The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XX

  BY THE LIGHT OF THE LAMP

  Impelled by curiosity and nervous anticipation Tresler did not longremain in the shelter of the barn. It was too dark to see distinctlyall that way off, so he closed up on the object of his watch. Heintended to miss nothing of what was happening, so he crept out intothe open, quite careless of the chances of being discovered at hisundignified occupation.

  And all the time he was a prey to unpleasant foreboding; thatunaccountable foreboding so truly prophetic, which refuses to beshaken off. He knew that disaster was in the air as surely as if ithad all happened, and there was nothing left for him but to gazeimpotently upon the ruin. He had a certain amount of reason for hisfears, of course, but that reason was largely speculative, and, had hebeen asked to state definitely what he anticipated, on whom disasterwas to fall, he could not have answered with any real conviction.Something prompted him that Jake was to be the central figure, theprime mover. But beyond that his ideas were vague. The man's verysummons at the door was a positive aggravation, and suggestedpossibilities.

  An answer came with the abrupt opening of the stable door, whichrevealed the lithe figure of the dusky half-breed, framed in asetting of dingy yellow light from the lantern within. He could seethe insolent, upward stare of the man's eyes as he looked up into thegreat man's face; nor at that moment could he help thinking of all hehad heard of "Tough" McCulloch. And the recollection brought him afurther feeling of uneasiness for the man who had thus come to beardhim in his own den.

  But even while these thoughts passed swiftly through his brain thebullying, hectoring tones of Jake's voice came to him. They wereunnecessarily loud, and there was a thickness in them whichcorroborated the evidence of his uneven gait. Jake had certainly beenpriming himself with spirit.

  "Where was you last night, Anton?" he heard him ask.

  "An' wher' should I be, Mr. Jake?" came the half-breed's sullenretort.

  "That ain't no answer," the other cried, in a vicious tone.

  The half-breed shrugged with apparent indifference, only there was noindifference in the resentful flash of his eyes.

  "I not answer to you," he said, in his broken way, throwing as muchinsolence as he could into his words.

  Jake's fury needed no urging; the spirit had wound him up to theproper pitch.

  "You black son-of-a----," he cried, "you shall answer to me. For twopins I'd wring your blasted neck, only I'm savin' that fer the rope.I'll tell you wher' you was last night. You wer' out. Out with thehorses. D'you hear? And you weren't at the Breed camp neither. I knowwher' you was."

  "Guess you shoot your mouth off," Anton said, with dangerous calmness."Bah! I tell you I stay right hyar. I not out. You mad! Voila!"

  Suddenly Jake's hand went up as though to strike the man, but the blowdid not fall. His arm dropped to his side again; for once cautionsaved him. Tresler felt that had the blow fallen there might perhapshave been a sudden and desperate end to the scene. As it was helistened to Jake's final words, with every nerve throbbing.

  "You lie, you black son-of-a----; you lie!"

  And then he saw him swing round on his heel and stride away to therancher's house, as if he could no longer control himself and soughtsafety in flight.

  For the moment the watcher was so interested in the half-breed that helost the significance of the foreman's going. Anton was still standingin the doorway, and the expression of his face was plainly visible inthe lamplight. There was a saturnine grin about the lower part of thefeatures, but the black eyes were blazing with a deep fire of hatred.He looked after the departing man until he reached the verandah, thensuddenly, as though an inspiration had moved him, he vanished at a runwithin the stable.

  Now Tresler became aware of Jake's object. He had mounted the verandahand was making for the door of the house. And this sight moved him toimmediate action. Without a second thought he set off at a run towarn Diane of the visit. Why he wished to warn her he did not know.Perhaps it was the result of premonition, for he knew quite well thatit was Jake's custom to wait on his chief at about this time in theevening.

  He skirted the house well out of range of the light of its windows,and came to the kitchen just in time to hear the blind man calling tohis daughter for a light. And when Diane returned from obeying theorder she found him waiting for her. Her first feeling was one ofapprehension, then love overcame her fears and she ran to him.

  "Jack!" she whispered softly. "You here?"

  He folded her in a bear-like embrace, and as she raised her face tohim to speak he stopped her with a rain of kisses. The joy of themoment had driven the object of his coming from his head, and theystood heart to heart, lost in their mutual happiness, until Jake'svoice, raised in bitter imprecation, reached them from the office.Then Tresler abruptly put her from him.

  "I had forgotten, dear," he said, in a whisper. "No, don't close thatdoor." Diane had moved over to the door leading into the dining-room."Leave it open. It is on that account I am here."

