CHAPTER XII
THE RISING OF A SUMMER STORM
When the horsemen had passed out of hearing, Tresler still exerted theutmost caution. He had yet to pass the blind man's room, and he knewthat that individual's hearing was something bordering on themarvelous, and, he argued, he must still be up, or, at least, awake.So he moved on with the lightest tread, with every sense alert;watchful alike for every unusual sound or movement. At the stable hepaused and gently tried the door. It was fast. He put his ear to itand listened, and was forced to be content with the rattle of thecollar chains, and the sound of the heavy-breathing animals within. Hewould have liked to investigate further, for the noise of the shuttingdoor, he knew, had come from the stable, but it behooved him torefrain. It would be worse than useless to rouse the man, Anton, whoslept over the stable. And there was no other means of ascertainingwhat had been going on.
He crept on; and now the shadowy outline of the house itself shut himoff from the ranch. He cleared the danger zone of the rancher'sbedroom and reached the kitchen, where he met with a firstdisappointment. He was relieved and delighted to find that a light wasstill burning there; but his joy was dashed almost immediately byfinding that the linen blind was down, and not a crack showed bywhich he could get a view of the room. He dared not go to the dooruntil he had ascertained who was within, so he stood for a momentuncertain what to do. Then he suddenly remembered that the kitchen hadanother window on the far side of the lean-to. It would mean passingout into the open again; still, the darkness was such that the riskwas reduced to a minimum.
With no further hesitation he hurried round. His only care now was totread quietly, and even this seemed unnecessary, for the blind man'sroom was at the other side of the house, and, if his suspicions werecorrect, Jake was busy at his nocturnal trade. Fortune favored him.The blind was down, but the lower sash of the window was raised, andhe saw that, by pulling the linen on one side, he could obtain a fullview of the room.
He was about to carry out his purpose. His hand was raised andreaching toward the window, when the sound of weeping came to him andchecked his action. He stood listening for a second. Then, with astifled ejaculation, he thrust his hand out further, and caught theedge of the blind.
He paused for nothing now. He had no scruples. He knew without inquirywho it was that was weeping within; who else but Diane could it be?And at the sound of each choking sob, his heart was wrung, and helonged to clasp her in his arms and comfort her. This love of hiswhich had taken its place so suddenly in his life thrilled through hisbody like a fiery torrent roused to fever heat by the sound of thegirl's sobs.
Drawing the edge of the blind sharply on one side, he peered into theroom. His worst fears were realized. Diane was at the far side of thekitchen sitting over the square cook-stove, rocking herself to and froin an access of misery, and, in what seemed to him, an attitude ofphysical suffering. Her pretty head was bowed low upon her hands, andher whole frame was shaken by the sobs she was struggling hard to, butcould not, suppress.
He took all this in at a glance, then his eyes rested upon her arms.The sleeves of her dress had been unfastened, and were thrown backfrom her wrists, leaving them bare to the elbow. And he saw, to hishorror and indignation, that the soft, rounded flesh of her forearmwas swollen and bruised. The sight made him clench his teeth, and hisblue eyes suddenly hardened. He no longer permitted caution to governhis actions.
"Hist, Diane!" he whispered hoarsely. And he shook the stiff blind tofurther draw her attention. "It is I, Tresler," he went on urgently.
And the girl sprang from her seat instantly and faced the window. Shedashed her hand across her eyes and hastily sought to readjust hersleeves. But the pitiful attempt to thus hide her trouble only madethe signs more marked. The tears still flowed, in spite of her bravestmanner, and no effort of hers was able to keep the sweet lips fromquivering.
She took one step in the direction of the window, but drew up withsuch a violent start and expression of alarm in her tearful eyes, thatTresler peered all round the room for the cause. He saw nothing morestartling than a slumbering cat and the fragments of a broken lampupon the floor, and his eyes went back to her again. Then, as hemarked her attitude of attention, he understood. She was listening forthe familiar but ominous "tap, tap" of her father's stick. He toolistened. Then, as no sound came to his straining ears, he spokeagain.
"I must speak with you, Miss Diane," he whispered. "Open the backdoor."
It was only after making his demand that he realized how impossible itmust have sounded to the distraught girl. It was the first time, sincehe had set out to see her, that it occurred to him how one-sided wasthe proposition. She had no knowledge of his resolve to thrust his aidupon her. He told himself that she could have no possible inkling ofhis feelings toward her; and he waited with no little anxiety for herresponse.
Nor was that response long in coming. She made another effort to dashthe tears from her eyes. Then, half defiantly and half eagerly, shestepped up to the window.
