The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER IX

  TRESLER INVOLVES HIMSELF FURTHER;THE LADY JEZEBEL IN A FREAKISH MOOD

  Enthusiasm is the mainspring of a cowboy's life. Without enthusiasm acowboy inevitably falls to the inglorious level of a "hired man"; anice distinction in the social conditions of frontier life. The cowboyis sometimes a good man--not meaning a man of religion--and often abad man. He is rarely indifferent. There are no half measures withhim. His pride is in his craft. He will lavish the tenderness of amother for her child upon his horse; he will play poker till he hashad the doubtful satisfaction of seeing his last cent pass intosomebody else's pocket; he will drink on the most generous scale, andis ever ready to quarrel. Even in this last he believes inthoroughness. But he has many good points which often outweigh hisbaser instincts. They can be left to the imagination; for it is bestto know the worst of him at the outset to get a proper, and not aglorified estimate of his true character. The object of this story isto give a veracious, and not a highly gilded picture of the hardyprairie man of days gone by.

  Before all things the cowboy is a horseman. His pride in this almostamounts to a craze. His fastidiousness in horse-flesh, in hisaccoutrements, his boots, his chapps, his jaunty silk handkerchiefabout his neck, even to the gauntlets he so often wears upon hishands, is an education in dandyism. He is a thorough dandy in hisoutfit. And the greater the dandy, the more surely is he a capablehorseman. He is not a horse-breaker by trade, but he loves"broncho-busting" as a boy loves his recreation. It comes to him as arelief from the tedium of branding, feeding, rounding up, cutting out,mending fences, and all the utility work of the ranch. Every unbrokencolt is like a ticket in a lottery; it may be easy, or it may be atartar. And the tartar is the prize that every cowpuncher wants todraw so that he may demonstrate his horsemanship.

  Broncho-busting was the order of the next day at Mosquito Bend, andall hands were agog, and an element of general cheeriness pervaded thebunkhouse whilst breakfast was in preparation. Marbolt had obtained acontract to supply the troops with a large band of remounts, and theterms demanded that each animal must be saddle-broken.

  Tresler, with the rest, was up betimes. He, too, was going to take hispart in the horse-breaking. While breakfast was in the course ofpreparation he went out to overhaul his saddle. There must be nodoubtful straps in his gear. Each saddle would have a heavy part toplay, and his own, being one he had bought second-hand from one of hiscomrades, needed looking to.

  He was very thoughtful as he went about his work. His overnight talkwith Joe Nelson had made him realize that he was no longer alooker-on, a pupil, simply one of the hands on the ranch. Hitherto hehad felt, in a measure, free in his actions. He could do as it pleasedhim to do. He could have severed himself from the ranch, and washedhis hands of all that was doing there. Now it was different. Whetherhe would or no he must play out his part. He had taken a certainstand, and that stand involved him with responsibilities which he hadno wish to shirk.

  His saddle was in order, his mare had been rubbed down and fed, and hewas leisurely strolling over to the bunkhouse for breakfast. And as hepassed the foreman's hut he heard Jake's voice from within hailing himwith unwonted cheeriness.

  "Mornin', Tresler," he called out. "Late gettin' in last night."

  Tresler moved over and stood in the doorway. He was wary of the tone,and answered coolly--

  "Yes; the mare bolted this side of the ford, and took me ten milessouth. When I got on the Forks trail I met Nelson on his way home."

  "Ah, that mare's the very devil. How are you doin' with her now?"

  "Oh, so, so. She leads me a dance, but I'd rather have her than anyplug you've got on the ranch. She's the finest thing I've ever put aleg over."

  "Yes, guess that's so. The boss was always struck on her. I kind ofremember when she came. She wasn't bred hereabouts. The old man boughther from some half-breed outfit goin' through the country three yearsago--that's how he told me. Then we tried to break her. Say, you'vedone well with her, boy."

  Jake had been lacing up a pair of high field boots; they were massivethings with heavy, clumped soles, iron tips and heels. Now hestraightened up.

  "Did Nelson say why he was late?" he went on abruptly.

  "No. And I didn't ask him."

  "Ah, knew it, I s'pose. Drunk?"

  "No."

  Tresler felt that the lie was a justifiable one.

  "Then what the devil kept the little swine?"

