The Night Riders Read online

  “And you’ve christened her ‘Lady Jezebel’?” she asked.

  Tresler laughed. “Why, yes, it seems to suit her,” he said indifferently.

  Then a slight pause followed which amounted almost to awkwardness. The girl had come to find him. Her visit was not a matter of chance. She wanted to talk to this man from the East. And, somehow, Tresler understood that this was so. For some moments she sat stroking Bessie’s shoulder with her rawhide riding-switch. The mare grew restive. She, too, seemed to understand something of the awkwardness, and did her best to break it up by one or two of her frivolous gambols. When she had been pacified, the girl leaned forward in her saddle and looked straight into her companion’s eyes.

  “Tell me,” she said, abruptly; “why did you ride that animal?”

  The man laughed a little harshly. “Because—well, because I hadn’t sense enough to refuse, I suppose.”

  “Ah, I understand. Jake Harnach.”

  Tresler shrugged.

  “I came out purposely to speak to you,” the girl went on, in a quiet, direct manner. There was not the least embarrassment now. She had made up her mind to avoid all chance of misunderstanding. “I want to put matters quite plainly before you. This morning’s business was only a sequel to your meeting with Jake, or rather a beginning of the sequel.”

  Tresler shook his head and smiled. “Not the beginning of the sequel. That occurred last evening, after I left you.”

  Diane looked a swift inquiry.

  “Yes, Jake is not an easy man. But believe me, Miss Marbolt, you need have no fear. I see what it is; you, in the kindness of your heart, dread that I, a stranger here in your land, in your home, may be maltreated, or even worse by that unconscionable ruffian. Knowing your father’s affliction, you fear that I have no protection from Jake’s murderous savagery, and you are endeavoring bravely to thrust your frail self between us, and so stave off a catastrophe. Have no fear. I do not anticipate a collision. He is only an atrocious bully.”

  “He is more than that. You underestimate him.”

  The girl’s face had darkened. Her lips were firmly compressed, and an angry fire burned in her usually soft eyes.

  Tresler, watching, read the hatred for Jake; read the hatred, and saw that which seemed so out of place in the reliant little face. A pronounced fear was also expressed, and the two were so marked that it was hard to say which feeling predominated. Hatred had stirred depths of fire in her beautiful eyes, but fear had paled her features, had set drawn lines about her mouth and brows. He wondered.

  “You are right, Mr. Tresler, in that you think I dread for your safety,” she went on presently. “It was certainly that dread that brought me out here to-day. You do not anticipate a collision because you are a brave man. You have no fear, therefore you give no thought to possibilities. I am weak and a woman, and I see with eyes of understanding and knowledge of Jake, and I know that the collision will be forced upon you; and, further, when the trouble comes, Jake will take no chances. But you must not think too well of me. Believe me, there is selfishness at the root of my anxiety. Do you not see what trouble it will cause to us; my father, me?”

  Tresler looked away. The girl had a strange insistence. It seemed to him folly to consider the matter so seriously. He was convinced that she was holding something back; that she was concealing her real reason—perhaps the reason of her own fear of Jake—for thus importuning him. It did not take him long to make up his mind with those lovely, appealing eyes upon him. He turned back to her with a frank smile, and held out his hand. Diane responded, and they shook hands like two friends making a bargain.

  “You are right, Miss Marbolt,” he said. “I promise you to do all in my power to keep the peace with Jake. But,” and here he held up a finger in mock warning, “anything in the nature of a physical attack will be resented—to the last.”

  Diane nodded. She had obtained all the assurance he would give, she knew, and wisely refrained from further pressure.

  Now a silence fell. The sun was dropping low in the west, and already the shadows on the grass were lengthening. Tresler brought his grazing horse back. When he returned Diane reverted to something he had said before.

  “This ‘sequel’ you spoke of. You didn’t tell me it.” Her manner had changed, and she spoke almost lightly.