"Go round to the door, quick!" she whispered, and moved off again asthough she stood in imminent peril as a consequence of her words.
And Tresler was round at the door and standing in the shadow of thewater-barrel before the bolt was slipped back. Now, as the girl raisedthe latch and silently opened the door, he slid within. He offered noexplanation, but simply pointed to the window.
"We must close that," he said in a low tone.
And Diane obeyed without demur. There was a quiet unobtrusive forceabout this man whenever his actions were directed into a definitechannel. And Diane found herself complying without the leastresentment, or even doubt as to the necessity for his orders. Now shecame back to him, and raised a pair of trusting eyes to his face, andhe, looking down into them, thought he had never gazed upon anythingso sweetly pathetic; nor had he ever encountered anything quite sorousing as the implicit trust of her manner toward him. Whatever hehad felt for her before, it was as nothing to the delicious sense ofprotection, the indefinable wave of responsibility, almost parental,that now swept over him. He felt that, come what might, she was his tocherish, to guard, to pilot through whatever shoals her life mighthold for her. It was the effect of her simple womanly trust appealingto his manhood, unconsciously for her part, but nevertheless surely.Nor was that feeling only due to his love for her; it was largely thechivalrous instinct of a brave and strong man for a weak woman thatfilled his heart at that moment.
"There is a lot for us to talk about," he said. "A lot that othersmustn't hear," he added thoughtfully.
"What others?" Diane asked anxiously.
Tresler deemed it best to avoid half measures, and answered withprompt decision--
"Your father, for one."
"Then," said Diane, steadying at once, "we had better close the doorinto the passage."
She suited the action to the word, and returned dry-eyed and calm.
"My father?" Her question was sharp; it was a demand.
Instead of answering her, Tresler pointed to the broken lamp on thefloor.
"You have had an accident," he said, and his blue eyes compelled hers,and held them.
"Yes," she said, after the least possible hesitation. Then, notwithout a slight touch of resentment: "But you have not answered myquestion."
"I'll answer that later on. Let me go on in my own way."
The girl was impressed with the gravity of his manner. She felt uneasytoo. She felt how impossible it would be to hide anything from thisman, who, quiet yet kindly, could exercise so masterful an influenceover her. And there was a good deal just now she would have liked tokeep from him. While they were talking she drew the sleeves of herdress down over her bruised wrists. Tresler saw the action and calledher attention to the blackened flesh she was endeavoring to hide.
"Another accident?" he asked. And Diane kept silence. "Two accidents,and--tears," he went on, in so gentle a tone that fresh tears slowlywelled up into her eyes. "That is quite unlike you, Miss--Diane. Onemoment. Le
t me look." He reached out to take her hands, but she drewaway from him. He shrugged his shoulders. "I wonder if it were anaccident?" he said, his keen eyes searching her face. "It would bestrange to bruise both wrists by--accident."
The girl held silent for a while. It was evident that a struggle wasgoing on in her mind. Tresler watched. He saw the indecision. He knewhow sorely he was pressing his advantage. Yet he must do it, if hewould carry out his purpose. He felt that he was acting the brute, butit was the only way. Every barrier must be swept aside. At last shethrew her head back with an impatient movement, and a slight flush ofanger tinged her cheeks.
"And what if it were no accident?"
"The bruises or the lamp?"
"Both."
"Then"--and Tresler's tone was keenly incisive--"it is the work ofsome cruelly disposed person. You would not wilfully bruise yourself,Diane," he moved nearer to her, and his voice softened wonderfully;"is there any real reason why you cannot trust me with the truth? MayI not share something of your troubles? See, I will save you the painof the telling. If I am right, do not answer me, and I shallunderstand. Your father has been here, and it was his doing--thesethings."
The anger had passed out of the girl's face, and her eyes, troubledenough but yielding, looked up into his.
"But how do you----?"
"Some one, we both know whom, has maliciously been talking to yourfather," Tresler went on, without heeding the interruption; "has beenlying to him to prejudice him against me--us. And your father hasaccepted his tales without testing their veracity. Having done so, hehas spoken to you. What has passed between you I do not know, norshall I attempt to fathom. The result is more than sufficient for me.You are unhappy; you have been unusually unhappy for days. You havewept much, and now you bear signs of violence on your arms."
Diane averted her gaze, her head was bent, and her eyes were fixedupon the broken lamp.
"Shall I go on?" Tresler continued. "Shall I tell you the whole story?Yes, I had better."
Diane nodded without looking at him.
