CHAPTER IV
THE NIGHT-RIDERS
Tresler had not the smallest inclination for sleep. He was tiredenough physically, but his brain was still much too active. Besides,the bunkhouse was uninviting to him as yet. The two lines oftrestle-beds, with their unkempt occupants, were suggestive of--well,anything but congenial sleeping companions. The atmosphere was closeand stuffy, and the yellow glimmer of the two oil-lamps, one stationedat each end of the room, gave the place a distasteful suggestion ofsqualor.
He was not unduly squeamish--far from it; but, be it remembered, hehad only just left a world of ease and luxury, where snow-white linenand tasteful surroundings were necessary adjuncts to existence.Therefore these things came to him in the nature of a shock.
He looked at his blankets spread over the straw palliasse thatdisguised the loose bed-boards underneath, and this drew his attentionto the mattress itself. It was well-worn and dusty, and as he moved ithe felt that the straw inside was crushed to the smallest chaff. Helaid it back carefully so as not to disturb the dust, and rearrangedthe blankets over it. Then he sat on the foot of it and pondered.
He gazed about him at the other beds. Some of the men were alreadysleeping, announcing the fact more or less loudly. Others were swathedin their blankets smoking in solemn silence. One was deep in theblood-curdling pages of a dime novel, straining his eyes in the fitfullight of the lamps. The scene had novelty for him, but it was notaltogether enthralling, so he filled his pipe and lit it, and passedout into the fresh night air. It was only ten o'clock, and he feltthat a smoke and a comfortable think would be pleasant before facingthe charms of his dusty couch.
The moon had not yet risen, but the starry sheen of the sky dimlyoutlined everything. He was gazing upon the peaceful scene of a ranchwhen night has spread her soft, velvety wings. There were few soundsto distract his thoughts. The air still hummed with the busy insectlife; one of the prowling ranch dogs occasionally gave tongue, itsfiercely suspicious temper no doubt aroused by some vague shadow whichsurely no other eyes than his could possibly have detected in thedarkness; sometimes the distressful plaint of a hungry coyote, huntingfor what it never seems to find--for he is always prowling andhunting--would rouse the echoes and startle the "tenderfoot" with thesuddenness and nearness of its uncanny call. But for the rest all wasstill. And he paced to and fro before the bunkhouse, thinking.
And, strangely enough, of all the scenes he had witnessed that day,and of all the people he had met, it was the scene in which DianeMarbolt had taken part, and of her he mostly thought. Perhaps it wasthe unexpectedness of meeting a girl so charming that held himinterested. Perhaps it was the eager desire she had displayed inwarning him of his personal danger. Perhaps, even, it was therecollection of the soft, brown eyes, the charming little sun-tannedface that had first looked up at him from beneath the broad-brimmedstraw hat. Certain it was her sad face haunted him as no woman's facehad ever haunted him before as he looked out on the vast, dark worldabout him. He felt that he would like to know something of her story;not out of idle curiosity, but that he might discover some means ofbanishing the look of sadness so out of place upon her beautifulfeatures.
His pipe burned out, and he recharged and lit it afresh; then heextended his peregrinations. He moved out of the deeper shadows of thebunkhouse and turned the corner in the direction of the western groupof corrals.
Now he saw the foreman's hut beyond the dark outline of the greatimplement shed, and a light was still shining in the window. Turningaway he passed to the left of the shed, and strolled leisurely on tothe corrals. He had no desire in the world to meet Jake Harnach; notthat he thought such a contingency likely, but still there was alwaysthe chance if the man had not yet gone to bed. He had already decidedthat the less he saw of Jake the better it would be for both of them.He remained for some minutes seated on the top of the corral fence,but the mosquitoes were too thick, and drove him to furtherwanderings.
Just as he was about to move away, he saw the door of the foreman'shut open, and in the light that shone behind, the small figure of thechoreman, Joe Nelson, come out. Then the light was shut out as thegreat figure of Jake blocked the doorway. Now he distinctly heard themspeaking.
"I shall want it first thing in the morning," said the foreman, in hisgreat hoarse voice.
"Guess I'll see to it," replied Joe; "but 'tain't the saddle feranybody who ain't used to it."
"That's o' no consequence. Your business is to have it there."
Then Jake retired, and the door was shut. A moment later the waitingman saw Joe emerge from the shadow and stump off in the direction ofthe bunkhouse. A few yards from the foreman's hut he halted and turnedabout. Then Tresler witnessed something that made him smile, while itraised a lively feeling of satisfaction in his heart. Joe slowlyraised one arm in the direction of the hut, and, although the lightwas insufficient for him to see it, and he could hear no words, hefelt sure that the fist was clenched, and a string of blasphemousinvective was desecrating the purity of the night air. A moment laterJoe passed leisurely on his way, and the light went out in Jake'sdwelling.
