The Night Riders

by Cullum, Ridgwell

  The boy’s head dropped forward, and two great tears rolled slowly down his cheeks. Diane turned away, and a far-off look came into her steady brown eyes. There was a silence for a moment, then a deep, heart-broken sob came from the lad at her side. She flashed one hard glance in Jake’s direction and turned to her companion, gently gripping his arm in a manner that expressed a world of womanly sympathy. Her touch, her quiet, strong helpfulness, did more for him than any formal words of condolence could have done. He lifted his head and dashed the tears from his face; and the girl smiled encouragement upon him.

  “Wait here,” she said; “I will go and fetch father.”

  She slipped away, leaving the two men alone. And when she had gone, the foreman’s raucous voice sounded harshly on the still air.

  “Say, you ain’t smart, neither. We got one of your kidney around here now. Kind o’ reckons to fix the old man through the girl. Most weak-kneed fellers gamble a pile on petticoats. Wal, I guess you’re right out. Marbolt ain’t easy that way. You’ll be sorry you fetched him from his bed, or I don’t know him.”

  Archie made no reply. Nor was any more talk possible, for at that moment there came the steady tap, tap, of the blind man’s stick down the passage, and the two men faced the door expectantly. The rancher shuffled out on to the verandah. Diane was at his side, and led him straight over to young Orr. The old man’s head was poised alertly for a second; then he turned swiftly in the foreman’s direction.

  “Hah! that you, Jake?” He nodded as he spoke, and then turned back to the other. The blind man’s instinct seemed something more than human.

  “Eh? Your father murdered, boy?” Marbolt questioned, without the least softening of tone. “Murdered?”

  Archie gulped down his rising emotion. But there was no life in his answer—his words came in a tone of utter hopelessness.

  “Yes, sir; shot down, I gather, in defense of our homestead.”

  The steady stare of the rancher’s red eyes was hard to support. Archie felt himself weaken before the personality of this man he had come to see.

  “Gather?”

  The hardness of his greeting had now changed to the gentleness of tone in which the blind man usually spoke. But the boy drew no confidence from it while confronted by those unseeing eyes. It was Diane who understood and replied for him.

  “Yes; Archie was in Forks last night, on business, father. He only learned what had happened on returning home this afternoon. He—he wants some help.”

  “Yes, sir,” Archie went on quickly; “only a little help. I came home to find our homestead burned clean out. Not a roof left to shelter my mother and sister, and not one living beast left upon the place, except the dogs. Oh, my God, it is awful! Mother and Alice were sitting beside the corral gate weeping fit to break their hearts over the dead body of father when I found them. And the story, as I learned it, sir, was simple—horribly, terribly simple. They were roused at about two in the morning by the dogs barking. Father, thinking timber wolves were around, went out with a gun. He saw nothing till he got to the corrals. Then mother, watching from her window, saw the flash of several guns, and heard the rattle of their reports. Father dropped. Then the gang of murderers roused out the stock, and some drove it off, while others wantonly fired the buildings. It was Red Mask, sir, for he came up to the house and ordered mother out before the place was fired. She is sure it was him because of his mask. She begged him not to burn her home, but the devil had no remorse; he vouchsafed only one reply. Maybe she forced him to an answer with her appeal; maybe he only spoke to intimidate others who might hear of his words from her. Anyway, he said, ‘Your man and you open your mouths too wide around this place. Manson Orr wrote in to the police, and asked for protection. You won’t need it now, neither will he.’” He paused, while the horror of his story sank deeply into the heart of at least one of his hearers. Then he went on with that eager, nervous fire he had at first displayed: “Mr. Marbolt, I look to you to help me. I’ve got nothing to keep me now from following this devil of a man. I want to borrow horses, and I’ll hunt him down. I’ll hunt him down while I’ve a breath left in my body, sir,” he went on, with rising passion. “I’ll pay him if it takes me my lifetime! Only lend me the horses, sir. It is as much to your interest as mine, for he has robbed you before now; your property is no more safe than any other man’s. Let us combine to fight him, to bring him down, to measure him his full measure, to send him to hell, where he belongs. I’ll do this——”

