The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER VII

  WHICH DEALS WITH THE MATTER OF DRINK

  Although the murder of Manson Orr caused a wide-spread outcry, itended at that in so far as the inhabitants of the district wereconcerned. There were one or two individuals who pondered deeply onthe matter, and went quietly about a careful investigation, and ofthese Tresler was the most prominent. He found excuse to visit thescene of the outrage; he took interest in the half-breed settlementsix miles out from Mosquito Bend. He hunted among the foot-hills, eveninto the obscurer confines of the mountains; and these doings of hiswere the result of much thought, and the work of much time andingenuity; for everything had to be done without raising the suspicionof anybody on the ranch, or for that matter, off it. Being a "green"hand helped him. It was really astonishing how easily an intelligentman like Tresler could get lost; and yet such was the deplorable fact.Even Arizona's opinion of him sank to zero, while Jake found a widescope for his sneering brutality.

  As the days lengthened out into a week, and then a fortnight passedand nothing more was heard of Red Mask, the whole matter began to passout of mind, and gradually became relegated to the lore of thecountry. It was added to the already long list of barroom stories, tobe narrated, with embellishments, by such men as Slum or the worthyForks carpenter.

  The only thing that stuck in people's minds, and that only because itadded fuel to an already deep, abiding, personal hatred, was the storyof Julian Marbolt's treatment of young Archie Orr, and his refusal toinaugurate a vigilance party. The blind man's name, always one torouse the roughest side of men's tongues, was now cursed more bitterlythan ever.

  And during these days the bunkhouse at Mosquito Bend seethed withrevolt. But though this was so, underneath all their most bitterreflections the men were not without a faint hope of seeing the careerof these desperadoes cut short; and this hope sprang from theknowledge of the coming of the sheriff to Forks. The faith of Arizonaand the older hands in the official capacity for dealing with thesepeople was a frail thing, but the younger set were less sceptical.

  And at last Julian Marbolt's tardy invitation to Fyles was despatched.Tresler had watched and waited for the sending of that letter; he hadhoped to be the bearer of it himself. It would have given him theopportunity of making this Fyles's acquaintance, which was a matter hedesired to accomplish as soon as possible, without drawing publicattention to the fact. But in this he was disappointed, for Jake sentNelson. Nor did he know of the little man's going until he saw himastride of his buckskin "shag-an-appy," with the letter safelybestowed in his wallet.

  This was not the only disappointment he experienced during thatfortnight. He saw little or nothing of Diane. To Tresler, at least,their meeting at the ford was something more than a recollection.Every tone of the girl's voice, every look, every word she had spokenremained with him, as these things will at the dawn of love. Manytimes he tried to see her, but failed. Then he learned the meaning oftheir separation. One day Joe brought him a note from Diane, in whichshe told him how Black Anton had returned to her father and pouredinto his only too willing ears a wilfully garbled story of theirmeeting at the ford. She told him of her father's anger, and how hehad forbidden her to leave the house unattended by at least one of histwo police--Anton and Jake. This letter made its recipient furious,but it also started a secret correspondence between them, Joe Nelsonproving himself perfectly willing to act as go-between. And thiscorrespondence was infinitely pleasant to Tresler. He treasuredDiane's letters with a jealous care, making no attempt to disguise thetruth from himself. He knew that he was falling hopelessly inlove--had fallen hopelessly in love.

  This was the position when the evening of the day came on which therancher's invitation to Fyles had been despatched. The supper hash hadbeen devoured by healthy men with healthy appetites. Work waspractically over, there was nothing more to be done but feed, water,and bed down the horses. And Joe Nelson had not yet returned fromForks; he was at least five hours overdue.

  Arizona, practically recovered from his wound, was carefully soapinghis saddle, and generally preparing his accoutrements for return tofull work on the morrow. He had grown particularly sour and irritablewith being kept so long out of the saddle. His volcanic temper hadbecome even more than usually uncertain.

  His convalescence threw him a good deal into Tresler's company, and asort of uncertain friendship had sprung up between them. Arizona atfirst tolerated him, protested scathingly at his failures in thecraft, and ended by liking him; while the other cordially appreciatedthe open, boisterous honesty of the cowpuncher. He was equally readyto do a kindly action, or smite the man hip and thigh who chanced torun foul of him. Tresler often told him that his nationality was amistake, that instead of being an American he should have been born inIreland.

  Just now the prospect of once more getting to work had put Arizonain high good temper, and he took his comrades' rough chaffgood-naturedly, giving as good as he got, and often a little better.