  Jake's brows suddenly lowered, and the savage tone was no less thanthe coarse brutality of his words. The other's coolness grew moremarked.

  "That was none of my concern. He'd delivered the letter, and it wasonly left for me to hurry him home."

  "I'll swear he was loafin' around the saloon all day. Say, I guessI'll see him later."

  Tresler shrugged and turned away. He wanted to tell this man what hethought of him. He felt positively murderous toward him. He had nevermet anybody who could so rouse him. Sooner or later a crisis wouldcome, in spite of his reassurances to Diane, and then--Jake watchedhim go. Then he turned again to the contemplation of his great boots,and muttered to himself.

  "It won't be for long--no, not for long. But not yet. Ther's too muchhangin' to it----" He broke off, and his fierce eyes looked after theretreating man.

  The unconscious object of these attentions meanwhile reached thebunkhouse. Breakfast was well on, and he had to take his pannikin andplate round to Teddy's cookhouse to get his food. "Slushy," as thecook was familiarly called, dipped him out a liberal measure of porkand beans, and handed him half a loaf of new-made bread. Jinks was noniggard, and Tresler was always welcome to all he needed.

  "Goin' to ride?" the youth demanded, as he filled the pannikin withtea.

  "Why, of course." Tresler had almost forgotten the change of work thathad been set out for the day. His face brightened now as the cookreminded him of it. "Wouldn't miss it for a lot. That mare of mine hasgiven me a taste for that sort of thing."

  "Taste!" Teddy exclaimed, with a scornful wave of his dipper. "Bellyfull, I tho't, mebbe." He turned to his stove and shook the ashesdown. "Say," he went on, over his shoulder, "guess I'm bakin' hash inmine. Ther' ain't so much glory, but ther's a heap more comfort toit."

  Tresler passed out smiling at the youth's ample philosophy. But thesmile died out almost on the instant. A half-smothered cry reached himfrom somewhere in the direction of the barn. He stood for an instantwith his brows knitted.

  The next, and his movements became almost electrical.

  Now the man's deliberate character flatly contradicted itself. Therewas no pause for consideration, no thought for what was best to do. Hehad heard that cry, and had recognized the voice. It was a cry thatsummoned him, and wrung the depths of his heart. His breakfast waspitched to the ground. And, as though fate had ordained it, he behelda heavy rawhide quirt lying on the ground where he had halted. Hegrabbed the cruel weapon up, and set off at a run in the directionwhence the cry had come.

  His feet were still encased in the soft moccasin slippers he usuallywore in exchange for his riding boots, and, as he ran, they gave outno sound. It was a matter of fifty yards to the foreman's hut, and hesprinted this in even time, keeping the building between himself and adirect view of the barn, in the region of which lay his destination.And as he ran the set expression of his face boded ill for some one.Jaws and mouth were clenched to a fierce rigidity that said far morethan any words could have done.

  He paused for one breathless instant at the hither side of theforeman's hut. It was because he heard Jake's voice cursing on theother side of it. Then he heard that which made his blood leap to hisbrain. It was a stifled cry in Nelson's now almost unrecognizablevoice. And its piteous appeal aroused in him a blind fury.

  He charged round the building in half a dozen strides. One glance atthe scene was sufficient. Poor old Joe Nelson was lying on the ground,his arms thrown out to protect his head, while Jake, his face ablaze,stood over him, kicking him with his cruel field boots, with a forceand bru
tishness that promised to break every bone in the old man'sbody.

  It all came to him in a flash.

  Then he leapt with a rush at the author of the unnatural scene. Thebutt of his quirt was uplifted. It swung above his head a fullhalf-circle, then it descended with that whistling split of the airthat told of the rage and force that impelled it. It took the giantsquare across the face, laying the flesh open and sending the bloodspurting with its vicious impact. It sent him reeling backward with ahowl of pain, like a child at the slash of an admonishing cane. AndJake's hands went up to his wounds at once; but, even so, hismovements were not swift enough to protect him from a second slash ofthe vengeful thong. And Tresler's aim was so swift and sure that thebully fell to the ground like a pole-axed steer.