  “Yes, while your mother and sister starve,” put in the blind man, drily. Then, as the fire of Archie’s passion suddenly sank at the cold, incisive words, and he remained silent and abashed, he went on, in quiet, even tones, while his red eyes were focussed upon his visitor’s face with disconcerting directness, “No, no; go you—I won’t say ‘home,’ but go you to your mother and sister: look after them, care for them, work for them. You owe that to them before any act of vengeance be made. When you have achieved their comfort, you are at liberty to plunge into any rashness you choose. I am no youngster, Archie Orr, I am a man of years, who has seen, all my life, only through a brain rendered doubly acute by lack of sight, and my advice is worthy of your consideration. You have nothing more to fear from Red Mask at present, but if you continue your headlong course you will have; and, as far as I can make out, his hand is heavy and swift in falling. Go back to your women-folk, I say. You can get no horses from me for such a foolhardy purpose as you meditate.”

  Diane had watched her father closely, and as he finished speaking, she moved toward the bereaved man and laid a hand upon his arm in gentle appeal.

  “Father is right, Archie. Go back to them, those two lonely, broken-hearted women. You can do all for them if you will. They need all that your kind, honest heart can bestow. It is now that you must show the stuff you are made of.”

  Archie had turned away; but he looked round and mechanically glanced down at the brown hand still resting upon his arm. The sight of it held him for some moments, and when he raised his head a new look was in his eyes. The sympathy in her tones, the gentle encouragement of the few words she had spoken, had completed that which the sound but unsympathetic advice of her father had begun.

  His purpose had been the wild impulse of unstable youth; there was no strength to it, no real resolution. Besides, he was a gentle-hearted lad, to whom Diane’s appeal for his mother and sister was irresistible.

  “Thank you, Miss Diane,” he said, with a profound sigh. “Your kind heart has seen where my anger has been blind. Yes, I will return and help my mother. And I thank you, sir,” he went on, turning reluctantly to face the stare of the rancher’s eyes again. “You, too, have plainly shown me my duty, and I shall follow it, but—if ever——”

  “And you’ll do well,” broke in Jake, with a rough laugh that jarred terribly. “Your father’s paid his pound. If his son’s wise, he’ll hunt his hole.”

  Archie’s eyes flashed ominously. Diane saw the look, and, in an instant, drew his attention to his horse, which was moving off toward the barn.

  “See, Archie,” she said, with a gentle smile, “your horse is weary, and is looking for rest.”

  The boy read her meaning. He held out his hand impulsively, and the girl placed hers into it. In a moment his other had closed over it, and he shook it tenderly. Then, without a word, he made off after his horse.

  The blind man’s face was turned in his direction as he went, and when the sound of his footsteps had died away, he turned abruptly and tapped his way back to the door. At the threshold he turned upon the foreman.

  “Two days in succession I have been disturbed,” he gritted out. “You are getting past your work, Jake Harnach.”

  “Father——” Diane started forward in alarm, but he cut her short.

  “And as for you, miss, remember your place in my house. Go, look to your duties. Sweep, wash, cook, sew. Those are the things your sex is made for. What interest have you, dare you have, in that brainless boy? Let him figh
t his own battles. It may make a man of him; though I doubt it. He is nothing to you.”

  Diane shrank before the scathing blast of that sightless fury. But she rallied to protest.

  “It is the women-folk, father.”

  “Women-folk? Bah!”

  He threw up his hands in ineffable scorn, and shuffled away into the house.

  Jake, still smarting under the attack, stood leaning against the verandah post. He was looking away down at the bunkhouse, where a group of the men were gathered about Archie Orr, who, seated on his horse, was evidently telling his tale afresh.

  Diane approached him. He did not even turn to meet her.

  “Jake, I want Bess at once. Hitch her to the buckboard, and have her sent round to the kitchen door.”

  “What are you goin’ to do, my girl?” he asked, without shifting his gaze.

  “Maybe I shall drive over to see those poor women.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t have her.”

  Jake turned, and looked down at her from his great height. Archie Orr had just ridden off.

  Diane returned his look fearlessly, and there was something in the directness of her gaze that made the giant look away.

  “I think I can,” she said quietly. “Go and see to it now.”