  "On what account?" the girl asked, in some perplexity.

  "Jake. There's something up, and--hark!"

  They stood listening. The foreman's voice was raised again. But nowMarbolt's broke in, sharp, incisive. And the words were plainlyaudible.

  "Keep your voice down," he said. "D'you want the girl to heareverything? You were always a blunderer, Jake."

  "Blunderer be ----" But he nevertheless lowered his tone, for thelisteners could distinguish nothing more.

  "He's up to some devil's work," Tresler whispered, after making surethey could hear no more. "Danny," he went on eagerly, "I must slipinto the hall and try and hear what's going on. I must be readyto----Listen! He's cursing again. Wait here. Not a sound; not a word!There's going to be trouble."

  And his assertion seemed to have reason enough, for the rancher'ssharp tones were now mingling with the harsher note of the other, andboth had raised their voices again. Tresler waited for nothing now. Hetiptoed to the door and stood listening. Then he crept silently outinto the hall and stole along toward the blind man's office. He pausedas he drew near the open door, and glanced round for some hiding-placewhence he could see within. The hall was unlit, and only the faintestlight reached it from the office. There was a long, heavy overcoathanging on the opposite wall, almost directly in front of the door,and he made for it, crossing the hall in the darkest part, and sidlingalong in the shadow until he reached it. Here he drew it in front ofhim, so that he only elongated its outline and yet obtained a fullview of the room.

  Jake was not visible. And Tresler concluded that he was sitting in thechair which he knew to be behind the door. But the blind man wasalmost directly in front of him. He was seated beside the smallwindow table on which the lamp stood, a safety lamp, especiallyreserved for his use on account of his blindness. His ruddy eyes werestaring in the direction in which Tresler believed Jake to be sitting,and such was the effect of that intent stare that the watching mandrew well within his cover, as though he feared the sightless socketswould penetrate his hiding-place.

  But even from this vantage ground he found his purpose thwarted. Jakewas talking, but his voice was so low that it only reached him in athick growl which blurred his words into a hazy murmur. Therefore hefixed his attention on the man facing him, watching, and seekinginformation from his expression and general attitude.

  And what he beheld riveted his attention. Whatever control the blindman had over himself--and Tresler had reason to know what wonderfulcontrol he had--his expression was quite unguarded now. There was adevilish cruelty in every line in his hard, unyielding features.His sanguinary eyes were burning with a curiously real livelight--probably the reflection of the lamp on the table--and hishabitually knit brows were scowling to an extent that the eyes beneaththem looked like sparks of living fire. And though he was loungingcomfortably back in his chair, without energy, without alertness, andone arm was resting on the table at his side, and his outstretchedfingers were indolently drumming out a tattoo on the bare wood,
hisbreath was coming short and fast, in a manner that belied hisattitude.

  Had Tresler only seen behind the door he would have been startled,even alarmed. The inflamed Jake was oblivious to everything but hisown purpose. His mind was set on the object of his talk, to theexclusion of all else. Just then he had not the slightest fear of theblind man. There was nothing of the submission about him now that hehad displayed once before in Tresler's presence. It was the spirit hehad imbibed that had fortified him for the time. It is probable thatJake, at that moment, had no fear of either man or devil.

  And, though Tresler could not distinguish a word, his talk wasbraggart, domineering, and there was a strong flavor of drink in itscomposition. But even so, there was a relentless purpose in it, too.

  "Ther' ain't no option fer you, Marbolt," Jake was saying. "You'venever given me an option, and I'm not goin' to be such a blazing foolas to give you one. God A'mighty, Marbolt, ther' never was a mantreated as I've been by you. We've been together fer donkey's years, Iguess. 'Way back in them old days, when we was mates, before you wasblind, before you was cranked against 'most everybody, when wescrapped agin them black-backs in the Indies side by side, when wequarreled an' made friends again, I liked you, Marbolt, an' I workedhonest by you. There wa'n't nothin' mean to you, then, 'cep' inhandin' out dollars. I hadn't no kick comin' those days. I worked ferso much, an' I see I got it. I didn't ask no more, an' I guess Ididn't want. That's all right. Then you got blind an' you changedround. That's where the rub come. I was no better than the rest toyou. You fergot everything that had gone. You fergot I was a squaredealin' man by you, an' since that time I've been dirt under yourfeet. Pshaw! it ain't no use in talkin'; you know these things just aswell as I do. But you might have given me a show. You might havetreated me 'white.' It was to your interest. I'd have stayed by you.I'd have done good by you. An' I'd have been real sorry when you died.But I ain't no use fer that sort o' thing now. What I want I'm goin'to have, an' you've got to give--see? It ain't a question of'by-your-leave' now. I say right here I want your gal."