  And with Jake's fall the tension of Tresler's rage relaxed. He couldhave carried the chastisement further with a certain wild delight, buthe was no savage, only a real, human man, outraged and infuriated bythe savagery of another. His one thought was for his poor old friend,and he dropped on his knees, and bent over the still, shrunken form ina painful anxiety. He called to him, and put one hand under the grayold head and raised it up. And as he did so the poor fellow's eyesopened. Joe murmured something unintelligible, and Tresler was aboutto speak again, when a movement behind him changed his purpose andbrought him to his feet with a leap.

  Nor was he any too soon. And his rage lit anew as he saw Jakestruggling to rise. In an instant he was standing over himthreateningly.

  "Move, and I'll paralyze you!" he cried hoarsely.

  And Jake made no further effort. He lay back with a growl of impotentrage, while his hands moved uneasily, mopping his blood-stainedfeatures.

  Now it was, for the first time, Tresler became aware that the men fromthe bunkhouse had come upon the scene.

  The sight of all those faces gazing in wide-eyed astonishment at thefallen Jake brought home to him something of the enormity of hisoffense, and it behooved him to get Joe out of further harm's way. Hestooped, and gathering the little choreman tenderly into his powerfularms, lifted him on to his shoulders and strode away to the bunkhouse,followed by his silent, wondering comrades.

  He deposited Joe upon his own bed, and the men crowded round. Andquestions and answers came in a wild volley about him.

  It was Arizona who spoke least and rendered most assistance. Togetherhe and Tresler undressed the patient and treated him to a roughsurgical examination. They soon found that no limbs were broken, butof his ribs they were less certain. He was severely bruised about thehead, and this latter no doubt accounted for his unconsciousness. Coldwater, harshly applied, though with kind intent, was the necessaryrestorative, and after a while the twisted face took on a hue of lifeand the eyes opened. Then Tresler turned to the men about him.

  "Boys," he said gravely, "I want you all to remember that this ispurely my affair. Joe's and mine--and Jake's. I shall settle it in myown way. For the present we have our work to do."

  There was a low murmur, and Arizona raised a pair of fierce eyes tohis face. He was going to speak--to voice a common thought; butTresler understood and cut him short.

  "Go easy, Arizona. We're good friends all. You wouldn't like me tointerfere in a quarrel of yours."

  "That's so--but----"

  "Never mind the 'buts.'" And Tresler's keen, honest eyes lookedsquarely into the seared face of the wild cowpuncher.

  For a moment the men stood around looking on with lowering faces,eyeing the prostrate man furtively. But Tresler's attitude gave themno encouragement, and even Arizona felt the influence of his strongpersonality. Suddenly, as though with a struggle, the cowboy swunground on his fellows and his high-pitched tones filled the silentroom.

  "Come right on, boys. Guess he's right. We'll git." And he movedtoward the door.

  And the men, after the slightest possible hesitation, passed out inhis wake. Tresler waited until the door had closed behind the last ofthem, then he turned to the injured man.

  "Feeling better, Joe?"

  "Feelin' better? Why, yes, I guess."

  Joe's answer came readily, but in a weak voice.

  "No bones broken?"

  "Bones? Don't seem."

  Tresler seated himself on the bunk and looked into the gray face. Atlast he rose and prepared to go, but Joe detained him with a look.

  "Say--they're gone?" he murmured.

  The other sat down again. "Yes."

  "Good." Joe sighed and reclosed his eyes; but it was only for asecond. He opened them again and went on. "Say, you won't tellher--Miss Dianny. Don't you tell her. Pore little soul, she'll wepthem pretty eyes o' hers out, sure. Y' see, I know her. Y' see, I didgit drunk yesterday. I knew I'd git it. So it don't signify. Don'ttell her."

  "She'll be sure to hear of it."

  "Say, Tresler," Joe went on, ignoring the other's objection. "Go easy;jest say nothin'. Kind o' fergit this thing fer the time. Ther's otherwork fer you. I'd a heap sooner I'd bin killed than you git roped intothis racket. It's Miss Dianny you're to look to, not me; an' now,mebbe, they'll run you off'n the ranch."

  Tresler shook his head decidedly. "Don't be afraid; they can't get ridof me, Joe," he said.