  The man started. It seemed as if he were about to bluster. His bold, black eyes flashed ominously, and it was plain from his attitude that a flat and harsh refusal was on his lips. But somehow he didn’t say it. The brutality of his expression slowly changed as he looked at her. A gentle light stole slowly, and it seemed with difficulty, into his eyes, where it looked as out of place as the love-light in the eyes of a tiger. But there was no mistaking it. However incongruous it was there, and the lips that had been framing a cruel retort merely gave utterance to a quiet acquiescence.

  “All right. I’ll send her round in five minutes.”

  And Diane went into the house at once.

  Meanwhile, a great discussion of young Orr’s affairs was going on at the bunkhouse. Arizona had vacated his favorite seat, and was now holding the floor. His pale face was flushed with a hectic glow of excitement. He was taxing his little stock of strength to the uttermost, and, at least, some of those looking on listening to him knew it.

  “I tell you ther’ ain’t nothin’ fer it but to roll up to old blind hulks an’ ast him to send us out. Ef this dog-gone skunk’s let be, ther’ ain’t no stock safe. Guess I’ve had my med’cine from ’em, and I’m jest crazy fer more. I’ve had to do wi’ fellers o’ their kidney ’fore, I guess. We strung six of ’em up in a day on the same tree down Arizona way, as that gray-headed possum, Joe Nelson, well remembers. Say, we jest cleaned our part o’ that country right quick. Guess ther’ wa’n’t a ‘bad man’ wuth two plugs o’ nickel chawin’ around when we’d finished gettin’ ’em. Say, this feller’s played it long enough, an’ I’m goin’ right now to see the boss. He’s around. Who’s comin’?”

  “Yes, an’ Archie Orr’s a pore sort o’ crittur to git left wi’ two women-folk,” said Raw Harris, rising from his upturned bucket and putting forth his argument, regardless of its irrelevance. “Not a stick to shelter him—which I mean ‘them.’ An’ not a dog-gone cent among ’em. By G——, Arizona’s right.”

  “That’s it,” put in Joe Nelson; “you’ve hit it. Not a dog-gone cent among ’em, an’, what’s more, owin’ blind hulks a whole heap o’ bills on mortgage. Say, that was mostly a weak move him askin’ the boss fer help. Why, I guess old Marbolt hates hisself on’y one shade wuss’n he hated Manson Orr. Say, boys, ef we’re askin’ to lynch Red Mask, we ain’t askin’ in any fancy name like ‘Orr.’ Savee?”

  There was silence for a moment while they digested the wisdom of the suggestion. Then Jacob Smith nodded, and Lew Cawley murmured—

  “Dead gut every time, is Joe.”

  This loosened their tongues again until Tresler spoke.

  “See here, boys, you’re talking of lynching, and haven’t a notion of how you’re going to get your man. Don’t even know where to lay hands on him. Do you think Marbolt’s going to turn us all loose on the war-path? Not he. And how are two or three of us going to get a gang of ten or twelve? Besides, I believe it’ll be easier to get him without a lynching party. Remember he’s no ordinary cattle-rustler. I say lie low, he’ll come our way, and then——”

  “That’s it, lie low,” broke in Joe Nelson, shaking his gray head over a pannikin of tea, and softly blowing a clearing among the dead flies floating on its surface. “Maybe y’ ain’t heard as the sheriff’s come around Forks. Guess he’s fixed a station ther’.”

  “He’s already done so?” asked Tresler.

  “Yup.”

  “By Jove! The very thing, boys. Don’t roll up. Don’t do any lynching. The sheriff’s the boy for Red Mask.”

  But Arizona, backed by Raw Harris, would have none of it. They were of the old-time stock who understood only old-time methods, and cordially resented any peaceful solution to the difficulty. They wanted a lynching, and no argument would dissuade them. And after much discussion it was Arizona’s final word that carried the day.

  “Now, you see, Tresler,” he said huskily, for his voice was tired with sustained effort. “You’re the remarkablest smart ‘tenderfoot’ that ever I see. Say, you’re a right smart daddy—an’ I ain’t given to latherin’ soap-suds neither. But ther’s suthin’s I calc’late that no ‘tenderfoot,’ smart as he may be, is goin’ to locate right. Hoss thieves is hoss thieves, an’ needs stringin’. Ther’ ain’t nuthin’ for it but a rawhide rope fer them fellers. Guess I’ve seen more’n you’ve heerd tell of. Say, boys, who’s goin’ to see the boss? Guess he’s right ther’ on the verandah.”