  “The matter of the sequel was a trivial affair, and only took the form of Jake’s spleen in endeavoring to make my quarters as uncomfortable for me as possible. No, the incident I had chiefly in mind was something altogether different. It was all so strange—so very strange,” he went on reflectively. “One adventure on top of another ever since my arrival. The last, and strangest of all, did not occur until nearly midnight.”

  He looked up with a smile, but only to find that Diane’s attention was apparently wandering.

  The girl was gazing out over the waving grass-land with deep, brooding, dreamy eyes. There was no anger in them now, only her features looked a little more drawn and hard. The man waited for a moment, then as she did not turn he went on.

  “You have strange visitors at the ranch, Miss Marbolt—very strange. They come stealthily in the dead of night; they come through the shelter of the pinewoods, where it is dark, almost black, at night. They come with faces masked—at least one face——”

  He got no further. There was no lack of effect now. Diane was round upon him, gazing at him with frightened eyes.

  “You saw them?” she cried; and a strident ring had replaced her usually soft tones.

  “Them? Who?”

  For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes. He inquiringly; she with fear and mingled horror.

  “These—these visitors.” The words came almost in a whisper.

  “Yes.”

  “And what were they like?”

  The girl spoke apprehensively.

  Then Tresler told his story as he had told it to Joe Nelson. And Diane hung on every word he uttered, searching him through and through with her troubled eyes.

  “What are you going to do about it?” she asked as he finished.

  Tresler was struck with the peculiarity of the question. She expressed no surprise, no wonder. It seemed as though the matter was in nowise new to her. Her whole solicitude was in her anticipation of what he would do about it.

  “I am not sure,” he said, concealing his surprise under a leisurely manner. “I had intended to tell Jake,” he went on a moment later, “only the Lady Jezebel put it out of my head. I told Joe Nelson last night. He told me I had seen Red Mask, the cattle thief, and one of his men. He also tried to get me to promise that I would say nothing about it to Jake. I refused to give that promise. He gave me no sufficient reasons, you see, and—well, I failed to see the necessity for silence.”

  “But there is a necessity, Mr. Tresler. The greatest.” Diane’s tone was thrilling with an almost fierce earnestness. “Joe was right. Jake is the last person to whom you should tell your story.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Diane echoed, with a mirthless laugh. “Pshaw!”

  “Yes, why? I have a right to know, Miss Marbolt.”

  “You shall know all I can tell you.” The girl seemed on the verge of making an impulsive statement, but suddenly stopped; and when at last she did proceed her tone was more calm and so low as to be little above a whisper. “Visitors such as you have seen have been seen by others before. The story, as you have told it, has in each case been told to Jake by the unfortunate who witnessed these strange movements at night——”

  “Unfortunate?”

  “Yes. The informant has always met with misfortune, accident—whatever you like to call it. Listen; it is a long story, but I will merely outline the details I wish to impress on you. Some years ago this Red Mask appeared from no one knows where. Curiously enough his appearance was in the vicinity of this ranch. We were robbed, and he vanished. Some time later he was seen again, much the same as you saw him last night. One of our boys gave the warning to Jake. Two days lat
er the poor fellow who informed upon him was found shot on the trail into Forks. Later, again, another hand witnessed a somewhat similar scene and gave information. His end was by drowning in a shallow part of the river. Folks attributed his end to drink, but——Again Red Mask showed up—always at night—again he was seen, and Jake was warned. The victim this time met his death by the falling of a rock in the foot-hills. The rock killed horse and rider. And so it has gone on at varying intervals. Eight men have been similarly treated. The ninth, Arizona, barely escaped with his life a little while ago. I’ve no doubt but that some accident will happen to him yet. And, mark this, in each case the warning has gone first to Jake. I may be altogether wrong; certainly other folks do not look upon the death of these various men with suspicion, but I have watched, and reasoned out all I have seen. And——”

  “Why, Jake must——”

  “Hush!”

  Diane gazed round her apprehensively.

  “No, no, Mr. Tresler,” she went on hurriedly, “I do not say that; I dare not think of it. Jake has been with us so long; he cares for father’s interest as for his own. In spite of his terrible nature he is father’s—friend.”