  Jacob Smith had been watching him for some time, and a thoughtful grinhad quietly taken possession of his features.

  "Soapin' yer saddle," he observed at last, as the lean man happened tolook up and see the grinning face in the doorway of the bunkhouse."Guess saddles do git kind o' slippery when you ain't slung a leg overone fer a whiles. Say, best soap the knees o' yer pants too, Arizona.Mebbe y'll sit tighter."

  "Wal," retorted Arizona, bending to his work again, "I do allow ther'smore savee in that tip than most gener'ly slobbers off'n your tongue.I'll kind o' turn it over some."

  Jacob's grin broadened. "Guess I should. Your plug ain't been saddledsence you wus sent sick. Soft soap ain't gener'ly in your line; makesme laff to see you handlin' it."

  "That's so," observed the other, imperturbably. "I 'lows it has itsuses. 'Tain't bad fer washin'. Guess you ain't tried it any?"

  At that moment Raw Harris came across from the barn. He lounged overto an upturned box and sat down.

  "Any o' you fellers seen Joe Nelson along yet?" he asked as heleisurely filled his pipe.

  "Five hours overdue," said Tresler, who was cleaning out the chambersof his revolver.

  "Joe ain't likely to git back this night," observed Arizona. "He's aterror when he gits alongside a saloon. Guess he's drank out one ranchof his own down Texas way. He's the all-firedest bag o' tricks I'veever see. Soft as a babby is Joe. Honest? Wal, I'd smile. Joe's thathonest he'd give up his socks ef the old sheep came along an' claimedthe wool. Him an' me's worked together 'fore. He's gittin' kind o'old, an' ain't as handy as he used to be. Say, he never told you 'boutthat temperator feller, Tresler, did he?"

  Tresler shook his head, and paused in his work to relight his pipe.

  "It kind o' minds me to tell you sence we're talkin' o' Joe. It likelyshows my meanin' when I sez he's that soft an' honest, an' yet crazyfer drink. You see, it wus this a-ways. I wus kind o' foreman o' the'U bar U's' in Canada, an' Joe wus punchin' cows then. The boys wussheer grit; good hands, mind you, but sudden-like."

  Arizona ceased plastering the soap on his saddle and stood erect. Hisgaunt figure looked leaner than ever, but his face was alight withinterest in the story he was about to narrate, and his great wild eyeswere shining with a look that suggested a sort of fierce amusement.Teddy Jinks lounged into view and stood propped against an angle ofthe building.

  "Git on," said Lew, between the puffs at his pipe.

  Arizona shot a quick, disdainful glance at the powerful figure of theparson's progeny, and went on in his own peculiar fashion fashion--

  "Wal, it so happened that the records o' the 'U bar U's' kind o' gotnoised abroad some, as they say in the gospel. Them coyotes asreckoned they wus smart 'lowed as even the cattle found a shortage o'liquid by reason of an onnatural thirst on that ranch. Howsum, mebbether' wus reason. Old Joe, he wus the daddy o' the lot. Jim Marlinused to say as Joe most gener'ly used a black lead when he writ hisletters; didn't fancy wastin' ink. Mebbe that's kind o' zaggerated,but I guess he wus the next thing to a fact'ry o' blottin' p
aper,sure.

  "Wal, I reckon some bald-faced galoot got yappin', leastways there wusa temperance outfit come right along an' lay hold o' the boss. Say,flannel-mouthed orators! I guess that feller could roll out more juicynotions on the subject o' drink in five minutes than a high-pressurelocomotive could blow off steam through a five-inch leak in ha'f ayear. He wus an eddication in langwidge, sir, sech as 'ud per-suade awall-eyed mule to do what he didn't want, and wa'n't goin' to doanyways.

