The Night Riders Read online

  Slum turned back to the bar. “Here, Carney,” he said, planking out a ten-dollar bill, “hand over chips to that. We’re losin’ blessed hours gassin’. I’m goin’ fer a hand at ‘draw.’ An’ say, give us a new deck o’ cards. Guess them o’ Shaky’s needs curry-combin’ some. Mr. Tresler,” he went on, turning to his old boarder, “mebbe I owe you some. Have you a notion?”

  “No thanks, Slum,” replied Tresler, decidedly. “I’m getting an old hand now.”

  “Ah!”

  And the little man moved off with a thoughtful smile on his rutted, mahogany features.

  Tresler watched these men take their seats for the game. Their recent bickering was wholly forgotten in the ruling passion for “draw.” And what a game it was! Each man, ignorant, uncultured in all else, was a past master at poker—an artist. The baser instincts of the game appealed to the uppermost sides of their natures. They were there to best each other by any manner of trickery. Each man understood that his neighbor was doing all he knew, nor did he resent it. Only would he resent it should the delinquent be found out. Then there would be real trouble. But they were all such old-time sinners. They had been doing that sort of thing for years, and would continue to do it for years more. It was the method of their lives, and Tresler had no opinion on the right or wrong of it. He had no right to judge them, and, besides, he had every sympathy for them as struggling units in Life’s great battle.

  But presently he left the table, for Fyles came in, and he had been waiting for him. But the sheriff came by himself, and Tresler asked him the reason.

  “Well, you see, Nelson is outside, Tresler,” the burly man said, with something like a smile. “He wouldn’t come in. Shall we go out to him?”

  The other assented, and they passed out. Joe was sitting on his buckskin pony, gazing at the saloon with an infinite longing in his old eyes.

  “Why are you sitting there?” Tresler asked at once. Then he regretted his question.

  “Wal,” Joe drawled, without the least hesitation, “I’m figgerin’ you oughter know by this time. Ther’s things born to live on liquid, an’ they’ve mostly growed tails. Guess I ain’t growed that—yet. Mebbe I’ll git down at Doc. Osler’s. An’ I’ll git on agin right ther’,” he added, as an afterthought.

  Joe smiled as much as his twisted face would permit, but Tresler was annoyed with himself for having forced such a confession from him.

  “Well, I’m sorry I suggested it, Joe,” he said quickly; “as you say, I ought to have known better. Never mind, I want you to do me a favor.”

  “Name it, an’ I’ll do it if I bust.”

  The little man brightened at the thought of this man asking a favor of him.

  Tresler didn’t respond at once. He didn’t want to put the matter too bluntly. He didn’t want to let Joe feel that he regarded him as a subordinate.

  “Well, you see, I’m looking for some one of good experience to give me some friendly help. You see, I’ve bought a nice place, and—well, in fact, I’m setting up ranching on my own, and I want you to come and help me with it. That’s all.”

  Joe looked out over the market-place, he looked away at the distant hills, his eyes turned on Doc. Osler’s house; he cleared his throat and screwed his face into the most weird shape. His eyes sought the door of the saloon and finally came back to Tresler. He swallowed two or three times, then suddenly thrust out his hand as though he were going to strike his benefactor.

  “Shake,” he muttered hoarsely.

  And Tresler gripped the proffered hand. “And perhaps you’ll have that flower-garden, Joe,” he said, “without the weeds.”

  “Mr. Tresler, sir, shake agin.”

  “Never mind the ‘mister’ or the ‘sir,’” said Tresler. “We are old friends. Now, Fyles,” he went on, turning to the officer, who had been looking on as an interested spectator, “have you any news for Miss Marbolt?”

  “Yes, the decision’s made. I’ve got the document here in my pocket.”

  “Good. But don’t tell it me. Give me an hour’s start of you. I’m going to see the lady myself. And, Joe,” Tresler looked up into the old man’s beaming face. “Will you come with the sheriff when he interviews—er—our client?”

  “All right, Mis——”

  “No.”

  “Tresler, si——”

  “No.”