  The man paused. But Marbolt remained undisturbed. He still beat anidle tattoo on the table, only his hand had drawn nearer to the lampand the steady rapping of his fingers was a shade louder, as thoughmore nervous force were unconsciously finding outlet in the movement.

  "So you want my girl," he said, his lips scarcely parting to let thetone of his voice pass.

  "Ay," Jake said emphatically, "I want that gal as I took out o' thewater once. You remember. You said she'd fell overboard, after I'dhauled her back on to the ship out o' reach o' the sharks. That's whatyou said--after."

  He paused significantly. If he had expected any display from hishearer he must have been disappointed. The other remained quite stillexcept for those moving fingers tapping their way nearer and nearerthe lamp.

  "Go on."

  "Wal, I've told you how I stand, an' I've told you how you stand,"Jake proceeded, with his voice ever so little raised. He felt that theother was too easy. And, in his unimaginative way, he thought he hadspoken too gently. "An' I say again I want that gal fer my wife. Timewas when you would have been glad to be quit of her, 'bout the timeshe fell overboard. Being ready to part then, why not now? I'm goin'to get her,--an' what do I pay in return? You know. You'll go onranchin' in peace. I'll even stay your foreman if you so want. I'llshut right down on the business we both know of, an' you won't havenothin' to fear. It's a fair an' square deal."

  "A fair and square deal; most generous."

  Even Jake detected the sarcasm, and his anger rose at once. But hegave no heed to those fingers which had now transferred theirattention to the brass body of the lamp.

  "I'm waitin' fer your answer," he said sharply.

  Tresler now heard his words for the first time.

  "Go slow, Jake, go slow," retorted the rancher. "I like to digest theposition thoroughly. You put it so well."

  The sarcasm had grown more fierce by reason of the restraint therancher was putting on himself. And this restraint was further evidentin the movement of the hand which had now settled itself upon the bodyof the lamp, and clutched it nervously.

  Jake no longer kept check on himself. And his answer came in a roar.

  "You shall take my price, or----"

  "Keep calm, you blundering jackass!" the blind man rasped between hisclenched teeth.

  "No, you don't, Mr. blasted Marbolt!" cried Jake, springing to hisfeet and moving out to the middle of the room threateningly. "No, youdon't!" he cried again; "I've had enough of that. God's curse on youfor a low swine! I'll talk no more; it's 'yes' or 'no.' Remember"--hebent over toward the sitting man and pointed in his face with fiercedelight--"I am your master now, an' ef you don't do as I say, byG----! but I'll make you whine for mercy."

  And Marbolt's answer came with a crash of brass and smashing of glass,a leap of flame, then darkness, as he hurled the lamp to the floor andextinguished it. It came in silence, but a silence ruffled by thesound of sudden movement. It came, as was only to be expected from aman like him, without warning, like the silent attack of a puma, andwith as deadly intent.

  Tresler could see nothing, but he knew that death was hovering overthat room for some one. Suddenly he heard the table dragged or pushedacross the floor, and Jake's voice, harsh with the effort of struggle,reached him.

  "You would, would you? Right; it's you or me!"

  At that moment the onlooker was about to rush forward, for whatpurpose he had but the vaguest idea. But even as he took the firststep he felt himself seized forcibly by the arm from behind. AndDiane's voice whispered in his ear.

  "Not you, Jack!" she said eagerly. "Leave it to me; I--I can savehim--Jake."

  "Jake?"

  "Yes."

  She was gone, and in an instant returned with the lighted kitchenlamp, which she held aloft as she rushed into the room.

  Tresler was taken utterly by surprise. The girl's movements were sosudden, so unexpected, and her words so strange.

  There she stood in the middle of the room with the light held aboveher head like some statue. And all the signs of a deadly struggle wereabout her. Jake was sheltered behind the window table, and stoodblinking in the sudden light, staring at her in blank astonishment.But the chief figure of interest was the blind man. He was gropingabout the opposite edge of the table, pitifully helpless, but snarlingin impotent and thwarted fury. His right hand was still grasping thehilt of a vicious-looking, two-edged hunting-knife, whose pointTresler saw was dripping blood.