  “And the man who intends to marry you,” Tresler added to himself. Aloud he asked, “Then how do you account for it?”

  “That’s just it. I—I don’t account for it. I only warn you not to take your story to Jake.”

  Tresler drew a step nearer, and stood so close to her that her dungaree skirt was almost touching him. He looked up in a manner that compelled her gaze.

  “You do account for it, Miss Marbolt,” he said emphatically.

  Nor did the girl attempt denial. Just for a moment there was a breathless silence. Then Bessie pawed the ground, and thrust her nose into the face of Tresler’s horse in friendly, caressing fashion; and the movement broke the spell.

  “Urge me no further, Mr. Tresler,” Diane exclaimed appealingly. “Do not make me say something I have no right to say; something I might have cause to regret all my life. Believe me, I hardly know what to believe, and what not to believe; I hardly know what to think. I can only speak as my instinct guides me. Oh, Mr. Tresler, I—I can trust you. Yes—I know I can.”

  The girl’s appeal had its effect. Tresler reached up and caught the little outstretched hands.

  “Yes, you can trust me, Miss Marbolt,” he said with infinite kindness. “You have done the very best thing you could have done. You have given me your confidence—a trouble that I can see has caused you ages of unhappiness. I confess you have opened up suspicions that seem almost preposterous, but you——” He broke off, and stood gazing down thoughtfully at the two hands he still held clasped within his. Then he seemed to become suddenly aware of the position, and, with a slight laugh, released them. “Pardon me,” he said, glancing up into the troubled eyes with a kindly smile. “I was dreaming. Come, let us return to the ranch. It is time. It will be pleasant riding in the cool. By Jove, I begin to think that it is more than possible I owe Jake considerable gratitude after all.”

  “You owe him nothing,” answered Diane, with angry emphasis. “You owe him nothing but obedience as a ranch hand, and that you will have to pay him. For the rest, avoid him as you would a pest.”

  Tresler sprang into the saddle, and the horses ambled leisurely off in the direction of the ranch. And, as he rode, he set aside all thoughts of Jake and of Red Mask. He thought only of the girl herself, of her delightful companionship.

  His steady-going horse, with due regard for the sex of his companion, allowed Bess to lead him by a neck. He traveled amiably by her side, every now and then raising his nose as though to bite his spirited little companion, but it was only pretense. Nor did Tresler urge him faster. He preferred that they should travel thus. He could gaze to his heart’s content upon Diane without displaying rudeness. He could watch the trim, erect figure, poised so easily and gracefully upon the saddle. She rode like one born to the saddle, and by the gait of her mare, he could see that her hands were of the lightest, yet firm and convincing to the high-mettled animal they controlled.

  The girl was a perfect picture as she rode; her rich, dark hair was loosely coiled, and several waving ringlets had fluffed loose with the breeze and motion of riding, and strayed from the shadow of her wide hat. Tresler’s thoughts went back to his home; and, he told himself, none of the horsewomen he had known could have displayed such an abundant grace in the saddle with their rigid habits and smart hats. There was nothing of the riding-school here; just the horsemanship that is so much a natural instinct.

  And so they rode on to the ranch.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VI

  THE KILLING OF MANSON ORR

  All was still and drowsy about the ranch. Every available hand was out at work upon some set task, part of the daily routine of the cattle world. Mosquito Bend was a splendid example of discipline, for Jake was never the man to let his men remain idle. Even Arizona had been set to herd the milch cows and generally tend the horses remaining in the barn; and Tresler, too, was further acquainting himself with the cantankerous nature of barbed-wire fencing.

  On this particular afternoon there was nothing about the ranch to indicate the undercurrent of trouble Tresler had so quickly discovered to be flowing beneath its calm surface. The sun was pouring down upon the wiltering foliage with a fierceness which had set the insect world droning its drowsy melody; the earth was already parching; the sloughs were already dry, and the tall grass therein was rapidly ripening against the season of haying. But in spite of the seeming peace; in spite of the cloudless sky, the pastoral beauty of the scene, the almost inaudible murmur of the distant river, the tide was flowing swiftly and surely. It was leaping with the roar of a torrent.

