CHAPTER XXII
THE PURSUIT OF RED MASK
A mile start; it would seem an impossible advantage. Even with a farbetter horse in pursuit, how many miles must be covered before thatdistance could be made up? Could the lost ground be regained in eightmiles? It looked to be out of the question even to Tresler, hopeful ofhis mare as he was, and knowing her remarkable turn of speed. Yet suchproved to be the case. Eight miles saw him so close on the heels ofthe raider that there was nothing left for the fugitive but to keepon.
He felt no surprise that they were traversing the river trail. He eventhought he knew how he could head his man off by a short cut. But thiswould not serve his purpose. He wanted to get him red-handed, and toleave him now would be to give him a chance that he was confidentwould be taken advantage of at once. The river trail led to the ranch.And the only branches anywhere along its route were those runningnorth and south at the ford.
Steadily he closed up, foot by foot, yard by yard. Sometimes he sawhis quarry, sometimes he was only guided by the beat of the speedinghoofs. Now that he was urging her, the Lady Jezebel had relinquishedthe bit, not only willing, but bursting to do better than her best.No rider could resist such an appeal. And as they went Tresler foundhimself talking to her with an affection that would have soundedridiculous to any but a horseman. It made him smile to see her earslaid back, not in the manner of a horse putting forth its lastefforts, but with that vicious air she always had, as though she wererunning open-mouthed at Jacob Smith, as he had seen her do in thecorral on his introduction to her.
When they came to the river ford he was a bare hundred yards in thewake of his man. Here the road turned off for the ranch, and the treesmet overhead and shut out the light of the moon. It was pitch black,and he was only guided by the sound of the other horse in front.Abreast of the ford he became aware that this sound had abruptly diedout, and at the bend of the trail he pulled up and listened acutely.They stood thus, the mare's great body heaving under him, until herrider caught the faint sound of breaking bush somewhere directly aheadof them.
Instantly recollection came to his help, and he laughed as he turnedthe mare off the trail and plunged into the scrub. It was the spotwhere, once before, he had taken, unwillingly, to the bush. There wasno hesitation, no uncertainty. They raced through the tangle, andthreaded their way on to the disused trail they had both traveledbefore.
The fugitive had gained considerably now, and Tresler, for the firsttime since the race had begun, asked his mare for more pace. Shesimply shook her head, snorted, and swished her tail, as thoughprotesting that the blow was unnecessary. She could not do theimpossible, and that he was asking of her. But his forcible requestwas the nervous result of his knowledge that the last lap of the racehad been entered upon and the home stretch was not far off. It must benow or never.
He soon realized that the remaining distance was all too short. As hecame to the place where the forest abruptly terminated, he saw thatday had broken. The gray light showed him to be still thirty yards orso behind.
They had reached the broken lands he remembered so well. Before himstretched the plateau leading to the convergence of the river and thecliff. It was the sight of this which gave him an inspiration. Heremembered the branching trail to the bridge, also the wide sweep ittook, as compared with the way he had first come. To leap the riverwould gain him fifty yards. But in that light it was a risk--a graverisk. He hesitated. Annoyed at his own indecision, he determined torisk everything on one throw. The other horse was distinctly lagging.He reached down and patted his mare's neck. And that simple actionrestored his confidence; he felt that she was still on top of herwork. The river would have no terrors for her.
He saw the masked man turn off for the bridge, but he held straighton. He gave another anxious look at the sky. The dull gray was stillunbroken by any flush of sunrise, but it was lighter, certainly. Themask of clouds was breaking, though it still contrived to keepdaylight in abeyance. He had no option but to settle himself in thesaddle for the great effort. Light or no light, he could not turn backnow.
And for the while he forgot the fugitive. His mind centred on theriver ahead, and the moment when his hand must lend the mare that aid,without which he could not hope, after her great journey, to win thefar bank. His nerve was steady, and his eyes never more alert.Everything was distinct enough about him. The bushes flying by wereclearly outlined now, and he fancied he could already see the river'sline of demarkation. On they raced, he leaning well forward, she withher ears pricked, attentive to the murmurs of the water already sonear. Unconsciously his knees gripped the leggaderos of his saddlewith all the power he could put into the pressure, and his body wasbent crouching, as though he were about to make the spring himself.