  “All right, Tresler,” said the old man, in a strangely husky voice.

  * * *

  Diane was confronting her lover for the last interview. Mrs. Osler had discreetly left them, and now they were sitting in the diminutive parlor, the man, at the girl’s expressed wish, sitting as far from her as the size of the room would permit. All his cheeriness had deserted him and a decided frown marred the open frankness of his face.

  Diane, herself, looked a little older than when we saw her last at the ranch. The dark shadows round her pretty eyes were darker, and her face looked thinner and paler, while her eyes shone with a feverish brightness.

  “You overruled my decision once, Jack,” she was saying in a low tone that she had difficulty in keeping steady, “but this time it must not be.”

  “Well, look here, Danny, I can give you just an hour in which to ease your mind, but I tell you candidly, after that you’ll have to say ‘yes,’ in spite of all your objections. So fire away. Here’s the watch. I’m going to time you.”

  Tresler spoke lightly and finished up with a laugh. But he didn’t feel like laughter. This objection came as a shock to him. He had pictured such a different meeting.

  Diane shook her head. “I can say all I have to say in less time than that, Jack. Promise me that you will not misunderstand me. You know my heart, dear. It is all yours, but, but—Jack, I did not tell all I knew at the inquest.”

  She paused, but Tresler made no offer to help her out. “I knew father could see at night. He was what Mr. Osler calls a—Nyc—Nyctalops. That’s it. It’s some strange disease and not real blindness at all, as far as I can make out. He simply couldn’t see in daylight because there was something about his eyes which let in so much light, that all sense of vision was paralyzed, and at such time he suffered intense pain. But when evening came, in the moonlight, or late twilight; in fact at any time when there was no glare of light, just a soft radiance, he could not only see but was possessed of peculiarly acute vision. How he kept his secret for so many years I don’t know. I understand why he did, but, even now, I cannot understand what drove him to commit the dreadful deeds he did, so wealthy and all as he was.”

  Tresler thought he could guess pretty closely. But he waited for her to go on.

  “Jack, I discovered that he could see at night when you were ill, just before you recovered consciousness,” she went on, in a solemn, awestruck tone.

  “Ah!”

  “Yes, while you were lying there insensible you narrowly escaped being murdered.”

  Again she paused, and shuddered visibly.

  “I was afraid of something. His conduct when you were brought in warned me. He seemed to resent your existence; he certainly resented your being in the house, but most of all my attendance on you. I was very watchful, but the strain was too much, and, one night, feeling that the danger of sleep for me was very real, I barricaded the stairs. I did my utmost to keep awake, but foolishly sat down on my own bed and fell asleep. Then I awoke with a start; I can’t say what woke me. Anyway, realizing I had slept, I became alarmed for you. I picked up the light and went out into the hall, where I found my barricade removed——”

  “Yes, and your father at my bedside, with his hands at my throat.”

  “Loosening the bandage.”

  “To?”

  “To open the wound and let you bleed to death.”

  “I see. Yes, I remember. I dreamt the whole scene, except the bandage business. But you——”

  “I had the lighted lamp, and the moment its light flashed on him he was as—as blind as a bat. His hands moved about your bandage fumbling and uncertain. Yes, he
was blind enough then. I believe he would have attacked me, only I threatened him with the lamp, and with calling for help.”

  “Brave little woman—yes, I remember your words. They were in my dream. And that’s how you knew what to do later on when Jake and he——”

  The girl nodded.

  “So Fyles was right,” Tresler went on musingly. “You did know.”

  “Was I wrong, Jack, in not telling them at the inquest? You see he is dead, and——”

  “On the contrary, you were right. It would have done no manner of good. You might have told me, though.”

