The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE LIGHTED LAMP

  Diane was by no means satisfied with her small victory. She had gainedher point, it is true, but she had gained it by means which gave nopromise of a happy outcome to her purpose.

  Left alone with her patient she had little to do but reflect on herposition, and her thoughts brought her many a sigh, much heart-rackingand anxiety. For herself she allowed little thought. Her mind was madeup as to her future. Her love was to be snatched away while yet thefirst sweet glamour of it was upon her. Every hope, every littlecastle she had raised in her maiden thoughts, had been ruthlesslyshattered, and the outlook of her future was one dull gray vista ofhopelessness. It was the old order accentuated, and the pain of itgripped her heart with every moment she gave to its contemplation.Happily the life she had lived had strengthened her; she was not thegirl to weep at every ill that befell. The first shock had driven herto tears, but that had passed. She was of a nature that can sufferbravely, and face the world dry-eyed, gently, keeping the bitternessof her lot to herself, and hiding her own pain under an earnestattempt to help others.

  Tresler was her all; and that all meant far more than mere earthlylove. To her he was something that must be cherished as a pricelessgem entrusted to her care, and his honor was more sacred to her thanher own. Therefore all personal considerations must be passed over,and she must give him up.

  But if his honor was safe in her keeping, his personal safety wasanother matter. In pitting herself against her father's will she fullyrealized the danger she was incurring. Therefore she racked her sorelytaxed brain for the best means of safeguarding her charge.

  She hardly knew what she feared. There was no real danger she couldthink of, but her instinct warned her to watchfulness, to be preparedfor anything. She felt sure that her father would seek some means ofcircumventing the sheriff's mandate. What form would his attempt take?

  After half an hour's hard thinking she made up her mind to consult herwise old counselor, Joe, and enlist his aid. With this object in viewshe went down-stairs and visited the lean-to. Here she found bothArizona and Joe. Arizona was waiting a summons from the rancher, whowas still busy with Jake and Fyles. At first she thought of consultingher adviser privately, but finally decided to take both men into herconfidence; and this the more readily since she knew her lover'sliking for the hot-headed cowpuncher.

  Both men stood up as she entered. Arizona dragged his slouch hat offwith clumsy haste.

  "Boys," the girl said at once, "I've come to ask you for a littlehelp."

  Left alone with her patient she had little to do butreflect]

  "Makes me glad, missie," said the cowpuncher, with alacrity.

  Joe contented himself with an upward glance of inquiry.

  Diane nodded with an assumption of brightness.

  "Well, it's this," she said. "Jack mustn't be left for the next fewdays. Now, I am his nurse, but I have household duties to perform andshall be forced to leave him at times. You, Arizona, won't be able todo anything in the daytime, because you are occupied on the ranch. ButI thought you, Joe, could help me by being in the kitchen as much aspossible. You see, in the kitchen you can hear the least sound comingfrom up-stairs. The room is directly overhead. In that way I shall befree to do my house."

  "Guess you had trouble fixin' him up-stairs?" Joe inquired slowly."Doc. Osler wus sayin' somethin' 'fore he went."

  Diane turned away. The shrewd old eyes were reading her like a book.

  "Yes, father wanted him put in the bunkhouse."

  "Ah." Joe's twisted face took on a curious look. "Yes, I guess I kendo that. What's to happen o' night time?"

  "Oh, I can sit up with him. The night is all right," the girl returnedeasily.

  "Guess we'd best take it turn about like," Joe suggested.

  "No, it wouldn't do."

  "Guess it wouldn't do. That's so," the other observed thoughtfully."Howsum, I ken set around the kitchen o' nights. I shan't need nolights. Y' see, wi' the door open right into the hall ther' ain't nosound but what I'll hear."

  The man's meaning was plain enough, but the girl would not take it.

  "No," she said, "it's in the daytime I want you."

  "Daytime? I guess that's fixed." Joe looked up dissatisfied.

  At this juncture Arizona broke in with a scheme for his ownusefulness.

  "Say, missie, any time o' night you jest tap hard on that windy I'llknow you want the doc. fetchin'. An' I'll come right along up an' gitorders. I'll be waitin' around."

  The girl looked him squarely in the eyes, seeking the meaning that laybehind his words. But the man's expression was sphinx-like. She feltthat these rough creatures, instead of acting as advisers, had assumedthe responsibilities she had only asked their assistance in.

  "You are good fellows both. I can't thank you; but you've taken aweight off my mind."