And the moment came. He spurred and lifted; and the game beast shotforward like a rocket. A moment, and she landed. But the half lightsmust have deceived her. She had jumped further than before, and,crashing into a boulder with her two fore feet, she turned a completesomersault, and fell headlong to the ground, hurling her rider yardsout of the saddle into the soft loose sand of the trail beyond.
Quite unhurt, Tresler was on his feet in an instant. But the mare laystill where she had fallen. A hopeless feeling of regret swept overthe man as he turned and beheld her. He saw the masked rider dash atthe hillside on his weary horse, not twenty yards from him, but hegave him no heed.
It needed no look into the mare's glazing eyes to tell him what he haddone. He had killed her. The first really honest act of her life hadled to the unfortunate creature's own undoing. Her lean ewe neck wasbroken, as were both her forelegs.
The moment he had ascertained the truth he left her, and, looking upat the hill, saw that it was high time. The rider had vanished, buthis jaded horse was standing half-way up the hillside in the mire ofloose sand. It was either too frightened or too weary to move, andstood there knee-deep, a picture of dejection.
The task of mounting to the ledge was no light one, but Tresler facedit without a second thought. The other had only something less than aminute's start of him, and as there was only one other exit to theplace--and that, he remembered, of a very unpromising nature--he hadfew fears of the man's ultimate escape. No, there was no escape forhim; and besides--a smile lit up the hard set of his features at thethought--daylight had really come. The clouds had at last given waybefore the rosy herald of sunrise.
The last of the ascent was accomplished, and, breathing hard, Treslerstepped on to the gravel-strewn plateau, gun in hand. He felt glad ofhis five-chambered companion. Those rough friends of his on the ranchwere right. There was nothing so compelling, nothing so arbitrary, norso reassuring to the possessor and confounding to his enemies, as agun well handled.
The ledge was empty. He looked at the towering cliff, but there was nosign of his man in that direction. He moved toward the hut, but at thefirst step the door of the dugout was flung wide, and Julian Marbolt,gun in hand, dashed out.
He came with a rush, without hesitation, confidently; but as the doorwas thrown open, and the flood of daylight shone down upon him, hefell back with a bitter cry of despair, and Tresler knew that he hadnot reckoned on the change from comparative darkness to daylight. Heneeded no further proof of what he had come to suspect. The rancherwas only blind in the presence of strong light!
For a second only he stood cowering back, then, feeling his way, hedarted with miraculous rapidity round the side of the building, andscrambled toward the dizzy staircase in the rock.
Tresler challenged him at once, but he paid no heed. He had reachedthe foot of the stairway, and was climbing for life and liberty. Theother knew that he ought to have opened fire on him, but the olddesire to trust to his hands and bodily strength overcame his betterjudgment, and he ran at him. His impulse was humane but futile, forthe man was ascending with marvelous rapidity, and by the time he hadreached the foot of the ladder, was beyond his reach.
There was nothing left now but to use his gun or to follow. One lookat the terrif
ic ascent, however, left him no choice.
"Go on, and I'll drop you, Julian Marbolt!" he shouted. "I've fivechambers loaded in each gun."
For response, the blind man increased his exertions. On he went, up,up, till it made the man below dizzy to watch him. Tresler raised hisgun and fired wide, letting the bullet strike the rock close to theman's right hand to convince him of his intentions. He saw thelimestone splinter as the bullet hit it, while the clutching, gropinghand slid higher for a fresh hold; but it had no other effect.
He was at a loss. If the man reached the top, he knew that somewhereover the brink lay a road to safety. And he was nearing it; nearing itfoot by foot with his crawling, clinging clutch upon the face of rock.He shuddered as he watched, fascinated even against himself. Deprivedof sight, the man's whole body seemed alert with an instinct thatserved him in its stead. His movements were like those of somecuttlefish, reaching out blindly with its long feelers and drawingitself up by the power of its tentacles.
He shouted a last warning. "Your last chance!" he cried; and now hisaim was true, and his purpose inflexible.
The only answer was a hurried movement on the part of the climbingman.
