CHAPTER XXI
AT WIDOW DANGLEY'S
Inside the hut, where Jake had so long been master, the boys weregrouped round the bunk on which their old oppressor was laid out; thestrong, rough fellows were awed with the magnitude of the outrage.Jake, Jake Harnach, the terror of the ranch, "done up." The thoughtwas amazing. Tresler was quietly stripping clothes from the dead man'supper body to free the wounds for the doctor's inspection, and RawHarris was close beside him. It was while in the midst of thisoperation that the former came upon another wound. Raw Harris also sawit, and at once drew his attention.
"Guess I heerd four shots," he said. "Say, that feller Anton was adaddy. Four of 'em, an' all found their mark. I 'lows this one's on'ya graze. Might 'a' bin done wi' a knife, et's so clean. Yes, sirree,he was a daddy, sure."
As no one seemed inclined to contradict the statement that Anton was a"daddy," and as the question of four shots or three was of no vitalinterest to the onlookers, the matter passed unheeded. Only Treslerfound food for reflection. That fourth wound he knew had not beeninflicted by the half-breed. He remembered the rancher's knife andits dripping point, and he remembered Jake's cry, "You would, wouldyou!" He needed no other explanation.
While the two men were still bending over their task there was aslight stir at the open door. The silent onlookers parted, leaving asort of aisle to the bedside, and Julian Marbolt came shuffling hisway through them, heralded by the regular tap, tap, of his guidingstick.
It was with many conflicting emotions that Tresler looked round whenhe heard the familiar sound. He stared at the man as he might stare atsome horrid beast of prey, fascinated even against himself. It wouldhave been hard to say what feeling was uppermost with him at themoment. Astonishment, loathing, expectation, and even some dread, allstruggled for place, and the combination held him silent, waiting forwhat that hateful presence was to bring forth. He could have found itin his heart to denounce him then and there, only it would have servedno purpose, and would probably have done much harm. Therefore hecontented himself with gazing into the inflamed depths of the man'smysterious eyes with an intentness he had never yet bestowed uponthem, and while he looked all the horror of the scene in the officestole over him again and made him shudder.
"Where is he--where is Jake?" the blind man asked, halting accuratelyat the bedside.
The question was directed at no one in particular, but Tresler took itupon himself to answer.
"Lying on the bed before you," he said coldly.
The man turned on him swiftly. "Ah--Tresler," he said.
Then he bent over the bed, and his hands groped over the dead man'sbody till they came into contact with the congealing blood round thewound in his stomach.
With a movement of repulsion he drew back sharply. "He's not dead?" hequestioned, with a queer eagerness, turning round to those about him.
"Yes, he is dead," replied Tresler, with unintentional solemnity.
"Who--who did it?"
The question came in a tense voice, sharper and more eagerly than thepreceding one.
"Anton," chorused the men, as though finding relief from their longsilence in the announcement. The crime was even secondary to thepersonality of the culprit with them. Anton's name was uppermost intheir minds, and so they spoke it readily.
"Anton? And where is he? Have you got him?"
The rancher had turned about, and addressed himself generally.
"Anton has made off with one of your horses," said Tresler. "I triedto get him, but he had too much start for me. I was on foot."
"Well, why are you all here? Have none of you sense enough to getafter him?"
"Arizona is after him, and, until the sheriff comes, he is sufficient.He will never leave his trail."
There was no mistaking the significance Tresler conveyed in his lastremark. The rancher took him up sharply.
"What do you mean?"
"Arizona has no love for Anton."
"Ah! And Jake. Who found him? Who was there when he died?"
Marbolt's eyes had fixed themselves on Tresler's face. And the latterhad no hesitation in suiting his reply to his own purpose.
"I found him--dead; quite dead. His death must have beeninstantaneous."
"So."
Marbolt turned back to the bed.
The rancher stood over the dead man in silence for some minutes. Then,to Tresler's horror, he broke out into a low-voiced lamentation, thehypocrisy of which made him want to seize him by the throat and chokethe words ere they were uttered.