  "I corralled the boys up in the yard, an' the feller got good an'goin'. He spotted Joe right off; fixed him wi' his eye an' focussedhim dead centre, an' talked right at him. An' Joe wus iled--that iledhe couldn't keep a straight trail fer slippin'. Say, speakin'metaphoric, that feller got the drop on pore Joe. He give him a doseo' syllables in the pit o' the stummick that made him curl, then hefollered it right up wi' a couple o' slugs o' his choicest, 'fore hecould straighten up. Then he sort o' picked him up an' shook him witha power o' langwidge, an' sot him down like a spanked kid. Then heclouted him over both lugs with a shower o' words wi' capitals,clumped him over the head wi' a bunch o' texts, an' thrashed him wi' afact'ry o' trac' papers. Say, I guess pore Joe wouldn't 'a' rec'nizedthe flavor o' whisky from blue pizen when that feller had done; an' wejest looked on, feelin' 'bout as happy as a lot o' old hens worritin'to hatch out a batch o' Easter eggs. Say, pore Joe wus weepin' overhis sins, an' I guess we wus all 'most ready to cry. Then the fellerup an' sez, 'Fetch out the pernicious sperrit, the nectar o' thedevil, the waters o' the Styx, the vile filth as robs homes o' theirsupport, an' drives whole races to perdition!' an' a lot o' other bigtalk. An', say, we fetched! Yes, sir, we fetched like a lot o' silly,skippin' lambs. We brought out six bottles o' the worstest rotgutever faked in a settlement saloon, an' handed it over. After that Iguess we wus feelin' better. Sez we, feelin' kind o' mumsy over thewhole racket, it ain't right, we sez, to harbor no sperrit-soaked,liver-pickled tag of a decent citizen's life around this layout; an'so we took Joe Nelson to the river and diluted him. After that I 'lowswe lay low. I did hear as some o' the boys said their prayers thatnight, which goes to show as they wus feelin' kind o' thin an' mean.Ther' wa'n't a feller ther' but wus dead swore off fer a week.

  "Guess it wus most the middle o' the night when Jim Yard comes to myshack an' fetched me out. He told me there wus a racket goin' on inthe settlement. That temperator wus down ther' blazin' drunk an'shootin' up the town. Say, I felt kind o' hot at that. Yup, prettysulphury an' hot, an' I went right out, quiet like, and fetched theboys. Them as had said their prayers wus the first to join me. Wal, wewent along an' did things with that.--Ah, guess Jake's comin' thisway; likely he wants somethin'."

  Arizona turned abruptly to his saddle again, while all eyes lookedover at the approaching foreman. Jake strode up. Arizona took nonotice of him. It was his way of showing his dislike for the man. Jakepermitted one glance--nor was it a friendly one--in his direction,then he went straight over to where Tresler was sitting.

  "Get that mare of yours saddled, Tresler," he said, "and ride intoForks. You'll fetch out that skulkin' coyote, Joe Nelson. You'll fetchhim out, savee? Maybe he's at the saloon--sure he's drunk, anyway.An' if he ain't handed over that letter to the sheriff, you'll see toit. Say, you'd best shake him up some; don't be too easy."

  "I'll bring him out," replied Tresler, quietly.

  "Hah, kind o' squeamish," sneered Jake.

  "No. I'm not knocking drunken men about. That's all."

  "Wal, go and bring him out," snarled the giant. "I'll see to therest."

  Tresler went off to the barn without another word. His going wasalmost precipitate, but not from any fear of Jake. It was himself hefeared. This merciless brute drove him to distraction every time hecame into contact with him, and the only way he found it possible tokeep the peace with him at all was by avoiding him, by getting out ofhis way, by shutting him out of mind, whenever it was possible.

  In a few minutes he had set out. His uneasy mare was still only halftamed, and very fresh. She left the yards peaceably enough, but jibbedat the river ford. The inevitable thrashing followed, Tresler knowingfar too much by now to spare her. Just for one moment she seemedinclined to submit and behave herself, and take to the water kindly.Then her native cussedness asserted itself; she shook her headangrily, and caught the bar of the spade-bit in her great, strongteeth, swung round, and, stretching her long ewe neck, headed southacross country as hard as she could lay heels to the ground.

  Tresler fought her every foot of the way, but it was useless. Thedevil possessed her, and she worked her will on him. By the time heshould have reached Forks he was ten miles in the opposite direction.

  However, he was not the man to take such a display too kindly, and,having at length regained control, he turned her back and pressed herto make up time. And it made him smile, as he rode, to feel the swingof the creature's powerful strides under him. He could not punish herby asking for pace, and he knew it. She seemed to revel in a rapidjourney, and the extra run taken on her own account only seemed tohave warmed her up to even greater efforts.

  It was nearly ten o'clock when he drew near Forks; and the moon hadonly just risen. The mare was docile enough now, and raced along withher ears pricked and her whole fiery disposition alert.

  The trail approached Forks from the west. That is to say, it took abig bend and entered on the western side. Already Tresler could seethe houses beyond the trees silhouetted in the moonlight, but thenearer approach was bathed in shadow. The trail came down from arising ground, cutting its way through the bush, and, passing thelights of the saloon, went on to the market-place.