  "Ther' ain't no thanks, missie. I figger as a doc. is an a'mightyne'sary thing when a feller's sick," observed Arizona, quietly.

  "Spec'ally at night time," put in Joe, seriously.

  "I'll get back to my patient," Diane said abruptly. And as she flittedaway to the house the men heard the heavy tread of Jake coming roundthe lean-to, and understood the hastiness of her retreat.

  The next minute the foreman had summoned Arizona to the rancher'spresence.

  Diane had done well to enlist the help of these men. Without some aidit would have been impossible to look after Tresler. She feared herfather, as well she might. What would be easier than for him to gether out of the way, and then have Jake deport her patient to thebunkhouse? Doc. Osler's threats of life or death had been exaggeratedto help her carry her point, she knew, and, also, she fully realizedthat her father understood this was so. He was not the man to bescared of any bogey like that. Besides, his parting words, so gentle,so kindly; she had grown to distrust him most in his gentler moods.

  All that day, assisted by Joe, she watched at the sickbed. Tresler wasnever left for long; and when it was absolutely necessary to leave himJoe's sharp ears were straining for any alarming sound, and,unauthorized by Diane, his eyes were on the hallway, watching therancher's bedroom door. He had no compunction in admitting his fearsto himself. He had wormed the whole story of the rancher's anger atTresler's presence in the house from his young mistress, and, also, heunderstood that Diane's engagement to her patient was known to herfather. Therefore his lynx eyes never closed, his keen ears were everstrained, and he moved about with a gun in his hip-pocket. He didn'tknow what might happen, but his movements conveyed his opinion of theman with whom they had to deal. Arizona had been despatched with Fylesto Willow Bluff. There were wounded men there to be identified, andthe officer wanted his aid in examining the battlefield.

  "But he'll git around to-night," Joe had said, after bringing the newsto Diane. "Sure--sure as pinewood breeds bugs."

  And the girl was satisfied. The day wore on, and night brought nofresh anxiety. Diane was at her post, Joe was alert, and though no onehad heard of Arizona's return, twice, in the small hours, the choremanheard a footfall outside his lean-to, and he made a shrewd guess as towhose it was.

  The second and third day passed satisfactorily, but still Treslerdisplayed no sign of life. He lay on the bed just as he had beenoriginally placed there. Each day the brusque little doctor drove outfrom Forks, and each day he went back leaving little encouragementbehind him. Before he went away, after his third visit, he shook hishead gravely in response to the nurse's eager inquiries.

  "He's got to get busy soon," he said, as he returned his liniments andmedical stores to his bag. "Don't like it. Bad--very bad. Natureexhausting. He must rouse soon--or death. Three days----Tut, tut!Still no sign. Cheer up, nurse. Give him three more. Then drastictreatment. Won't come till he wakes--no use. Send for me. Good girl.Stick to it. Sorry. Good-bye."

  And patting Diane on the back the man bustled out in his jerkyfashion, leaving her weeping over the verdict he had left behind.

  It was the strain o
f watching that had unnerved her. She was bodilyand mentally weary. Her eyes and head ached with the seemingly endlessvigil. Three days and nights and barely six hours' sleep over all,and those only snatched at broken intervals.

  And now another night confronted her. So overwrought was she that sheeven thought of seeking the aid old Joe had proffered. She thoughtquite seriously of it for some moments. Could she not smuggle himup-stairs after her father had had his supper and retired to hisbedroom? She had no idea that Joe had, secretly, spent almost as muchtime on the watch as she had done. However, she came to no actualdecision, and went wearily down and prepared the evening meal. Shewaited on the blind man in her usual patient, silent manner, andafterward went back to the kitchen and prepared to face the longdreary night.

  Joe was finishing the washing-up. He was longer over it than usual,though he had acquired a wonderful proficiency in his culinary dutiessince he was first employed on the ranch. Diane paid little heed tohim, and as soon as her share of the work was finished, prepared toretire up-stairs.

  "There's just the sweeping up, Joe," she said. "When you've finishedthat we are through. I must go up to him."

  Joe glanced round from his washing-trough, but went on with his work.

  "He ain't showed no sign, Miss Dianny?" he asked eagerly.

  "No, Joe."

  The girl spoke almost in a whisper, leaning against the table with adeep sigh of weariness.

  "Say, Miss Dianny," the little man suggested softly, "that doc.feller said mebbe he'd give him three days. It's a real long spell.Seems to me you'll need to be up an' around come that time."

  "Oh, I shall be 'up and around,' Joe."

  The grizzled old head shook doubtfully, and he moved away from histrough, drying his hands, and came over to where she was standing.