  “Well, I didn’t know what to do,” the girl said, a little helplessly. “You see I never thought of cattle-stealing. It never entered my head that he was, or could be, Red Mask. I only looked upon it as a villainous attempt on your life, which would not be likely to occur again, and which it would serve no purpose to tell you of. Besides, the horror——”

  “Yes, I see. Perhaps you were right. It would have put us on the right track though, as, later on, the fight with Jake and your action with regard to it did. Never mind; that’s over. Julian Marbolt was an utter villain from the start. You may as well know that his trading in ‘black ivory’ was another name for slave-trading. His blindness had nothing to do with driving him to crime, nor had your mother’s doings. He was a rogue before. His blindness only enabled him to play a deeper game, which was a matter likely to appeal to his nature. However, nothing can be altered by discussing him. I have bought a ranch adjoining Mosquito Bend, and secured Joe’s assistance as foreman. I have given out contracts for rebuilding the house; also, I’ve sent orders east for furnishings. I am going to buy my stock at the fall round-up. All I want now is for you to say when you will marry me, sweetheart.”

  “But, Jack, you don’t seem to understand. I can’t marry you. Father was a—a murderer.”

  “I don’t care what he was, Danny. It doesn’t make the least difference to me. I’m not marrying your father.”

  Diane was distressed. The lightness of his treatment of the subject bothered her. But she was in deadly earnest.

  “But, Jack, think of the disgrace! Your people! All the folk about here!”

  “Now don’t let us be silly, Danny,” Tresler said, coming over to the girl’s side and taking possession of her forcibly. In spite of protest his arm slipped round her waist, and he drew her to him and kissed her tenderly. “My people are not marrying you. Nor are the folk—who, by the way, can’t, and have no desire to throw stones—doing so either. Now, you saved my life twice; once through your gentle nursing, once through your bravery. And I tell you no one has the right to save life and then proceed to do all in their power to make that life a burden to the miserable wretch on whom they’ve lavished such care. That would be a vile and unwomanly action, and quite foreign to your gentle heart. Sweetheart,” he went on, kissing her again, “you must complete the good work. I am anything but well yet. In fact I am so weak that any shock might cause a relapse. In short, there is only one thing, as far as I can see, to save me from a horrid death—consumption or colic, or some fell disease—and that’s marriage. I know you must be bored to death by——No,” as the girl tried to stop him, “don’t interrupt, you must know all the fearsome truth—a sort of chronic invalid, but if you don’t marry me, well, I’ll get Joe to bury me somewhere at the crossroads. Look at all the money I’ve spent in getting our home together. Think of it, Danny; our home! And old Joe to help us. And——”

  “Oh, stop, stop, or you’ll make me——”

  “Marry me. Just exactly what I intend, darling. Now, seriously, let’s forget the old past; Jake, your father, Anton, all of them—except Arizona.”

  Diane nestled closer to him in spite of her protests. There was something so strong, reliant, masterful about her Jack that made him irresistible to her. She knew she was wrong in allowing herself to think like this at such a moment, but, after all, she was a weak, loving woman, fighting in what she conceived to be the cause of right. If she found that her heart, so long starved of affection, overcame her sense of duty, was there much blame? Tresler felt the gentle clinging movement, and pressed her for her answer at once.

  “Time’s nearly up, dearest. See through that window, Fyles and Joe are coming over to you. Is it marry, or am I to go to the Arctic regions fishing for polar bears without an overcoat? I don’t care which it is—I mean—no. Yes, quick! They’re on the verandah.”

  The girl nodded. “Yes,” she said, so low that his face came in contact with hers in his effort to hear, and stayed there until the burly sheriff knocked at the door.

  He entered, followed by Joe. Tresler and Diane were standing side by side. He was still holding her hand.

  “Fyles,” Tresler said at once, beaming upon both men, “let me present you to the future Mrs. John Tresler. Joe,” he added, turning on the little man who was twisting his slouch hat up unmercifully in his nervous hand, and grinning ferociously, “are the corrals prepared, and have you got my branding-irons ready? You see I’ve rounded her up.”

  The little man grinned worse than ever, and appeared to be in imminent peril of extending his torn mouth into the region of his ear. Diane listened to the horrible suggestion without misgiving, merely remarking in true wifely fashion—

  “Don’t be absurd, Jack!”

  At which Fyles smiled with appreciation. Then he coughed to bring them to seriousness, and produced an official envelope from his tunic pocket.