Tresler's finger was on the trigger, while his eyes were fixed on hismark. But the hammer did not fall; the final compression of the handwas stayed, while horror leapt into the eyes so keenly looking overthe sight. Something had happened up there on the face of the cliff.The man had slipped! One foot shot out helplessly, as the franticclimber struggled for those last few steps before the shot came. Hewildly sought to recover himself, but the fatal jolt carried theweight of his body with it, and wrenched the other foot from its hold.For the fraction of a second the man below became aware of theclinging hands, as they desperately held to the rock, and then hedropped his gun and clapped his hands over his ears as a piercingshriek rang out. He could not witness any more. He only heard, inspite of his stopped ears, the lumping of a soft body falling; he saw,though his eyes were closed almost on the instant, a huddled figurepitch dully upon the edge of the plateau and disappear below. It allpassed in a flash.
Then silence reigned. And when he opened his eyes there was nohorrible sight, nothing seemed to have been disturbed. It had gone; notrace was left, not a tatter of cloth, not a spot of blood, nothing.
He knew. His imaginary vision of the old-time trapper had been enactedbefore his very eyes. All that remained of Julian Marbolt waslying--down there.
* * * * *
Fyles and Tresler were standing in the valley below. They were gazingon the mangled remains of the rancher. Fyles had removed the piece ofred blanket from the dead man's face, and held it up for inspection.
"Um!" he grunted. "The game's played out."
"There's more of that up there in the hut," said Tresler.
"Breed blanket," commented Fyles, folding it up and carefullybestowing it in his pocket. Then he turned and gazed down the yawningvalley. It was a wonderful place, a mighty rift extending for milesinto the heart of the mountains. "A nice game, too," he went onpresently. "Ever seen this place before?"
"Once," Tresler replied. Then he told the officer of his runaway ride.
Fyles listened with interest. At the conclusion he said, "Pity youdidn't tell me of this before. However, you missed the chief interest.Look away down there in the shelter of the cliff. See--about a miledown. Corrals enough to shepherd ten thousand head. And they arecunningly disposed."
Tresler now became aware of a scattered array of corrals, stretchingaway out into the distance, but so arranged at the foot of thetowering walls of the valley that they needed looking for closely.
Then he looked up at the ledge which had been the scene of thedisaster, and the ladder of hewn steps above, and he pointed at them.
"I wonder what's on the other side?"
"That's an easy one," replied his companion promptly. "Half-breeds."
"A settlement?"
"That's about it. You remember the Breeds cleared away from their oldsettlement lately. We've never found them. Once they take to thehills, it's like a needle in a haystack. Maybe friend Anton is inhiding there."
"I doubt it. 'Tough' McCulloch didn't belong to them, as I told you.He comes from over the border. No; he's getting away as fast as hishorse can carry him. And Arizona isn't far off his trail, if I'm anyjudge."
Fyles's great round face was turned contemplatively on his companion.
"Well, that's for the future, anyhow," he observed, and moved to abush some yards away. "Let's take it easy. Money, one of my deputies,has gone in for a wagon. I don't expect him for a couple of hours orso. We must keep it company," he added, nodding his head in thedirection of the dead man.
They sat down and silently lit their pipes. Fyles was the first tospeak.
"Guess I've got to thank you," he said, as though that sort of thingwas quite out of his province.
Tresler shook his head. "Not me," he said. "Thank my poor mare." Thenhe added, with a bitter laugh, "Why, but for the accident of his fall,I'm not sure he wouldn't have escaped. I'm pretty weak-kneed when itcomes to dropping a man in cold blood."
The other shook his head.
"No; he wouldn't have escaped. You underestimate yourself. But even ifyou had missed I had him covered with my carbine. I was watching thewhole thing down here. You see, Money and I came on behind. I don'tsuppose we were more than a few minutes after you. That mare you wereriding was a dandy. I see she's done."
"Yes," Tresler said sorrowfully. "And I'm not ashamed to say it's hitme hard. She did us a good turn."
"And she owed it to us."
"You mean when she upset everything during the fight?"
"Yes."
"Well, she's more than made amends. In spite of her temper, that mareof mine was the finest thing on the ranch."
"Yours?" Fyles raised his eyebrows.
"Well--Marbolt's."
But the officer shook his head. "Nor Marbolt's. She belonged to me.Three years ago I turned her out to graze at Whitewater with a bunchof others, as an incorrigible rogue and vagabond. The whole lot werestolen and one of the guard shot. Her name was 'Strike 'em.'"