  A clatter of horse’s hoofs broke up the quiet, and came rattling over the river trail. The noise reached Jake’s ears and set him alert. He recognized the eager haste, the terrific speed, of the animal approaching. He rose from his bunk and stood ready, and a look of deep interest was in his bold black eyes. Suddenly a horseman came into view. He was leaning well over his horse’s neck, urging to a race with whip and spur. Jake saw him sweep by and breast the rise to the rancher’s house.

  At the verandah the man flung off his horse, and left the drooping beast standing while he hammered at the door. There was some delay, and he repeated his summons still more forcibly, adding his voice to his demand.

  “Hello there!” he called. “Any one in?”

  “Archie Orr,” Jake muttered to himself, as he stepped out of his hut.

  The next moment the man at the verandah was caught up in the full blast of the foreman’s half-savage and wholly hectoring protest.

  “What blazin’ racket are you raisin’ ther’?” he roared, charging up the hill with heavy, hurried strides. “This ain’t Skitter Reach, you dog-gone coyote, nor that ain’t your pap’s shanty. What’s itchin’ you, blast you?”

  Archie swung round at the first shout. There was a wild expression on his somewhat weak face. It was the face of a weak nature suddenly worked up into the last pitch of frenzy. But even so the approach of Jake was not without its effect. His very presence was full of threat to the weaker man. Archie was no physical coward, but, in that first moment of meeting, he felt as if he had been suddenly taken by the collar, lifted up and shaken, and forcibly set down on his feet again. And his reply came in a tone that voiced the mental process he had passed through.

  “I’ve come for help. I was in Forks last night, and only got home this afternoon,” he answered, with unnatural calmness. Then the check gave way before his hysterical condition, and Jake’s momentary influence was lost upon him. “I tell you it’s Red Mask! It’s him and his gang! They’ve shot my father down; they’ve burned us out, and driven off our stock! God’s curse on the man! But I’ll have him. I’ll hunt him down. Ha! ha!” The young man’s blue eyes flashed and his face worked as his hysteria rose and threatened to overwhelm him. “You hear?” he shouted on—“what does
it say? Blood for blood. I’ll have it! Give me some help. Give me horses, and I’ll have it! I’ll——” His voice had risen to a shriek.

  “You’ll shut off that damned noise, or”—Jake’s ferocious face was thrust forward, and his fierce eyes glared furiously into the other’s—“or git.”

  Archie shrank back silenced at once. The effect suited the foreman, and he went on with a sardonic leer—

  “An’ you’ll have ‘blood for blood’ o’ Red Mask? You? You who was away boozin’ in Forks when you’d a right to ha’ been around lookin’ to see that old skinflint of a father o’ yours didn’t git no hurt. You’re goin’ to round up Red Mask; you who ain’t got guts enough but to crawl round here fer help to do it. You!”

  A hot reply sprang to the youngster’s lips in spite of his fear of this man, but it died suddenly as a voice from within the doorway broke in upon them.

  “And a right purpose too, Archie.”

  Diane stepped out on to the verandah and ranged herself at his side, while her scornful brown eyes sought the foreman’s face. There was a moment’s pause, then she looked up into the boy’s troubled face.

  “You want to see my father?”

  Archie was only eighteen, and though well grown and muscular, he was still only a boy.

  “Yes, Miss Diane; I do want to see him. I want to borrow a couple of horses from him, and to ask his advice.”

  Archie’s recent heat and hysteria had soothed under the influence of the girl’s presence. He now stood bowed and dejected; he appeared to have suddenly grown old. Jake watched the scene with a sneer on his brutal face, but remained silent now that Diane was present.

  “I will rouse him myself,” she said quietly, moving toward the door. “Yes, you shall see him, Archie. I heard what you said just now, and I’ll tell him. But——” She broke off, hesitating. Then she came back to him. “Is—is your father dead, or—only wounded?”