And now, without concerning himself with his direction, Treslercontinued his walk. He moved toward an open shed crowded with wagons.This he skirted, intending to avoid the foreman's hut, but just as hemoved out from the shadow, he became aware that Jake's door had openedagain and some one was coming out. He waited for a moment listening.He fancied he recognized the foreman's heavy tread. Curiosityprompted him to inquire further, but he checked the impulse. Afterall, the bully's doings were no concern of his. So he waited until thesound of receding footsteps had died out, and then passed round theback of the shed and strolled on.
There was nothing now in front of him but the dense black line of theboundary pinewoods. These stretched away to the right and left as faras the darkness permitted him to see. The blackness of their depthswas like a solid barrier, and he had neither time nor inclination toexplore them at that hour. Therefore he skirted away to the right,intending to leave the forest edge before he came to the rancher'shouse, and so make his way back to his quarters.
He was approaching the house, and it loomed dark and rigid before him.Gazing upon it, his mind at once reverted to its blind owner, and hefound himself wondering if he were in bed yet, if Diane had retired,and in which portion of the house she slept.
His pipe had gone out again, and he paused to relight it. He had hismatches in his hand, and was about to strike one, when suddenly alight flashed out in front of him. It came and was gone in a second.Yet it lasted long enough for him to realize that it came from awindow, and the window, he knew, from its position, must be the windowof Julian Marbolt's bedroom.
He waited for it to reappear, but the house remained in darkness; and,after a moment's deliberation, he realized its meaning. The door ofthe blind man's room must be opposite the window, and probably it wasthe opening of it that had revealed the lamplight in the hall. Thethought suggested the fact that the rancher had just gone to bed.
He turned his attention again to his pipe; but he seemed destined notto finish his smoke. Just as he had the match poised for a secondtime, his ears, now painfully acute in the stillness about him, caughtthe sound of horses' hoofs moving through the forest.
They sounded quite near; he even heard the gush of the animals'nostrils. He peered into the depths. Then, suddenly realizing thestrangeness of his own position lurking so near the house and undercover of the forest at that hour of the night, he dropped down in theshadow of a low bush. Nor was it any too soon, for, a moment or twolater, he beheld two horsemen moving slowly toward him out of theblack depths. They came on until they were within half a dozen yardsof him, and almost at the edge of the woods. Then they drew up and satgazing out over the ranch in silent contemplation.
Tresler strained his eyes to obtain a knowledge of their appearance,but the darkness thwarted him. He could see the vague outline of theman nearest him, but it was so uncertain that he could make little ofit. One thing only he as
certained, and that was because the figure wassilhouetted against the starlit sky. The man seemed to have his facecovered with something that completely concealed his profile.
The whole scene passed almost before he realized it. The horsemen hadappeared so suddenly, and were gone so swiftly, returning through theforest the way they had come, that he was not sure but that the wholeapparition had been a mere trick of imagination. Rising swiftly, hegazed after the vanished riders, and the crunching of the pine conesunder the horses' hoofs, dying slowly away as they retreated, warnedhim that the stealthy, nocturnal visit was no illusion, but a curiousfact that needed explanation.
Just for an instant it occurred to him that it might be two of thehands out on night work around the cattle, then he remembered that thefull complement were even now slumbering in the bunkhouse. Puzzled andsomewhat disquieted, he turned his steps in the direction of hisquarters, fully intending to go to bed; but his adventures were notover yet.
As he drew near his destination he observed the figure of a man,bearing something on his back, coming slowly toward him. A momentlater he was looking down upon the diminutive person of Joe Nelson inthe act of carrying a saddle upon his shoulder.
"Hello, Nelson, where are you going at this hour of the night?" heasked, as he came face to face with the little man.
The choreman deposited the saddle on the ground, and looked his man upand down before he answered.
"Wher' am I goin'?" he said, as though he were thinking of otherthings. "I guess I'm doin' a job in case I git fergittin' by themornin'. Jake reckons to want my saddle in the mornin' over at thehoss corrals. But, say, why ain't you abed, Mr. Tresler?"
"Never mind the 'mister,' Joe," Tresler said amiably.
A moment later he beheld two horsemen]
"If you're going to the horse corrals now I'll go with you. I'm sobeastly wide awake that I can't turn in yet."
"Come right along, then. Guess I ain't feelin' that ways, sure."