  Though there was no verbal reply as the wild American turned to move off, there was a general movement to follow him. Raw Harris started it. Pannikins were set down upon the ground, and, to a man, the rest followed in their leader’s wake. Tresler went too, but he went only because he knew it would be useless—even dangerous—to hold back. The general inclination was to follow the lead of this volcanic man. Besides, he had only voiced that which appealed to them all. The gospel of restraint was not in their natures. Only Joe Nelson really endorsed Tresler’s opinion. But then Joe was a man who had lived his youth out, and had acquired that level-headedness from experience which Tresler possessed instinctively. Besides, he was in touch with Diane. He had lived more than ten years on that ranch, during which time he had stood by watching with keenly observant eyes the doings of the cattle world about him. But he, too, in spite of his own good reason, moved on to the verandah with the rest.

  And Jake saw the movement and understood, and he reached the verandah first and warned the blind man of their coming.

  And Tresler’s prophecy was more than fulfilled. As they came they saw the rancher rise from his seat. He faced them, a tall, awesome figure in his long, full dressing-gown. His large, clean-cut head, his gray, clipped beard, the long aquiline nose, and, overshadowing all, his staring, red eyes; even on Arizona he had a damping effect.

  “Well?” he questioned, as the men halted before him. Then, as no answer was forthcoming, he repeated his inquiry. “Well?”

  And Arizona stepped to the front. “Wal, boss, it’s this a-ways,” he began. “These rustlers, I guess——”

  But the blind man cut him short. The frowning brows drew closer over the sightless eyes, which were focussed upon the cowpuncher with a concentration more overpowering than if their vision had been unimpaired.

  “Eh? So you’ve been listening to young Orr,” he said, with a quietness in marked contrast to the expression of his face. “And you want to get after them?” Then he shook his head, and the curious depression of his brows relaxed, and a smile hovered round his mouth. “No, no, boys; it’s useless coming to me. Worse than useless. You, Arizona, should know better. There are not enough ranches round here to form a lynching party, if one were advisable. And I can’t spare
men from here. Why, to send enough men from here to deal with this gang would leave my place at their mercy. Tut, tut, it is impossible. You must see it yourselves.”

  “But you’ve been robbed before, sir,” Arizona broke out in protest.

  “Yes, yes.” There was a grating of impatience in the blind man’s voice, and the smile had vanished. “And I prefer to be robbed of a few beeves again rather than run the chance of being burned out by those scoundrels. I’ll have no argument about the matter. I can spare no hand among you. I’ll not police this district for anybody. You understand—for anybody. I will not stop you—any of you”—his words came with a subtle fierceness now, and were directed at Arizona—“but of this I assure you, any man who leaves this ranch to set out on any wild-goose chase after these rustlers leaves it for good. That’s all I have to say.”

  Arizona was about to retort hotly, but Tresler, who was standing close up to him, plucked at his shirt-sleeve, and, strangely enough, his interference had its effect. The man glared round, but when he saw who it was that had interrupted him, he made no further effort to speak. The wild man of the prairie was feeling the influence of a stronger, or, at least, a steadier nature than his own. And Jake’s lynx eyes watching saw the movement, and he understood.

  The men moved reluctantly away. Their moody looks and slouching gait loudly voiced their feelings. No words passed between them until they were well out of ear-shot. And Tresler realized now the wonderful power of brain behind the sightless eyes of the rancher. Now, he understood something of the strength which had fought the battle, sightless though he was, of those early days; now he comprehended the man who could employ a man of Jake’s character, and have strength enough to control him. That afternoon’s exhibition made a profound impression on him.

  Their supper was finished before they set out for the house, and now the men, murmuring, discontented, and filled with resentment against the rancher, loafed idly around the bunkhouse. They smoked and chewed and discussed the matter as angry men who are thwarted in their plans will ever do. Tresler and Joe alone remained quiet. Tresler, for the reason that a definite plan was gradually forming in his brain out of the chaos of events, and Joe because he was watching the other for his own obscure reasons.