the direction of the ranch. His action was partly to check an impulse which the girl’s manner had roused in him, and partly because his quick ears had caught the sound of some one approaching. He was master of himself in a moment, however, and, returning, smiled up into the serious eyes before him.

“Well, Joe shall help me,” he said. “He shall help me as he has helped you. If – ” he broke off, listening. Then with great deliberation he came close up to the buckboard. “Miss – Diane,” he said, and the girl’s lids lowered before the earnestness of his gaze, “you shall never – while I live – be the slave of Jake Harnach.”

Nor had Tresler time to move away before a tall figure rounded the bend of the trail. In the dusk he mistook the newcomer for Jake, then, as he saw how slim he was, he realized his mistake.

The man came right up to the buckboard with swift, almost stealthy strides. The dark olive of his complexion, the high cheek-bones, the delicately chiseled, aquiline nose, the perfectly penciled eyebrows surmounting the quick, keen, handsome black eyes; these things combined with the lithe, sinuous grace of an admirably poised body made him a figure of much attraction.

The man ignored Tresler, and addressed the girl in the buckboard in a tone that made the former’s blood boil.

“The boss, him raise hell. Him say, ‘I mak’ her wish she not been born any more.’ Him say, ‘Go you, Anton, an’ find her, an’ you not leave her but bring her back.’ Ho, the boss, your father, he mad. Hah?” The half-breed grinned, and displayed a flashing set of teeth. “So I go,” he went on, still smiling in his impudent manner. “I look out. I see the buckboard come down to the river. I know you come. I see from there back” – he pointed away to the bush – “you talk with this man, an’ I wait. So!”

Diane was furious. Her gentle brown eyes flashed, and two bright patches of color burned on her cheeks. The half-breed watched her carelessly. Turning to Tresler she held out her hand abruptly.

“Good-night, Mr. Tresler,” she said quietly. Then she chirruped to her light-hearted mare and drove off.

Anton looked after her. “Sacre!” he cried, with a light shrug. “She is so mad – so mad. Voilà!” and he leisurely followed in the wake of the buckboard.

And Tresler looked after him. Then it was that his thoughts reverted to the scene in the saloon at Forks. So this was Anton – “Black” Anton – the man who had slid into the country without any one knowing it. He remembered Slum Ranks’s words and description. This was the man who had the great Jake’s measure.

CHAPTER VII

WHICH DEALS WITH THE MATTER OF DRINK

Although the murder of Manson Orr caused a wide-spread outcry, it ended at that in so far as the inhabitants of the district were concerned. There were one or two individuals who pondered deeply on the matter, and went quietly about a careful investigation, and of these Tresler was the most prominent. He found excuse to visit the scene of the outrage; he took interest in the half-breed settlement six miles out from Mosquito Bend. He hunted among the foot-hills, even into the obscurer confines of the mountains; and these doings of his were the result of much thought, and the work of much time and ingenuity; for everything had to be done without raising the suspicion of anybody on the ranch, or for that matter, off it. Being a “green” hand helped him. It was really astonishing how easily an intelligent man like Tresler could get lost; and yet such was the deplorable fact. Even Arizona’s opinion of him sank to zero, while Jake found a wide scope for his sneering brutality.

As the days lengthened out into a week, and then a fortnight passed and nothing more was heard of Red Mask, the whole matter began to pass out of mind, and gradually became relegated to the lore of the country. It was added to the already long list of barroom stories, to be narrated, with embellishments, by such men as Slum or the worthy Forks carpenter.

The only thing that stuck in people’s minds, and that only because it added fuel to an already deep, abiding, personal hatred, was the story of Julian Marbolt’s treatment of young Archie Orr, and his refusal to inaugurate a vigilance party. The blind man’s name, always one to rouse the roughest side of men’s tongues, was now cursed more bitterly than ever.

And during these days the bunkhouse at Mosquito Bend seethed with revolt. But though this was so, underneath all their most bitter reflections the men were not without a faint hope of seeing the career of these desperadoes cut short; and this hope sprang from the knowledge of the coming of the sheriff to Forks. The faith of Arizona and the older hands in the official capacity for dealing with these people was a frail thing, but the younger set were less sceptical.

And at last Julian Marbolt’s tardy invitation to Fyles was despatched. Tresler had watched and waited for the sending of that letter; he had hoped to be the bearer of it himself. It would have given him the opportunity of making this Fyles’s acquaintance, which was a matter he desired to accomplish as soon as possible, without drawing public attention to the fact. But in this he was disappointed, for Jake sent Nelson. Nor did he know of the little man’s going until he saw him astride of his buckskin “shag-an-appy,” with the letter safely bestowed in his wallet.

This was not the only disappointment he experienced during that fortnight. He saw little or nothing of Diane. To Tresler, at least, their meeting at the ford was something more than a recollection. Every tone of the girl’s voice, every look, every word she had spoken remained with him, as these things will at the dawn of love. Many times he tried to see her, but failed. Then he learned the meaning of their separation. One day Joe brought him a note from Diane, in which she told him how Black Anton had returned to her father and poured into his only too willing ears a wilfully garbled story of their meeting at the ford. She told him of her father’s anger, and how he had forbidden her to leave the house unattended by at least one of his two police – Anton and Jake. This letter made its recipient furious, but it also started a secret correspondence between them, Joe Nelson proving himself perfectly willing to act as go-between. And this correspondence was infinitely pleasant to Tresler. He treasured Diane’s letters with a jealous care, making no attempt to disguise the truth from himself. He knew that he was falling hopelessly in love – had fallen hopelessly in love.