  "Say, I jest can't sleep noways. I'm like that, I guess. I git spells.I wus kind o' thinkin' mebbe I'd set around like. A good night's slep'ud fix you right. I've heerd tell as folks kind o' influences theirpatiences some. You bein' tired, an' sleppy, an' miser'ble, now mebbethat's jest wot's keppin' him back----"

  Diane shook her head. She saw through his round-about subterfuge, andits kindliness touched her.

  "No, no, Joe," she said almost tenderly. "Not on your life. You wouldgive me your last crust if you were starving. You are doing all, andmore than any one else would do for me, and I will accept nothingfurther."

  "You're figgerin' wrong," he retorted quite harshly. "'Tain't fer you.No, no, it's fer him. Y' see we're kind o' dependin' on him, Arizonaan' me----"

  "What for?" the girl asked quietly.

  "Wal, y' see--wal--it's like this. He's goin' to be a rancher. Yes,don't y' see?" he asked, with a pitiful attempt at a knowing leer.

  "No, I don't."

  "Say, mebbe Arizona an' me'll git a nice little job--a nice littlejob. Eh?"

  "You are talking nonsense, and you know it."

  "Eh? What?"

  The little man stood abashed at the girl's tone.

  "You're only saying all this to get me to sleep to-night, instead ofsitting up. Well, I'm not going to. You thinking of mercenary thingslike that. Oh, Joe, it's almost funny."

  Joe's face flushed as far as it was capable of flushing.

  "Wal," he said, "I jest thought ther' wa'n't no use in two o' ussettin' up."

  "Nor is there. I'm going to do it. You've made me feel quite freshwith your silly talk."

  "Ah, mebbe. Guess I'll swep up."

  Diane took the hint and went up-stairs, her eyes brimming with tears.In her present state of unhappiness Joe's utter unselfishness was morethan she could bear.

  She took her place at the bedside, determined to sit there as long asshe could keep awake, afterward she would adopt a "sentry-go" in thepassage. For an hour she battled with sleep. She kept her eyes open,but her senses were dull and she passed the time in a sort of dream, anasty, fanciful dream, in which Tresler was lying dead on the bedbeside her, and she was going through the agony of realization. Shewas mourning him, living on in the dreary round of her life under herfather's roof, listening to his daily sneers, and submitting to hisstudied cruelties. No doubt this waking dream would have continueduntil real sleep had stolen upon her unawares, but, after an hour,something occurred to fully arouse her. There was a distinct movementon the bed. Tresler had suddenly drawn up one arm, which, almostimmediately, fell again on the coverlet, as though the spasmodicmovement had been uncontrolled by any power either mental or physical.

  She was on her feet in an instant, bending over him ready toadminister the drugs Doc. Osler had left with her. And by the light ofthe shaded lamp she saw a distinct change in the pallor of his face.It was no longer death-like; there was a tinge of life, however faint,in the drawn features. And as she beheld it she could have cried aloudin her joy.

  She administered the restoratives and returned to her seat with afast-beating heart. And suddenly she remembered with alarm how nearsleep she had been. She rose abruptly and began to pace the room. Themoment was a critical one. Her lover might regain consciousness at anytime. And with this thought came an access of caution. She went out onthe landing and looked at the head of the stairs. Then she crept back.An inspiration had come to her. She would barricade the approach, andthough even to herself she did not admit the thought, it was therecollection of her father's blindness that prompted her.

  Taking two chairs she propped them at the head of the stairs in such aposition that the least accidental touch would topple them headlong.The scheme appealed to her. Then, dreading sleep more than ever, shetook up her "sentry-go" on the landing, glancing in at the sick-roomat every turn in her walk.

  The hours dragged wearily on. Tresler gave no further sign. It wasafter midnight, and the girl's eyes refused to keep open any longer;added to which she frequently stumbled as she paced to and fro. Indesperation she fetched the lamp from the sick-room and passed intoher own, and bathed her face in cold water. Then she busied herselfwith tidying the place up. Anything to keep herself awake. After awhile, feeling better, she sat on the edge of her bed to rest. It wasa fatal mistake. Her eyes closed against all effort of will. She washelpless. Nothing could have stopped her. Exhausted nature claimedher--and she slept.