  "Ah! Wal, I guess meanwhile you'd best git off to work. I'll pullround after a while. You see, you must go dead easy wi' Jake, 'cos o'her. Mind it's her--on'y her. You sed it last night. Mebbe thisthing's goin' to make trouble. Trouble fer you; an' trouble fer youmeans trouble fer her."

  "I'm going."

  Tresler saw the force of the other's argument. He must give them nofurther hold to turn on him. Yes, he saw how bad his position would bein the future. He wondered what would come of that morning's work;and, in spite of his confident assurance to Joe, he dreaded now lestthere should be any means for them to get rid of him. He moved towardthe door.

  "All right, Joe. I'll keep a check on myself in the future," he said."But don't you go and get drunk again or----"

  He broke off. Flinging the door open to pass out, he found himselfface to face with the object of their solicitude. Diane had been aboutto knock, and now started back in confusion. She had not expectedthis. She thought Tresler was with the "breaking" party. The man sawher distress, and the anxiety in her sweet brown eyes. He knew that atthat moment all her thought was for Joe. It was the basket on her arm,full of comforts, that told him. And he knew, too, that she must havebeen a witness to the disgraceful scene by the barn, for how elsecould she have learned so quickly what had happened? He put his fingeron his lip to silence her, while he closed the bunkhouse door behindhim. Then he responded to the inquiry he saw in her eager, troubledface.

  "He is better, Miss Diane. He will soon be all right," he added,keeping his voice low lest it should reach the man inside. "Can I givehim anything for you? Any message?" He glanced significantly from herface to the basket on her arm.

  The girl did not answer at once. Her eyes looked seriously up into hisface.

  "Thank you," she said at last, a little vaguely. Then she broke outeagerly, and Tresler understood the feeling that prompted her. "I sawthe finish of it all," she went on; "oh, the dreadful finish. ThankGod I did not see the rest. When you bore him off on your shoulders Ithought he was dead. Then I felt I could not stay away. While I waswondering how to get down here without attracting attention, SheriffFyles arrived, and father and he went at once into the office. I knewJake would be out of the way. I waited until Anton had disappearedwith the sheriff's horse, then I hurried down here. Can I see him now?I have a few little luxuries here which I scrambled together for him."

  The girl's appeal was irresistible. Nor was Tresler the man to attemptthe impossible. Besides, she knew all, so there was nothing to hidefrom her. He glanced over at the barn. The men had already saddled. Hesaw Arizona leading two horses, and recognized Lady Jezebel as one ofthem. The wild cowpuncher had saddled his mare for him, and thefriendliness of the act pleased him.

  "Yes, go in and see him," he said. "The place hasn't been cleaned upyet, but perhaps you won't mind that
. You will come like an angel ofcomfort to poor Joe. Poor old fellow! He thinks only of you. You arehis one care in life. It will be like a ray of sunshine in his cloudedlife to be waited on by you. I need hardly give you the caution,but--don't stay long."

  Diane nodded, and Tresler stepped aside. The girl's hand was on thedoor-latch; she hesitated a moment and finally faced about.

  "Fyles is here now," she said significantly. "The raiders; do youthink you ought----"

  "I am going to see him."

  "Yes." The girl nodded. She would have said more, but her companioncut her short.

  "I must go," he said. Then he pointed over at the mare. "You see?" headded. "She is in view of Jake's window."

  The next moment they had parted.

  The Lady Jezebel was very fretful when Tresler mounted her. Shetreated him to a mild display of bad temper, and then dancedboisterously off down the trail, and her progress was as much made onher hind legs as on all fours. Once round the bend her rider tried tobring her to a halt, but no persuasion could reduce her to thenecessary docility. She fretted on until, exasperated, the man jabbedher sharply with the spurs. Then the mischief started. Her head wentdown and her back humped, and she settled to a battle royal.

  It was in the midst of this that another horseman rounded the bend androde leisurely on to the field of battle. He drew up and watched theconflict with interest, his own great raw-boned bay taking quite asenthusiastic an interest in what was going forward as its rider.

  The mare fought like a demon; but Tresler had learned too much forher, and sat on his saddle as though glued to it; and the newcomer'sinterest became blended with admiration for the exhibition ofhorsemanship he was witnessing. As suddenly as she had begun the ladydesisted. It was in a pause for breath that she raised her infuriatedhead and espied the intruder. Doubtless, realizing the futility of herefforts, and at the same time not wishing one of the opposite sex towitness her defeat, she preferred to disguise her anger and gave theimpression of a quiet, frivolous gambol, for she whinnied softly andstared, with ears pricked and head erect, in a haughty look of inquiryat the more cumbersome figure of the bay.