  He checked the mare's impetuosity as he came down the slope. She wastoo valuable for him to risk her legs. With all her vices, he knewthere was not a horse on the ranch that could stand beside the LadyJezebel on the trail.

  She propped jerkily as she descended the hill. Every little rustle ofthe lank grass startled her, and gave her excuse for frivolity. Herrider was forced to keep a watchful eye and a close seat. A shadowykit fox worried her with its stealthy movements. It kept pace with herin its silent, ghostly way, now invisible in the long grass, now infull view beside the trail; but always abreast.

  Half-way down the trail both horse and rider were startled seriously.A riderless horse, saddled and bridled, dashed out of the darkness andgalloped across them. Of her own accord Lady Jezebel swung round, and,before Tresler could check her, had set off in hot pursuit. For oncehorse and rider were of the same mind, and Tresler bent low in thesaddle, ready to grab at the bridle when his mare should overhaul thestranger.

  In less than a minute they were abreast of their quarry. Thestranger's reins were hanging broken from the bit, and Tresler grabbedat them. Nor could he help a quiet laugh, when, on pulling up, herecognized the buckskin pony and quaint old stock saddle of JoeNelson. And he at once became alive to the necessity of his journey.What, he wondered, had happened to the little choreman?

  Leading the captive, he rode back to the trail and pushed on towardthe village. But his adventures were not over yet. At the bottom ofthe hill the mare, brought up to a stand, reared and shied violently.Then she stood trembling like an aspen, seizing every opportunity toedge from the trail, and all the while staring with wild, dilated eyesaway out toward the bush on the right front. Her rider followed thedirection of her gaze to ascertain the cause of the trouble. For someminutes he could distinguish nothing unusual in the darkness. The moonhad not as yet attained much power, and gave him very littleassistance; but, realizing the wonderful acuteness of a horse'svision, he decided that there nevertheless was something to beinvestigated. So he dismounted, and adopting the common prairie methodof scanning the sky-line, he dropped to the ground.

  For some time his search was quite vain, and only the mare's nervousstate encouraged him. Then at length, low down in the deep shadow ofthe bush, something caught and held his attention. Something wasmoving down there.

  He lay quite still, watching intently. Something of the mare's nervous
excitement gripped him. The movement was ghostly. It was only amovement. There was nothing distinct to be seen, nothing tangible;just a weird, nameless something. A dozen times he asked himself whatit was. But the darkness always baffled him, and he could find noanswer. He had an impression of great flapping wings--such wings asmight belong to a giant bat. The movement was sufficiently regular tosuggest this, but the idea carried no conviction. There, however, hisconjectures ended.

  At last he sprang up with a sharp ejaculation, and his hand went tohis revolver. The thing, or creature, whatever it was, was comingslowly but steadily toward him. Had he not been sure of this, theattitude of the horses would have settled the question for him. LadyJezebel pulled back in the throes of a wild fear, and the buckskinplunged madly to get free.

  He had hardly persuaded them to a temporary calmness, when a mournfulcry, rising in a wailing crescendo, split the air and died awayabruptly. And he knew that it came from the advancing "movement."

  And now it left the shadow and drew out into the moonlight. And theman watching beheld a dark heap distinctly outlined midway toward thebush. The wings seemed to have folded themselves, or, at least, tohave lowered, and were trailing on the ground in the creature's wake.Presently the whole thing ceased to move, and sat still like a greatloathsome toad--a silent, uncanny heap amidst the lank prairie grass.And somehow he felt glad that it was no longer approaching.

  The moments crept by, and the position remained unchanged. Thenslowly, with an air of settled purpose, the creature raised itself onits hind legs, and, swaying and shuffling, continued its advance. Inan instant Tresler's revolver leapt from its holster, and he was readyto defend himself. The attitude was familiar to him. He had readstories of the bears in the Rockies, and they came home to him now ashe saw his adversary rear itself to its full height. His puzzlementwas over; he understood now. He was dealing with a large specimen ofthe Rocky Mountain grizzly.

  Yes, there could be no mistaking the swaying gait, the curious,snorting breathing, the sadly lolling head and slow movements. Heremembered each detail with an exactness which astonished him, and wasthrilled with the bristling sensation which assails every hunter whenface to face with big game for the first time in his life.

  He raised his gun, and took a long, steady aim, measuring the distancewith deliberation, and selecting the animal's breast for his shot.Then, just as he was about to fire, the brute's head turned and caughtthe cold, sharp moonlight full upon its face. There was a momentaryflash of white, and Tresler's gun was lowered as though it had beenstruck down.