"You know most of it, but you may not have looked at it quite in thesame way that I do." His tone was very low, there was a great depth ofearnestness in it. "We are all in the midst of a foul conspiracy, andthat conspiracy it is for us to break up. Your father is threatened.You know it. And you are threatened with marriage to a rascal thatshould be wiped off the face of the earth. And this is the work of oneman whom we believe to be the scourge of the countryside; whom we callRed Mask or Jake Harnach, according to when and where we meet him.Now, is this all to go on without protest? Will you submit? Is yourfather to be victimized?"
The girl shook her head.
"No," she said. Then with a sudden burst of passion she went on, onlykeeping her voice low by the greatest effort. "But what can we do? Ihave warned father. He has been told all that you have told me. Helaughed. And I grew angry. Then he grew angry, too. And--and thesethings are the result. Oh, he hates you because he believes Jake'sstories. And he scorns all my accusations against Jake, and treats meworse than some silly, tattling servant girl. How can we do anything?"
It was that last question that set fire to the powder-train. She hadcoupled herself with him, and Tresler, seeking only the faintestloophole, jumped at the opportunity it afforded him. His serious facesoftened. A slow, gentle smile crept into his eyes, and Diane was heldby their caressing gaze.
"We can do something. We are going to do something," he said. "Notsingly, but together; you and I."
There was that in his manner that made the girl droop her eyelids.There was a warmth, a light in his eyes he had never permitted her tosee before, and her woman's instinct set her heart beating fast, sofast that she trembled and fidgeted nervously.
"Diane," he went on, reaching out and quietly taking possession of oneof her hands, and raising it till the bared wrist displayed the cruelbruise encircling it, "no man has a right to lay a hand upon a womanto give her pain. A woman has a right to look to her men-folk toprotect her, and when they fail her, she is indeed in sore straits.This," touching the bruises with his finger, "is the work of yourfather, the man of all who should protect you. You are sadly alone, somuch alone that I cannot see what will be the end of it--if it isallowed to go on. Diane, I love you, and I want you, henceforward, tolet me be your protector. You will need some whole-hearted support inthe future. I can see it. And you can see it too. Say, tell me,little girl, fate has pitched us together in a stormy sea, surely itis for me to aid you with all the loving care and help I can bestow.Believe me, I am no idle boaster. I do not even say that my protectionwill be worth as much as that of our faithful old Joe, but, such as itis, it is yours, whether you take me with it or no, for as long as Ilive."
Diane had had time to recover from her first embarrassment. She knewthat she loved this man; knew that she had done so almost from thevery first. He was so different from the men she had known about theranch. She understood, and acknowledged without shame, the feelingthat had prompted her first warning to him. She knew that ever sincehis coming to the ranch he had hardly ever been out of her thoughts.She had never attempted to deceive herself about him. All she hadfeared was that she might, by some chance act, betray her feelings tohim, and so earn his everlasting contempt. She was very simple andsingle-minded. She had known practically no association with her sex.Her father, who had kept her a willing slave by his side all her life,had seen to that. And so she had been thrown upon her own resources,with the excellent result that she had grown up with a mind untaintedby any worldly thought. And now, when this man came to her with hisversion of the old, old story, she knew no coquetry, knew how toexercise no coyness or other blandishment. She made no pretense of anysort. She loved him, so what else was there to do but to tell him so?
"Joe has been my faithful protector for years, Mr. Tresler," shereplied, her sweet round face blushing and smiling as she raised it tohim, "and I know his value and goodness. But--but I'd sooner haveyou--ever so much."
And of her own accord she raised her other hand to his and placed ittrustfully within his only too willing clasp. But this was notsufficient for Tresler. He reached out and took her in his powerfularms and drew her to his breast. And when he released her there weretears again in her eyes, but they were tears of happiness.
"And now, sweetheart, we must be practical again," he said. "If I amto be your protector, I must not allow my inclination to interferewith duty. Some day, when you are my wife, we shall be able to lookback on this time and be proud of our restraint. Just now it is hard.It is a moment for kisses and happy dreams, and these things aredenied us----"
He broke off and started as the flutter of the linen blind behind himdrew his attention.
"I thought you shut the window," he said sharply.
"I thought I did; perhaps I didn't quite close it."
Diane was about to move over to investigate, but Tresler restrainedher.
"Wait."
He went instead. The window was open about six inches. He closed andbolted it, and came back with a smile on his face that in no waydeceived the girl.
"Yes, you left it open," he said.
And Diane's reply was an unconvinced "Ah!"