  And her rider, too, had time to look around. His glance at once fellupon the stranger, and he knew that it was the man he wanted to talkto.

  The two men met with little formality.

  "Sheriff Fyles?" Tresler said as he came up.

  There was something wonderfully picturesque yet businesslike aboutthis prairie sleuth. This man was the first of his kind he had seen,and he studied him with interest. The thought of Sheriff Fyles hadcome so suddenly into his mind, and so recently, that he had no timeto form any imaginative picture of him. Had he done so he mustinevitably have been disappointed with the reality, for Fyles wasneither becoming nor even imposing. He was rather short and decidedlyburly, and his face had an innocent caste about it, a farmer-likemould of russet-tanned features that was extremely healthy-looking,but in no way remarkable for any appearance of great intelligence.

  But this was a case of the fallibility of appearances. Fyles wasremarkable both for great intelligence and extreme shrewdness. Notonly that, he was a man of cat-like activity. His bulk was the resultof a superabundance of muscle, and not of superfluous tissue. Hisbucolic spread of features was useful to him in that it detracted fromthe cold, keen, compelling eyes which looked out from beneath hisshaggy eyebrows; and, too, the full cheeks and fat neck, helping tohide the determined jaws, which had a knack of closing his ratherfull lips into a thin, straight line. Nature never intended a man ofhis mould to occupy the position that Fyles held in his country'speace regime. He was one of her happy mistakes.

  And in that first survey Tresler realized something of the personalitywhich form and features were so ludicrously struggling to conceal.

  "Yes." The officer let his eyes move slowly over this stranger. Then,without the least expression of cordiality he spoke the thought in hismind. "That's a good nag--remarkably good. You handle her tolerably.Didn't get your name?"

  "Tresler--John Tresler."

  "Yes. New hereabouts?"

  The broad-shouldered man had an aggravatingly official manner. Treslerreplied with a nod.

  "Ah! Remittance man?"

  At this the other laughed outright. He saw it was useless to displayany anger.

  "Wrong," he said. "Learning the business of ranching. Going to starton my own account later on."

  "Ah! Younger son?"

  "Not even a younger son!" The two horses were now moving leisurely ontoward the ford. "Suppose we quit questions and answers that serve noparticular purpose, sheriff. I have been waiting to see you."

  "So I figured," observed the other, imperturbably, "or you wouldn'thave answered my questions so amiably. Well?"

  The sheriff permitted himself a sort of wintry smile, while hiswatchful eyes wandered interestedly over the surrounding bush.

  "There are things doing about this country," Tresler began a littlelamely. "You've possibly heard?"

  "Things are generally doing in a cattle country where brands areeasily changed and there is no official to inquire who has changedthem."

  Fyles glanced admiringly down at Lady Jezebel's beautiful clean legs.

  "This Red Mask?" Tresler asked.

  "Exactly."

  "You've heard the story of his latest escapade? The murder of MansonOrr?"

  "From Mr. Marbolt--and others. In telling me, the blind man offeredfive thousand dollars' reward for the capture of the man."

  "That's better than I hoped for," replied Tresler, musingly. "Yousee," he went on, "the blind man's something cantankerous. He's lostcattle himself, but when some of the boys offered to hunt Red Maskdown, he treated them with scant courtesy--in fact, threatened todischarge any man who left the ranch on that quest."

  "I found him amiable."

  "You would." Tresler paused. This man was difficult to talk to, and hewanted to say so much. Suddenly he turned and faced him, and, to hischagrin, discovered that the other was still intent on the mare he wasriding. His eyes were fixed on the lady's shoulder, where theindistinct marks of the brand were still visible. "You see, sergeant,"he went on, ignoring the other's abstraction, "I have a story to tellyou, which, in your official capacity, you may find interesting. Inthe light of recent events, I, at any rate, find it interesting. Ithas set me thinking a heap."