Joe jerked his saddle up and slung it across his back again, and thetwo men walked off in silence.
And as they walked, Joe, under cover of the darkness, eyed hiscompanion with occasional sidelong glances, speculating as to what hewanted with him. He quite understood that his companion was notwalking with him for the pleasure of his company. On his part Treslerwas wondering how much he ought to tell this man--almost astranger--of what he had seen. He felt that some one ought toknow--some one with more experience than himself. He felt certain thatthe stealthy visit of the two horsemen was not wholesome. Suchespionage pointed to something that was not quite open and aboveboard.
They reached the corrals, and Joe deposited his burden upon the woodenwall. Then he turned sharply on his companion.
"Wal, out wi' it, man," he demanded. "Guess you got something you'rewantin' to git off'n your chest."
Tresler laughed softly. "You're pretty sharp, Joe."
"Pretty sharp, eh?" returned the little man. "Say, it don't need norazor to cut through the meanin' of a 'tenderfoot.' Wal?"
Tresler was looking up at the saddle. It was a small, almost skeletonsaddle, such as, at one time, was largely used in Texas; that wasbefore the heavier and more picturesque Mexican saddles came intovogue among the ranchmen.
"What does Jake want that for?" he asked.
His question was an idle one, and merely put for the sake of gainingtime while he arrived at a definite decision upon the other matter.
"Guess it's fer some feller to ride to-morrow--eh? Whew!"
The choreman broke off and whistled softly. Something had justoccurred to him. He measured Tresler with his eye, and then looked atthe short-seated saddle with its high cantle and tall, abrupt horn infront. He shook his head.
Tresler was not heeding him. Suddenly he stopped and sat on theground, propping his back against the corral wall, while he looked upat Joe.
"Sit down," he said seriously; "I've got something rather particular Iwant to talk about. At least, I think it's particular, being astranger to the country."
Without replying, Joe deposited himself on the ground beside his newacquaintance. His face was screwed up into the expression Tresler hadbegun to recognize as a smile. He took a chew of tobacco and preparedto give his best attention.
"Git goin'," he observed easily.
"Well, look here, have we any near neighbors?"
"None nigher than Forks--'cep' the Breeds, an' they're nigh on sixmile south, out toward the hills. How?"
Then Tresler told him what he had seen at the edge of the pinewoods,and the choreman listened with careful attention. At the end of hisstory Tresler added--
"You see, it's probably nothing. Of course, I know nothing as yet ofprairie ways and doings. No doubt it can be explained. But I arguedthe matter out from my own point of view, and it struck me that twohorsemen, approaching the ranch under cover of the forest and a darknight, and not venturing into the open after having arrived, simplydidn't want to be seen. And their not wishing to be seen meant thattheir object in coming wasn't--well, just above suspicion."
"Tol'ble reasonin'," nodded Joe, chewing his cud reflectively.
"What do you make of it?"
"A whole heap," Joe said, spitting emphatically. "What do I make ofit? Yes, that's it, a whole heap. Guess that feller you see most ofhad his face covered. Was that cover a mask?"
"It might have been."
"A red mask?"
"I couldn't see the color. It was too dark. Might have been."
Joe turned and faced his companion, and, hunching his bent knees intohis arms, looked squarely into his eyes.
"See here, pard, guess you never heard o' hoss thieves? They ain'tlikely to mean much to you," he said, with some slight contempt. Thenhe added, by way of rubbing it in, "You bein' a 'tenderfoot.' Guessyou ain't heard tell of Red Mask an' his gang, neither?"
"Wrong twice," observed Tresler, with a quiet smile. "I've heard ofboth horse thieves and Red Mask."
"You've heard tell of hoss thieves an' Red Mask? Wal, I'm figgerin'you've seen both to-night, anyway; an' I'll further tell you this--ifyou'd got the drop on him this night an' brought him down, you'd 'a'done what most every feller fer two hundred miles around has beenlayin' to do fer years, an' you'd 'a' been the biggest pot in Montanaby sundown to-morrow." He spoke with an accent of triumph, and pausedfor effect. "Say, ther' wouldn't 'a' been a feller around as wouldn't'a' taken his hat off to you," he went on, to accentuate thesituation. "Say, it was a dandy chance. But ther', you're a'tenderfoot,'" he added, with a sigh of profound regret.
Tresler was inclined to laugh, but checked himself as he realized theserious side of the matter.
"Well, if he were here to-night, what does it portend?" he asked.
"If he was here to-night it portends a deal," said Joe, sharply. "Itportends that the biggest 'tough,' the biggest man-killer an' hossthief in the country, is on the war-path, an' ther'll be troublearound 'fore we're weeks older."