"My poor old Jake!" he said, with infinite pity. "Poor old Jake!" herepeated, addressing the dead man sorrowfully. "I wish now I'd takenyour advice about that rascal and got rid of him. And to think thatyou should be the man on whom he was to wreak his treachery. I wonderhow it came about. It must have been that rough temper of yours.Tresler," he cried, pointing to the still form on the bed, "there liesthe truest, the only friend I ever had. That man has stood by me whenall others left me. Yes, we've fought side by side in the Indian days;ay, and further back still. I remember when he would have defended mewith his life; poor Jake! I suppose he had his faults, the same asmost of us have. Yes, and I wager his temper took him foul of Anton.Poor old Jake! I suppose we shall never know the truth of this." Hepaused. Then he cried fiercely, "Damn it! Men, every one of you, I'llgive a thousand dollars to the one who brings Anton back, dead oralive. Dead from preference, then he won't escape us. A thousanddollars. Now, who?"
But Tresler could stand it no longer. "Don't trouble, Mr. Marbolt," hesaid icily. "It is no use your offering rewards. The man who has goneafter Anton will find him. And you can rest satisfied he'll takenothing from you on that score. You may not know Arizona; I do."
"You are confident," the other retorted, resentful at once.
"I have reason to be," came the decided answer.
Marbolt shook his close-cropped head. His resentment had gone from hismanner again. He had few moods which he was unable to control at will.That was how it seemed to Tresler.
"I hope truly it may be as you say. But I must still doubt. However,"he went on, in a lighter tone, "in the meantime there is work to bedone. The doctor must be summoned. Send some one for doctor andsheriff first thing to-morrow morning, Tresler. It is no use worryingthem to-night. The sheriff has his night work to do, and wouldn'tthank us for routing him out now. Besides, nothing can be done untildaylight! And the doctor is only needed to certify. Poor old Jake!"
He turned away with something very like a sigh. Half-way to the doorhe paused.
"Tresler, you take charge of things to-night. Have this door locked.And," he added, with redoubled earnestness, "are you sure Arizona willhunt that man down?"
"Perfectly."
Tresler smiled grimly. He fancied he understood the persistence.
There was a moment's silence. Then the stick tapped, and the rancherpassed out under the curious gaze of his men. Tresler, too, lookedafter him. Nor was there any doubt of his feelings now. He knew thathis presence in the house during Marbolt's murderous assault on Jakewas unsuspected. And Marbolt, villainous hypocrite that he was, wascovering his tracks. He loathed the blind villain as he never thoughtto have loathed anybody. And all through his thoughts there was acold, hard vein of triumph which was utterly foreign to his nature,but which was quite in keeping with his feelings toward the man withwhom he was dealing.
As Julian Marbolt passed out the men kept silence, and even when thedistant tapping of his stick had died away. Tresler looked round himat these hardy comrades of his with something like delight in hiseyes. Joe was not there, which matter gave him satisfaction. Thefaithful little fellow was at his post to care for Diane. Now heturned to Harris.
"Raw," he said, "will you ride in for the doctor?"
"He said t'-morrer," the man objected.
"I know. But if you'd care to do me a favor you'll ride in and warnthe doctor to-night, and then--ride out to Widow Dangley's and meetus all there, _cached_ in the neighborhood."
; The man stared; every man in that room was instantly agog withinterest. Something in Tresler's tone had brought a light to theireyes which he was glad to see.
"What is 't?" asked Jacob, eagerly.
"Ay," protested Raw; "no bluffin'."
"There's no bluffing about me," Tresler said quickly. "I'm dead inearnest. Here, listen, boys. I want you all to go out quietly, one byone. It's eight miles to Widow Dangley's. Arrange to get there byhalf-past one in the morning--and don't forget your guns. There's abig bluff adjoining the house," he suggested significantly. "I shallbe along, and so will the sheriff and all his men. I think there'll bea racket, and we may--there, I can tell you no more. I refrained fromasking Marbolt's permission; you remember what he said once before.We'll not risk saying anything to him."
"I'm in to the limit," said Raw, with decision.
"Guess we don't want no limit to this racket. We'll jest get rightalong," said Jacob, quietly.
And after that the men filed out one by one. And when the last hadgone, Tresler put the lamp out and locked the door. Then he quietlystole up to the kitchen and peered in at the window. Diane was there,so was Joe, with two guns hanging to his belt. He had littledifficulty in drawing their attention. There was no dalliance abouthis visit this time. He waived aside the eager questions with whichthe girl assailed him, and merely gave her a quiet warning.