  Suddenly he turned fiercely on the girl. For the moment he had beenheld silent, confounded, but now his voice rang out in an access offury.

  "You jade!" he cried, and moved as though to attack her.

  Tresler was about to leap to her assistance, but at that instant theman's attention was suddenly diverted. Jake saw his chance and madefor the door. With a bitter imprecation the blind man lunged at him ashe went, fell against the table, and stumbled almost to the ground.Instantly the girl took advantage of his position and followed Jakeout, slamming the door behind her and swiftly turning the key as shewent.

  Diane had shown herself in a new light. Her presence of mind wasstartling, and the whole thing was enacted so swiftly that Treslerfailed to grasp the full meaning of it all. Jake had not seen him. Ina blind rush he had made for the hall door and passed out. The onlything that seemed real to Tresler was Diane's safety, and he caughther by the arm to take her to the kitchen. But the girl's readinesswould permit of no such waste of time.

  "No," she whispered quickly. "Leave me and follow Jake. Joe is in thekitchen and will protect me if need be. Quick!" she went on, stampingher foot in her excitement. "Go! Look to him. There must be no murderdone here."

  And Tresler was forced, much against his will, to leave her. For themoment Diane had soared to a height of alertness and ready actionwhich was irresistible. Without a word he went, passing out of thefront door.

  Jake had left the verandah, and, in the moonlight, Tresler could seehim moving do
wn the hill in the direction of his shack. He followedhim swiftly. But he was too late. The whole thing happened before hisvery eyes, while he was yet too far off to stay the ruthless act,before his warning shout could serve.

  He saw a figure dart out from the rancher's stable. He saw it halt andstand. He saw one arm stretched out, and he realized and shouted toJake.

  The foreman stood, turned, a pistol-shot rang out, and he fell on hisface. Tresler ran forward, but before he could reach him two moreshots rang out, and a third sent its bullet whistling past his ownhead.

  He ran for the man who had fired them. He knew him now; it was Anton.But, fleet of foot, the half-breed had reached the stable, where ahorse stood ready saddled. He saw him vault into the saddle, and hesaw him vanish into the adjacent woods. Then, at last, he gave up thechase and ran back to the fallen man.

  Kneeling at his side he raised the great leonine head. The man wasalive, and he shouted to the men at the bunkhouse for aid. But even ashe called Jake spoke.

  "It ain't no good," he said, in a hoarse tone. "I'm done. Done up bythat lyin' son-of-a----, 'Tough' McCulloch. I might 'a' known. GuessI flicked him sore." He paused as the sound of running feet came fromthe bunkhouse and Arizona's voice was calling to know Tresler'swhereabouts. Then the foreman's great frame gave a shiver. "Quick,Tresler," he said, in a voice that had suddenly grown faint;"ther' ain't much time. Listen! get around Widow Dangley'splace--to-night--two--mornin' all----"

  There came a rattle of flowing blood in his throat which blurredanything else he had to say. But he had said sufficient. Treslerunderstood.

  When Arizona came up Jake, so long the bully of Mosquito Bend, hadpassed over the One-Way Trail. He died shot in three places, twice inthe chest and once in the stomach. Anton, or rather "Tough" McCulloch,had done his work with all the consummate skill for which he had oncebeen so notorious. And, as something of this flashed through Tresler'sbrain, another thought came with it, prompted by the presence ofArizona, who was now on his knees beside him.

  "It's Anton, Arizona," he said. "Jake riled him. He shot him, and hasbolted through the wood, back there, mounted on one of Marbolt'shorses. He's making for the hills. Quick, here, listen! the others arecoming. You know 'Tough' McCulloch?"

  "Wal?" There was an ominous ring in Arizona's voice.

  "You'd like to find him?"

  "Better'n heaven."

  "Anton is 'Tough' McCulloch."

  "Who told you?"

  "Jake, here. I didn't mention it before, because--because----"

  "Did you say the hills?"

  Arizona had risen to his feet. There was no emotion in his manner.They might have been discussing the most ordinary topic. Now the restof the men crowded round. And Tresler heard the rancher's voicecalling from the verandah to inquire into the meaning of the shots.However, heedless of the others, he replied to the cowpuncher'squestion.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Shake. S'long."

  The two men gripped and Arizona faded away in the uncertain light, inthe direction of the barn.

  And the dead Jake was borne by rough but gentle hands into his ownshack. And there was not one amongst those "boys" but would have beenready and eager to help him, if help had been possible. Even on theprairie death atones for much that in life is voted intolerable.