  And Tresler was rousing. His constitution had asserted itself, and therestorative Diane had administered was doing the rest. He movedseveral times, but as yet his strength was insufficient to rouse himto full consciousness. He lay there with his brain struggling againsthis overwhelming weakness. Thought was hard at work with the mistinessof dreaming. He was half aware that he was stretched out upon a bed,yet it seemed to him that he was bound down with fetters of iron,which resisted his wildest efforts to break. It seemed to him that hewas struggling fiercely, and that Jake was looking on mocking him. Atlast, utterly weary and exhausted he gave up trying and called uponArizona. He shouted loudly, but he could not hear his own voice; heshouted again and again, raising his screams to a fearful pitch, butstill no sound came. Then he thought that Jake went away, and he wasleft utterly alone. He lay quite still waiting, and presently herealized that he was stretched out on the prairie, staked down to theground by shackles securing his hands and feet; and the moon wasshining, and he could hear the distant sound of the coyotes andprairie dogs. This brought him to a full understanding. His enemieshad done this thing so that he should be eaten alive by the starvingscavengers of the prairie. He pondered long; wondering, as the criesof the coyotes drew nearer, how long it would be before the first ofthe loathsome creatures would attack him. Now he could see their formsin the moonlight. They came slowly, slowly. One much bigger than therest was leading; and as the creature drew near he saw that it had theface of the rancher, whose blind eyes shone out like two coals of firein the moonlight. It reared itself on its hind legs, and to his utterastonishment, as this man-wolf stood gazing down upon him, he saw thatit was wearing the dressing-gown in which the rancher always appeared.It was a weird apparition, and the shackled man felt the force ofthose savage, glowing eyes,
gazing so cruelly into his. But therecould be no resistance, he was utterly at the creature's mercy. He sawthe gleaming teeth bared in anticipation of the meal awaiting it, but,with wolf-like cunning, it dissembled. It moved around, gazing inevery direction to see that the coast was clear, it paused and stoodlistening; then it came on. Now it was standing near him, and he couldfeel the warmth of its reeking breath blowing on his face. Lowerdrooped its head, and its front feet, which he recognized as hands,were placed upon his neck. Then a faint and distant voice reached him,and he knew that this man-wolf was speaking. "So you'd marry her," itsaid. "You! But we'll take no chances--no chances. I could tear yourthroat out, but I won't; no, I won't do that. A little blood--just alittle." And then the dreaming man felt the fingers moving about histhroat. They felt cold and clammy, and the night air chilled him.

  Then came a change, one of those fantastic changes which dreamlandloves, and which drives the dreamer, even in his sleeping thought,nearly distracted. The dark vista of the prairie suddenly lit. A greatlight shone over all, and the dreaming man could see nothing but thelight--that, and the wolf-man. The ghoulish creature stood its ground.The fingers were still at his throat, but now they moved uncertainly,groping. There was no longer the deliberate movement of set purpose.It was as though the light had blinded the cruel scavenger, that itspurpose was foiled through its power of vision being suddenlydestroyed. It was a breathless moment in the dream.

  But the tension quickly relaxed. The hands were drawn abruptly away.The wolf-man stood erect again, and the dreamer heard it addressingthe light. The words were gentle, in contrast with the manner in whichit had spoken to him, and the softness of its tones held himfascinated.

  "He's better, eh? Coming round," he said. And somehow the dreamerthought that he laughed, and the invisible coyotes laughed with him.

  A brief silence followed, which was ultimately broken by anothervoice. It was a voice from out of the light, and its tones were a gaspof astonishment and alarm.

  "What are you doing here, father?" the voice asked. There was astrange familiarity in the tones, and the dreamer struggled forrecollection; but before it came to him the voice went on with a wildexclamation of horror. "Father! The bandage!"

  The dreamer wondered; and something drew his attention to thewolf-man. He saw that the creature was eyeing the light with ferociouspurpose in its expression. It was all so real that he felt a wildthrill of excitement as he watched for what was to happen. But thevoice out of the light again spoke, and he found himself listening.

  "Go!" it said in a tone of command, and thrilling with horror andindignation. "Go! or--no, dare to lay a hand on me, and I'll dash thelamp in your face! Go now! or I will summon help. It is at hand,below. And armed help."

  There was a pause. The wolf-man stared at the light with villainouseyes, but the contemplated attack was not forthcoming. The creaturemuttered something which the dreamer lost. Then it moved away; not asit had come, but groping its way blindly. A moment later the lightwent out too, the cries of the coyotes were hushed, and the moon shonedown on the scene as before. And the dreamer, still feeling himselfimprisoned, watched the great yellow globe until it disappeared belowthe horizon. Then, as the darkness closed over him, he seemed tosleep, for the scene died out and recollection faded away.