"Stay up all night, dear," he said, "but do not let your father knowit."
To Joe he said: "Joe, if you sleep a wink this night I'll neverforgive you."
Then he hurried away, satisfied that neither would fail him, and wentto the barn. Without a word, almost without a sound, he saddled theLady Jezebel.
His mare ready, he went and gazed long and earnestly up at therancher's house. He was speculating in his mind as to the risk he wasrunning. Not the general risk, but the risk of success or failure inhis enterprise.
He waited until the last of the lights had gone out, and the housestood out a mere black outline in the moonlight, then he disappearedwithin the barn again, and presently reappeared leading his fractiousmare. A few moments later he rode quietly off. And the manner of hisgoing brought a grim smile to his lips, for he thought of the ghostlymovements of the night-riders as he had witnessed them. His way lay ina different direction from that of his comrades. Instead of taking thetrail, as they had done, he skirted the upper corral and pastures, andplunged into the black pinewoods behind the house.
* * * * *
The Widow Dangley's homestead looked much more extensive in themoonlight than it really was. Everything was shown up, endowed with acurious silvery burnish which dazzled the eyes till shadows becamemagnified into buildings, and the buildings themselves distorted outof all proportion. Hers was simply a comfortable place and quiteunpretentious.
The ranch stood in a narrow valley, in the midst of which a smallbrook gurgled its way on to the Mosquito River, about four milesdistant. The valley was one of those sharp cuttings in which theprairie abounds, quite hidden and unmarked from the land above, lyingunsuspected until one chances directly upon it. It was much like afurrow of Nature's ploughing, cut out to serve as a drainage for thesurrounding plains. It wound its irregular course away east and west,a maze of undergrowth, larger bluff, low red-sand cut-banks andcrumbling gravel cliffs, all scattered by a prodigal hand, with aprofusion that seemed wanton amidst the surrounding wastes ofgrass-land.
The house stood on the northern slope, surrounded on three sides by aprotecting bluff of pinewoods. Then to the right of it came theoutbuildings, and last, at least one hundred and fifty yards from therest, came the corrals, well hidden in the bluff, instead, as isusual, of being overlooked by the house. Certainly Widow Dangley was aconfiding person.
And so Tresler, comparatively inexperienced as he was, thought, as hesurveyed the prospect in the moonlight from the back of his mare. Hewas accompanied by Sheriff Fyles, and the two men were estimating thechances they were likely to have against possible invaders.
"How goes the time?" asked the sheriff, after a few moments' silentcontemplation of the scene.
"You've half an hour in which to dispose your forces. Ah! there's oneof your fellows riding down the opposite bank." Tresler pointed acrossthe valley.
"Yes, and there's another lower down," Fyles observed quietly. "Andhere's one dropping down to your right. All on time. What of yourmen?"
"They should be in yonder bluff, backing the corrals."
"How many?"
"Four, including the cook."
"Four, and sixteen of mine--twenty. Our two selves--twenty-two. Good;come on."
The man led the way to the bluff. The cowboys were all there. Theyreceived instructions to hold the position at the corrals; to defendthem, or to act as reinforcements if the struggle should take placeelsewhere. Then the two leaders passed on down into the valley. It wasan awkward descent, steep, and of a loose surface that shelved undertheir horses' feet. For the moment a cloud had obscured the moon, andFyles looked up. A southwesterly breeze had sprung up, and there was awatery look about the sky.
"Good," he said again, in his abrupt manner. "There won't be too muchmoon. Moonlight is not altogether an advantage in a matter of thissort. We must depend chiefly on a surprise. We don't want too manyempty saddles."
At the bottom of the valley they found the rest of the men gatheredtogether in the shelter of the scattered undergrowth. It was Fyles'swhole command. He proceeded at once to divide them up into twoparties. One he stationed east of the ranch, split into a sort ofskirmishing order, to act under Tresler's charge. The other party hetook for his own command, selecting an advantageous position to thewest. He had also established a code of signals to be used on theapproach of the enemy; these took the form of the cry of thescreech-owl. Thus, within a quarter of an hour after their arrival,all was in readiness for the raiders, and the valley once morereturned to its native quiet.