"Who is he?"
"Who is he? Wal, I 'lows that's a big question. Guess ther' ain't noreal sayin'. Some sez he's from across the border, some sez he's aBreed, some sez he's the feller called Duncan, as used to run a bumsaloon in Whitewater, an' shot a man in his own bar an' skipped. Noone rightly knows, 'cep' he's real 'bad,' an' duffs nigh on to athousand head o' stock most every year."
"Then what's to be done?" Tresler asked, watching the little man'stwisted face as he munched his tobacco.
"What's to be done? Wal, I don't rightly know. Say, what wus you doin'around that house? I ain't askin' fer cur'osity. Ye see, if you gottellin' Jake as you wus round ther', it's likely he'd git real mad. Y'see, Jake's dead sweet on Miss Dianny. It gives him the needle thatI'm around that house. O' course, ther' ain't nuthin' wi' me an' MissDianny, 'cep' we're kind o' friendly. But Jake's that mean-sperritedan' jealous. She hates him like pizen. I know, 'cos I'm kind o'friendly wi' her, so to speak, meanin' nuthin', o' course. But thatain't the point. If you wus to tell him he'd make your head swim."
"Oh, hang Jake!" exclaimed Tresler, impatiently; "I'm sick to death ofhearing of his terrorizing. He can't eat me----"
"No, but he'll make you wish he could," put in the choreman, quietly.
"He'd find me a tough mouthful," Tresler laughed.
"Mebbe. How came you around that house?"
"I simply wandered there by chance. I was smoking and taking a stroll.I'd been all round the ranch."
"That wouldn't suit Jake. No." Joe was silent for a moment.
Tresler waited. At last the little man made a move and spat out hischew.
"That's it," he said, slapping his thigh triumphantly--"that's it,sure. Say, we needn't to tell Jake nuthin'. I'll git around among theboys, an' let 'em know as I heerd tell of Red Mask bein' in the regiono' the Bend, an' how a Breed give me warnin', bein' scared to comealong to the ranch lest Red Mask got wind of it an' shut his headlights fer him. Ther' ain't no use in rilin' Jake. Meanin' for you.He's layin' fer you anyways, as I'm guessin' you'll likely know.Savee? Lie low, most as low as a dead cat in a well. I'll play thishand, wi'out you figgerin' in it; which, fer you, I guess is best."
Tresler got up and dusted his clothes. There was a slight pause whilehe fingered the leather-capped stirrups of the stock saddle on thewall.
Joe grew impatient. "Wal?" he said at last; "y' ain't bustin' wi''preciation."
"On the contrary, I appreciate your shrewdness and kindly interest onmy behalf most cordially," Tresler replied, dropping the stirrup andturning to his companion; "but, you see, there's one little weaknessin the arrangement. Jake's liable to underestimate the importance ofthe nocturnal visits unless he knows the real facts. Besides----"
"Besides," broke in Joe, with an impatience bred of his readingthrough Tresler's lame objection, "you jest notion to rile Jake some.Wal, you're a fool, Tresler--a dog-gone fool! Guess you'll strike asnag, an' snags mostly hurts. Howsum, I ain't no wet-nurse, an' ef youthink to bluff Jake Harnach, get right ahead an' bluff. An' when youbluff, bluff hard, an' back it, or you'll drop your wad sudden. GuessI'll turn in."
Joe moved off and Tresler followed. At the door of the bunkhouse theyparted, for Joe slept in a lean-to against the kitchen of therancher's house. They had said "good-night," and Joe was moving awaywhen he suddenly changed his mind and came back again.
"Say, ther' ain't nothin' like a 'tenderfoot' fer bein' a fool, 'lessit's a settin' hen," he said, with profound contempt but with evidentgood-will. "You're kind o' gritty, Tresler, I guess, but mebbe you'llbe ast to git across a tol'ble broncho in the mornin'. That's as maybe. But ef it's so, jest take two thinks 'fore settin' your six footo' body on a saddle built fer a feller o' five foot one. It ain'treason'ble, an' it's dangerous. It's most like tryin' to do that asisn't, never wus, and ain't like to be, an' if it did, wouldn't amountto a heap anyway, 'cep' it's a heap o' foolishness."
Tresler laughed. "All right. Two into one won't go without leaving alot over. Good-night, Joe."
"So long. Them fellers as gits figgerin' mostly gits crazed fer doin'what's impossible. Guess I ain't stuck on figgers nohow."
And the man vanished into the night, while Tresler passed into thebunkhouse to get what little sleep his first night as a ranchman mightafford him.
The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana Page 4