"Now let us be quick," he went on. "Jake may threaten and bully, buthe can do nothing to really hurt you. You are safe from him. For,before anything can possibly happen--I mean to you--I shall be on handto help you. Joe is our watch-dog, asking his pardon. You can takeheart in the thought that you are no longer alone. But developmentsare imminent, and I want you to watch your father closely, andendeavor to ascertain Jake's attitude toward him. This is myfear--that Jake may put some nefarious scheme, as regards him, intooperation; such schemes as we cannot anticipate. He may even try tosilence me, or make me ineffective in some way before such time comesalong. He may adopt some way of getting rid of me----"
"What way?" There was a world of fear and anxiety in Diane's question,and she drew up close to him as though she would protect him with herown frail body.
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sp; Tresler shrugged. "I don't know. But it doesn't matter; I have myplans arranged. The thing that is of more importance is the fact thatthe night-riders are abroad again. I saw them on my way here. At thesame spot where I saw them before. This time I shall not conceal myknowledge of the fact."
"You mean you will tell Jake--to his face?"
Diane gave a little gasp, and her beautiful eyes fixed themselvesapprehensively upon his. They had in their depths a soft look ofadmiration, in spite of her anxiety and fear. But Tresler saw nothingof that. He took her question seriously.
"Certainly; it is my only means of getting into line of battle. Bythis means I shall make myself the centre of open attack--if all oursurmises be true. It is getting late and I must go. I want to witnessthe return of the ruffians."
A silence fell. The man had said it was time for him to go, but hefound it hard to tear himself away. He wanted to say so much to her;he wanted to ask her so much. Diane, half shyly, came a step nearer tohim, and, though her face was smiling bravely, a pucker wrinkled herbrows.
"Mr. Tresler----"
"I was christened 'John.'"
"John, then." The girl blushed faintly as she pronounced the name,which, spoken by her, seemed to seal the bond between them. "Is itabsolutely necessary to tell Jake? Is it absolutely necessary to putyourself in such peril? Couldn't you----"
But she got no further. Her lover's arms were about her in an instant.He caught her to him in a great embrace and kissed her pleading,upturned face.
"Yes, yes, yes, child. It is absolutely necessary. No, you can't goyet," as she struggled feebly to free herself. "I ought to leave younow, yet I can hardly tear myself away. I have heaps to ask you: aboutyourself, your life, your father. I want to learn all there is in yourlittle head, in your heart, little girl. I want to make our bond oflove one of perfect sympathy and understanding of each other; of trustand confidence. It is necessary. We come together here withstorm-clouds gathering on our horizon; with the storm actuallybreaking. We come together under strange and unusual circumstances,and must fight for this love of ours. Ours will be no flower-strewnpath. This much I have fully realized; but it only makes me the moredetermined to see it through quickly. We have to fight--good. We willbe early in the field. Now good-night, sweetheart. God bless you.Trust to me. Whatever I do will be done after careful deliberation;with a view to our common goal. If I am wrong, so much the worse. Iwill do all that is given me to do. And, last, remember this. Shouldanything happen to me, you have two friends who will never let Jakemarry you. They are Joe and Arizona. Now, good-bye again."
"But nothing will happen to you--Jack?"
Every vestige of independence, every atom of the old self-reliance hadgone from the girl's manner. She clung to him, timid, loving, agentle, weak woman. Her whole soul was in her appeal and the look shebestowed.
"I hope not. Courage, little woman. I remember the white dress, thesad, dark little face beneath the straw sun-hat of the girl who knewno fear when two men held thoughts of slaying each other, and werealmost in the act of putting them into execution. You must rememberher too."
"You are right, Jack. I will be brave and help you, if I can.Good-bye."
They kissed once more, and Tresler hurried from the room with theprecipitancy of a man who can only hold to his purpose by anignominious flight from temptation.
Outside the door he paused, turned, and closed it carefully after him.And then he listened intently. He had in no way been deceived by thewindow business. He knew, as Diane knew, that she had closed it. Somehand from outside had opened it; and he wondered whose had been thehand, and what the purpose.
When he passed out of the kitchen, the whole aspect of the night hadchanged. There was not a star visible, and the only light to guide himwas that which shone through the window. He waited while Diane boltedthe door, then, as nothing appeared to cause him alarm, he moved off.He had to pass round the shed where Joe slept. This was an addition tothe kitchen, and quite shut off from the house. He groped his wayalong the wall of it till he came to the door, which stood open. Hewas half inclined to go in and rouse the little choreman. He felt thathe would like to tell his old friend of his luck, his happiness. Thenit flashed through his mind that, seeing the door was open, Joe mightstill be abroad. So he contented himself with listening for the soundof his breathing. All was still within; his conjecture was right. Joehad not yet turned in.
He was puzzled. Where was Joe, and what was he doing at this hour ofthe night?