And how quiet and still it all was! The time crept on toward theappointed hour. The moon was still high in the heavens, but its lighthad grown more and more uncertain. The clouds had become dense to astormy extent. Now and then the rippling waters of the brook caughtand reflected for a moment a passing shaft of light, like a silveryrift in the midst of the valley, but otherwise all was shadow. And inthe occasional moonlight every tree and bush and boulder was magnifiedinto some weird, spectral shape, distorting it from plain truth intosome grotesque fiction, turning the humblest growth into anything froma grazing steer to a moving vehicle; from a prowling coyote to a loghut. The music of the waking night-world droned on the scented air,emphasizing the calm, the delicious peace. It was like some fairykingdom swept by strains of undefined music which haunted the earwithout monotony, and peopled with shadows which the imagination couldmould at its pleasure.
But in the eagerness of the moment all this was lost to the waitingmen. To them it was a possible battleground; with a view to cover, itwas a strategic position, and they were satisfied with it. The cattle,turned loose from the corrals, must pass up or down the valley;similarly, any number of men must approach from one of these twodirections, which meant that the ambush could not be avoided.
At last the warning signal came. An owl hooted from somewhere up thevalley, the cry rising in weird cadence and dying away lingeringly.And, at the same time, there came the sound of a distant rumble, likethe steady drone of machinery at some far-off point. Tresler at oncegave up his watch on the east and centred all attention upon the west.One of his own men had answered the owl's cry, and a third screechcame from the guard at the corrals.
The rumble grew louder. There were no moving objects visible yet, butthe growing sound was less of a murmur; it was more detached, and thestraining ears distinctly made out the clatter of hoofs evidentlytraveling fast down the valley trail. On they came, steadily hammeringout their measure with crisp precision. It was a moment of tenseexcitement for those awaiting the approach. But only a moment,although the sensation lasted longer. The moon suddenly brough
t thewhole thing into reality. Suspense was banished with its revealinglight, and each man, steady at his post, gripped his carbine orrevolver, ready to pour in a deadly fire the moment the word should begiven. A troop of about eighteen horsemen dashed round a bend of thevalley and plunged into the ambush.
Instantly Fyles's voice rang out. "Halt, or we fire!" he cried.
The horsemen drew rein at once, but the reply was a pistol-shot inthe direction whence his voice had sounded. The defiance was Tresler'ssignal. He passed the word to his men, and a volley of carbine-firerang out at once, and confusion in the ranks of the horsemen followedimmediately.
Then the battle began in deadly earnest. The sheriff's men leapt intotheir saddles, and advanced both in front and in rear of the trappedraiders. And the cowpunchers came racing down from the corrals to hurlthemselves into the _melee_ whooping and yelling, as only men of theircraft can.
The fight waxed furious, but the odds were in favor of the ambush. Theclouded sky lent neither side much assistance. Now and again thepeeping moon looked down upon the scene as though half afraid to showitself, and it was by those fleeting rays that the sheriff's menleveled their carbines and poured in their deadly fire. But theraiders were no mean foe. They fought desperately, and were masters inthe use of their weapons. Their confusion of the first moment passedinstantly, and they rode straight at Tresler's line of defense with adetermination that threatened to overwhelm it and force a passage. Butthe coming of the cowpunchers stemmed the tide and hurled them back onFyles's force in their rear. Several riderless horses escaped in the_melee_; nor were they only belonging to the raiders. One of the"deputies" had dropped from his saddle right beside Tresler, and therewas no telling, in the darkness, how many others had met with asimilar fate. Red Mask's gang had been fairly trapped, and both sidesmeant to fight to a finish.
All this time both Tresler and Fyles were looking out for the leader,the man of all whom they desired to capture. But the darkness, whichhad favored the ambuscade, now defeated their object. In the mob ofstruggling humanity it was difficult enough to distinguish friend fromfoe, let alone to discover any one person. The ranks of the "deputies"had closed right in and a desperate hand-to-hand struggle was goingon.