  “I’ve just brought you the verdict on your property, Miss Marbolt,” he said deliberately. “Shall I read it to you, or would you——?”

  “Never mind the reading,” said Diane impulsively. “Tell me the contents.”

  “Well, I confess it’s better so. The legal terms are confusing,” said the officer emphatically. “You can read them later. I don’t guess the government could have acted better by you than they’ve done. The property,”—he was careful to avoid the rancher’s name—“the property is to remain yours, with this proviso. An inquiry has been arranged for, into all claims for property lost during the last ten years in the district. And all approved claims will have to be settled out of the estate. Five years is the time allowed for all such claims to be put forward. After that everything reverts to you.”

  Diane turned to her lover the moment the officer had finished speaking.

  “And, Jack, when that time comes we’ll sell it all and give the money to charity, and just live on in our own little home.”

  “Done!” exclaimed Tresler. And seizing her in his arms he picked her up and gave her a resounding kiss. The action caused the sheriff to cough loudly, while Joe flung his hat fiercely to the ground, and in a voice of wildest excitement, shouted—

  “Gee, but I want to holler!”

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXIV

  ARIZONA

  When winter comes in Canada it shuts down with no uncertainty. The snow settles and remains. The sun shines, but without warmth. The still air bites through any clothing but furs, moccasins, or felt-lined overshoes. The farmers hug the shelter of their houses, and only that work which is known as “doing the chores” receives attention when once winter sets its seal upon the land. Little traffic passes over the drifted trails now; a horseman upon a social visit bent, a bobsleigh loaded with cord-wood for the wood-stoves at home, a cutter, drawn by a rattling team of young bronchos, as rancher and wife seek the alluring stores of some distant city to make their household purchases, even an occasional “jumper,” one of those low-built, red-painted, one-horsed sleighs, which resemble nothing so much as a packing-case with a pair of shafts attached. But these are all; for work has practically ceased in the agricultural regions, and a period of hibernation has begun, when, like the dormouse, rancher and farmer alike pass their slack time in repose from the arduous labors of the open season.

  Even the most brilliant sunlight cannot cheer the mournful outlook to any great extent. Out on the Edmonton trail, hundreds of miles to the north
of Forks, at the crossroads where the Battule trail branches to the east, the cheerless prospect is intensified by the skeleton arms of a snow-crowned bluff. The shelter of trees is no longer a shelter against the wind, which now comes shrieking through the leafless branches and drives out any benighted creature foolish enough to seek its protection against the winter storm. But in winter the crossroads are usually deserted.

  Contrary to custom, however, it is evident that a horseman has recently visited the bluff. For there are hoof-prints on one of the crossing trails; on the trail which comes from somewhere in the south. The marks are sharp indentations and look fresh, but they terminate as the crossing is reached. Here they have turned off into the bush and are lost to view. The matter is somewhat incomprehensible.

  But there is something still more incomprehensible about the desolate place. Just beyond where the hoof-prints turn off a lightning-stricken pine tree stands alone, bare and blackened by the fiery ordeal through which it has passed, and, resting in the fork of one of its shriveled branches, about the height of a horseman’s head, is a board—a black board, black as is the tree-trunk which supports it.

  As we draw nearer to ascertain the object of so strange a phenomenon on a prairie trail we learn that some one has inscribed a message to those who may arrive at the crossing. A message of strange meaning and obscure. The characters are laboriously executed in chalk, and have been emphasized with repeated markings and an attempt at block capitals. Also there is a hand sketched roughly upon the board, with an outstretched finger pointing vaguely somewhere in the direction of the trail which leads to Battule.

  “This is the One-Way Trail”

  We read this and glance at the pointing finger which is so shaky of outline, and our first inclination is to laugh. But somehow before the laugh has well matured it dies away, leaving behind it a look of wonder not unmixed with awe. For there is something sinister in the message, which, though we do not understand it, still has power to move us. If we are prairie folk we shall have no inclination to laugh at all. Rather shall we frown and edge away from the ominous black board; and it is more than probable we shall avoid the trail indicated, and prefer to make a detour if our destination should chance to be Battule.