  "Go ahead," said the officer, without even so much as raising hiseyes. Tresler followed the direction of his gaze, but could seenothing more interesting in his mare's fore-quarters than theirperfect shape. However, there was no alternative but to proceed withhis narrative. And he told the sheriff of the visit of thenight-riders which he had witnessed on the night of his arrival at theranch. In spite of the other's apparent abstraction, he told the storycarefully and faithfully, and his closing remarks were well pointedand displayed a close analysis. He told him of the previous visits ofthese night-riders, and the results following upon the circulation ofthe story by each individual who chanced to witness them. He told ofJoe Nelson's warning to him, and how his earnestness had, at length,persuaded him to keep quiet. He felt no scruples in thus changing theresponsibility of Diane's warning. Nothing would have induced him todrag her name into the matter.

  "You see, sheriff," he said in conclusion, "I think I did right tokeep this matter to myself until such time as I could tell it to you.It has all happened several times before, and, therefore, will nodoubt happen again. What do you think?"

  "She's the finest thing I've ever set two eyes on. There's only onelike her--eh?" Tresler had given audible expression to his impatience,and the other abruptly withdrew his gaze from the mare. "It'sinteresting--decidedly."

  "Did Marbolt tell you of the previous visits of these raiders? Heknows of them."

  "He told me more than I had time to listen to."

  "How?"

  "He told me of the revolutionary spirit pervading the ranch."

  "Ah!"

  Tresler saw the trap the wily police officer had laid for hi
m andrefused the bait. Evidently the blind man had told his version of thatmorning's doings, and the sheriff wished to learn the men's side ofit. Probably his, Tresler's. This calm, cold man seemed to depend inno way upon verbal answers for the information he desired, for he wenton without any appearance of expecting a reply.

  "There's one thing you've made plain to me. You suspect collusionbetween these raiders and some one on the ranch."

  "Yes. I meant you to understand that."

  "Whom do you suspect? And your reasons?"

  The two questions rapped out one after the other like lightning.

  "My suspicions rest nowhere, because I can find no reason."

  They had drawn rein at the ford. Fyles now looked keenly intoTresler's face, and his glance was full of meaning.

  "I'm glad I've had this talk with you, Tresler. You have a keenfaculty for observation, and a wise caution. When you have reason tosuspect any one, and wish to tell me of it, you can communicate withme at any hour of the day or night. I know this ranch well by repute.So well, in fact, that I came out here to find you. You see, you alsowere known to me--through mutual acquaintances in Forks. Now yourexcellent caution will tell you that it would be bad policy for you tocommunicate openly with me. Good. Your equally excellent observationwill have called your attention to this river. I have a possestationed further down stream, for certain reasons which I will keepto myself. It is a hidden posse, but it will always be there. Now, toa man of your natural cleverness, I do not think you will have anydifficulty in finding a means of floating a message down to me. But donot send an urgent message unless the urgency is positive. Any messageI receive in that way I shall act upon at once. I have learned a greatdeal to-day, Tresler, so much indeed that I even think you mayneed to use this river before long. All I ask of you is to becircumspect--that's the word, circumspect."

  The sheriff edged his horse away so that he could obtain a good viewof Lady Jezebel. And he gazed at her with so much intentness thatTresler felt he must call attention to it.

  "She is a beauty," he suggested.

  And Fyles answered with a sharp question. "Is she yours?"

  "No. Only to use."

  "Belongs to the ranch?"

  "Jake told me she is a mare the blind man bought from a half-breedoutfit passing through the country. He sets great store by her, butthey couldn't tame her into reliability. That's three years ago. Byher mouth I should say she was rising seven."

  "That's so. She'd be rising seven. She's a dandy."

  "You seem to know her."

  But Fyles made no answer. He swung his horse round, and, raising hishand in a half-military salute in token of "good-bye," called over hisshoulder as his bay took to the water--

  "Don't forget the river."

  Tresler looked after him for some moments, then his mare suddenlyreared and plunged into the water to follow. He understood at oncethat fresh trouble was brewing in her ill-balanced equine mind, andtook her sharply to task. She couldn't buck in the water; and,finally, after another prolonged battle, she dashed out of it and onto the bank again. But in the scrimmage she had managed to get theside-bar of the bit between her teeth, and, as she landed, shestretched out her lean neck, and with a snort of ill-temper, set offheadlong down the trail.