Tresler was caught in the midst of the tide, his crazy mare hadcarried him there whether he would or no; but if she had carried himthus into deadly peril, she was also ready to fight for him. She laidabout her royally, swept on, and reared plunging at every obstructionto her progress, her master thus escaping many a shot, if it left himable to do little better than fire at random himself. In this franticfashion the maddened creature tore her way through the thick of thefight, and her rider was borne clear to the further outskirts. Thenshe tried to get away with him, but in the nick of time, before herstrong teeth had fixed themselves on the bit, he managed to head heronce again for the struggling mass.
With furious recklessness she charged forward, and, as bad luck wouldhave it, her wild career brought about the worst thing possible. Shecannoned violently into the sheriff's charger, while its rider was inthe act of leveling his revolver at the head of a man wearing a redmask. The impact was within an ace of bringing both horses and ridersto the ground. The mare was flung on her haunches, while Fyles,cursing bitterly, clung desperately to his saddle to retain his seat.But his aim was lost, and his shot narrowly missed his horse's head;and, before either he or Tresler had recovered himself, the red maskedman had vanished into the darkness, heading for the perilous ascent ofthe valley side.
Terrified out of her life the Lady Jezebel turned swinging round onher haunches, and charged down the valley; and as she went Tresler hadthe questionable satisfaction of seeing the sheriff detach himselffrom the mob and gallop in pursuit of the raider.
His own blood was up now, and though the mare had got the bit in herteeth he fought her with a fury equal to her own. He knew she wasmistress of the situation, but he simply would not give in. He wouldkill her rather than she should get away with him this time. And so,as nothing else had any effect on her, he snatched a pistol from itsholster and leant over and pounded the side of her head with the buttof it in a wild attempt to turn her. At first she gave not thesmallest heed to his blows; such was her madness. But presently sheflinched under them and turned her head away, and her body respondedto the movement. In another moment he had her round, and as she facedthe side of the valley where the raider had disappeared, he slashedher cruelly with his spurs. In a moment the noise of the battle wasleft behind him, and the mare, with cat-like leaps, was breasting theascent.
And Tresler only thought of the man he was in pursuit of. His ownneck or the neck of his mare mattered nothing to him then. Throughhim, or through the mare, they had lost Red Mask. He must rectifythe fault. He had no idea how. His brain was capable of only onethought--pursuit; and he thanked his stars for the sure-footed beastunder him. Nothing stopped her; she lifted to every obstruction. Acut-bank had no terrors for her, she simply charged it with her great,strong hoofs till the gravel and sand poured away under them and lefther a foothold. Bushes were trampled down or plunged through. Blindlyshe raced for the top, at an angle that made her rider cling to thehorn of his saddle to keep himself from sliding off over the cantle.
They passed Fyles struggling laboriously to reach the top. The LadyJezebel seemed to shoot past him and leave him standing. And as hewent Tresler called out--
"How much start has he?"
"He's topping it now," the sheriff replied.
And the answer fired Tresler's excitement so that he again rammed bothspurs into the mare's flanks. The top of the hill loomed up againstthe sky. A thick fringe of bush confronted them. Head down, nosealmost touching the ground, the mad animal plunged into it. Her riderbarely had time to lie down in his saddle and cling to her neck. Histhoughts were in a sort of mental whirlpool and he hardly realizedwhat had happened, when, the next moment, the frenzied demon under himplunged out on to the open prairie.
She made no pause or hesitation, but like a shot from a gun swept onstraight as the crow flies, her nose alone guiding her. She still heldthe bit in her jaws; her frolic had only just begun. Tresler lookedahead and scanned the sky-line, but the darkness obscured all signsof his quarry.
He had just made up his mind to trust to chance and the captious moodof his mare when the moon, crossing a rift in the clouds, gave him asort of flashlight view of the horizon. It only lasted a few seconds,but it lasted long enough for him to detect a horseman heading for theMosquito River, away to the right, with a start that looked likesomething over a mile. His heart sank at the prospect. But the nextinstant hope bounded within him, for the mare swung round of her ownaccord and stretched herself for the race.
He understood. She had recognized the possibility of company; and fewhorses, whatever their temper, can resist that.
He leaned over and patted her shoulder, easing her of his weight likea jockey.
"Now, you she-devil," he murmured affectionately, "behave yourself foronce, and go--go like the fiend you are!"
The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana Page 21