"Strike 'em?"
"Yes. Ever have her come at you with both front feet, and her mouthopen?"
Tresler nodded.
"That's it. 'Strike 'em.' Fine mare--half blood."
"But Marbolt told Jake he bought her from a half-breed outfit."
"Dare say he did."
Fyles relit his pipe for about the twentieth time, which causedTresler to hand him his pouch.
"Try tobacco," he said, with a smile.
The sheriff accepted the invitation with unruffled composure. Thegentle sarcasm passed quite unheeded. Probably the man was too intenton the business of the moment, for he went on as though nointerruption had occurred.
"After seeing you on that mare I found the ranch interesting. But theman's blindness fooled me right along. I had no trouble inascertaining that Jake had nothing to do with things. Also I wasassured that none of the 'hands' were playing the game. Anton was theman for me. But soon I discovered that he was not the actual leader.So far, good. There was only Marbolt left; but he was blind. Lastnight, when you came for me, and told me what had happened at theranch, and about the lighted lamp, I tumbled. But even so I stillfailed to understand all. The man was blind in daylight, and could seein darkness or half-light. Now, what the deuce sort of blind diseaseis that? And he seems to have kept the secret, acting the blind man atall times. It was clever--devilish clever."
Tresler nodded. "Yes; he fooled us all, even his daughter."
The other shot a quick glance from out of the corners of his eyes.
"I suppose so," he observed, and waited.
They smoked in silence.
"What are you going to do next?" asked Tresler, as the other showed nodisposition to speak.
The man shrugged. "Take possession of the ranch. Just keep the handsto run it. The lady had better go into Forks if she h
as any friendsthere. You might see to that. I understand that you are--gossip, youknow."
"Yes."
"There'll be inquiries and formalities. The property I don't knowabout. That will be settled by the government."
Tresler became thoughtful. Suddenly he turned to his companion.
"Sheriff," he said earnestly, "I hope you'll spare Miss Marbolt allyou can. She has lived a terribly unhappy life with him. I can assureyou she has known nothing of this--nothing of the strange blindness. Iwould swear it with my last breath."
"I don't doubt you, my boy," the other said heartily. "We owe you toomuch to doubt you. She shall not be bothered more than can be helped.But she had some knowledge of that blindness, or she would not haveacted as she did with that lamp. I tell you candidly she will have tomake a statement."
"Have no doubt; she will explain."
"Sure--ah! I think I hear the wheels of the wagon." Fyles lookedround. Then he settled himself down again. "Jake," he went on, "wassmartest of us all. I can't believe he was ever told of his patron'scurious blindness. He must have discovered it. He was playing a biggame. And all for a woman! Well, well."
"No doubt he thought she was worth it," said Tresler, with someasperity.
The officer smiled at the tone. "No doubt, no doubt. Still, he wasn'tyoung. He fooled you when he concurred with your suspicions ofAnton--that is, he knew you were off the true scent, and meant keepingyou off it. I can understand, too, why you were sent to Willow Bluff.You knew too much, you were too inquiring. Besides, from your ownshowing to Jake--which he carried on to the blind man for his ownends--you wanted too much. You had to be got rid of, as others havebeen got rid of before. Yes, it was all very clever. And he neverspared his own stock. Robbed himself by transferring a bunch ofsteers to these corrals, and, later on, I suppose, letting them driftback to his own pastures. I only wonder why, with a ranch like his, heran the risk."
"Perhaps it was old-time associations. He was a slave-trader once, andno doubt he stocked his ranch originally by raiding the Indians'cattle. Then, when white people came around, and the Indiansdisappeared, he continued his depredations on less open lines."
"Ah! slave-trader, was he? Who said?"
"Miss Marbolt innocently told me he once traded in the Indies in'black ivory.' She did not understand."
"Just so--ah, here is the wagon."
Fyles rose leisurely to his feet. And Money drove up.
"The best of news, sheriff," the latter cried at once. "Captured thelot. Some of the boys are badly damaged, but we've got 'em all."
"Well, we'll get back with this," the officer replied quietly.
The dead man was lifted into the wagon, and, in a few minutes, thelittle party was on its way back to the ranch.
The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana Page 22