He moved on slowly now. His thoughts were fully occupied. He was notthe man to let a single detail pass without careful analysis. And thematter was curious. Especially in conjunction with the fact of theopen window. He attributed no treachery to Joe, but the thing wantedexplanation. He rounded the building, and as he did so understood thechange in the weather. A sharp gust of wind took him, and he feltseveral drops of rain splash upon his face. A moment later a flash oflightning preceded a distant rumble of thunder.
He quickened his pace and drew out into the open, leaving the shadowof the woods behind him as he turned toward the ranch buildings. Thelight in the kitchen had been put out. Evidently Diane had alreadygone to bed. He stepped out briskly, and a moment later another flashof lightning revealed the window close beside him. He mechanicallystretched out a hand and felt along the sill. It was tightly closedall right. A crash of thunder warned him of the quick-rising summerstorm that was upon him, and the rain was coming down with thatominous solidity which portends a real, if brief, deluge. He startedat a run. A drenching at that hour was unpleasant to contemplate. Hehad intended witnessing the return of the night-riders, but, under thecircumstances, that was now out of the question.
He had only gone a few paces when he brought up to a stand. Evenamidst the noisy splashing of the rain, he thought he heard the soundof running feet somewhere near by; so he stood listening with everynerve straining. Then the promised deluge came and drowned every othersound. It was no use waiting longer, so he hurried on toward hisquarters.
A dozen strides further on and the sky was split from end to end witha fork of lightning, and he was brought to a dead halt by the sceneit revealed. It was gone in an instant, and the thunder crashed rightabove him. He had distinctly seen the figures of two men running. Onewas running toward him, and, curiously enough, the other was runningfrom his left rear. And yet he had seen them both. Utterly heedless ofthe rain now, he waited for another flash. There was something strangedoing, and he wished to fathom the mystery.
The duration of the storm was only a matter of a few minutes. Itseemed to have spent itself in one flash of lightning and one peal ofthunder. The second flash was long in coming. But at last a hazy sheetof white light shone for a second over the western sky, revealing theghostly shadow of a man coming at him, bearing in his upraised handsome heavy weapon of offense. He leapt to avoid the blow. But he wastoo late. The weapon descended, and, though he flung his arms toprotect himself, the darkness foiled him, and a crushing blow on thehead felled him to the ground. And as he fell some great noise roaredin his ears, or so it seemed, and echoed and reechoed through hishead. Then he knew no more.
All sound was lost in the deluge of rain. The sky was unrelieved byany further flashes of light for many minutes. Then, at last, onecame. A weak, distant lighting up of the clouds, overhead, but it wassufficient to show the outstretched form of the stricken man lyingwith his white face staring up at the sky. Also it revealed a shadowyfigure bending over him. There was no face visible, no distinctoutline of form. And this figure was moving, and appeared to betesting the lifeless condition of the fallen man.
Half an hour later the rain ceased, but the water was still racingdown the hill in little trickling rivulets toward the ranch buildings.And as rapidly as the storm had come up so the sky cleared. Again thestars shone out and a faint radiance dimly outlined the scene of theattack.
Within fifty yards of the rancher's house Tresler was still stretchedout upon the ground, but now a different figure was bending over h
im.It was a well-defined figure this time, a familiar figure. A littleman with a gray head and a twisted face.
It was Joe Nelson trying, by every rough art his prairie life hadtaught him, to restore animation and consciousness in his friend. Fora long time his efforts were unavailing; the task seemed hopeless.Then, when the little man had begun to fear the very worst, hispatient suddenly moved and threw out his legs convulsively. Once thesprings of life had been set in motion, the hardy constitutionasserted itself, and, without further warning, Tresler sat boltupright and stared about him wonderingly. For a few seconds he satthus, then, with a movement of intense agony, one hand went up to hishead.
"My God! What's the matter with me? My head!"
He slowly rocked himself for a brief spell; then, with another start,he recognized his friend, and, with an effort, sprang to his feet.
"Joe!" he cried. Then he reeled and would have fallen but for thesupporting arm about his waist.
"You wer' nigh 'done up.' Say, I wus kind o' rattled. I'd shadderedthat feller fer an hour or more, an' then lost him. Gee!" And therewas an infinite expression of disgust in the exclamation.
"Him! Who?"
"Ther's on'y one feller around here hatin' you fit to murder, Iguess."
"You mean--Jake?" asked Tresler, in a queer tone.
"Sure," was the emphatic reply.
"But, Joe, I saw the night-riders go out to-night. Not more than halfan hour before the storm came on."
The little man made no answer, but quietly urged his patient forwardin the direction of the bunkhouse.
The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana Page 12
