The Night Riders Part 12

Now a silence fell. The sun was dropping low in the west, and already the shadows on the gra.s.s were lengthening. Tresler brought his grazing horse back. When he returned Diane reverted to something he had said before.

"This 'sequel' you spoke of. You didn't tell me it." Her manner had changed, and she spoke almost lightly.

"The matter of the sequel was a trivial affair, and only took the form of Jake's spleen in endeavoring to make my quarters as uncomfortable for me as possible. No, the incident I had chiefly in mind was something altogether different. It was all so strange--so very strange," he went on reflectively. "One adventure on top of another ever since my arrival. The last, and strangest of all, did not occur until nearly midnight."

He looked up with a smile, but only to find that Diane's attention was apparently wandering.

The girl was gazing out over the waving gra.s.s-land with deep, brooding, dreamy eyes. There was no anger in them now, only her features looked a little more drawn and hard. The man waited for a moment, then as she did not turn he went on.

"You have strange visitors at the ranch, Miss Marbolt--very strange.

They come stealthily in the dead of night; they come through the shelter of the pinewoods, where it is dark, almost black, at night.

They come with faces masked--at least one face----"

He got no further. There was no lack of effect now. Diane was round upon him, gazing at him with frightened eyes.

"You saw them?" she cried; and a strident ring had replaced her usually soft tones.

"Them? Who?"

For a moment they stared into each other's eyes. He inquiringly; she with fear and mingled horror.

"These--these visitors." The words came almost in a whisper.

"Yes."

"And what were they like?"

The girl spoke apprehensively.

Then Tresler told his story as he had told it to Joe Nelson. And Diane hung on every word he uttered, searching him through and through with her troubled eyes.

"What are you going to do about it?" she asked as he finished.

Tresler was struck with the peculiarity of the question. She expressed no surprise, no wonder. It seemed as though the matter was in nowise new to her. Her whole solicitude was in her antic.i.p.ation of what he would do about it.

"I am not sure," he said, concealing his surprise under a leisurely manner. "I had intended to tell Jake," he went on a moment later, "only the Lady Jezebel put it out of my head. I told Joe Nelson last night. He told me I had seen Red Mask, the cattle thief, and one of his men. He also tried to get me to promise that I would say nothing about it to Jake. I refused to give that promise. He gave me no sufficient reasons, you see, and--well, I failed to see the necessity for silence."

"But there is a necessity, Mr. Tresler. The greatest." Diane's tone was thrilling with an almost fierce earnestness. "Joe was right. Jake is the last person to whom you should tell your story."

"Why?"

"Why?" Diane echoed, with a mirthless laugh. "Pshaw!"

"Yes, why? I have a right to know, Miss Marbolt."

"You shall know all I can tell you." The girl seemed on the verge of making an impulsive statement, but suddenly stopped; and when at last she did proceed her tone was more calm and so low as to be little above a whisper. "Visitors such as you have seen have been seen by others before. The story, as you have told it, has in each case been told to Jake by the unfortunate who witnessed these strange movements at night----"

"Unfortunate?"

"Yes. The informant has always met with misfortune, accident--whatever you like to call it. Listen; it is a long story, but I will merely outline the details I wish to impress on you. Some years ago this Red Mask appeared from no one knows where. Curiously enough his appearance was in the vicinity of this ranch. We were robbed, and he vanished.

Some time later he was seen again, much the same as you saw him last night. One of our boys gave the warning to Jake. Two days later the poor fellow who informed upon him was found shot on the trail into Forks. Later, again, another hand witnessed a somewhat similar scene and gave information. His end was by drowning in a shallow part of the river. Folks attributed his end to drink, but----Again Red Mask showed up--always at night--again he was seen, and Jake was warned.

The victim this time met his death by the falling of a rock in the foot-hills. The rock killed horse and rider. And so it has gone on at varying intervals. Eight men have been similarly treated. The ninth, Arizona, barely escaped with his life a little while ago. I've no doubt but that some accident will happen to him yet. And, mark this, in each case the warning has gone first to Jake. I may be altogether wrong; certainly other folks do not look upon the death of these various men with suspicion, but I have watched, and reasoned out all I have seen. And----"

"Why, Jake must----"

"Hus.h.!.+"

Diane gazed round her apprehensively.

"No, no, Mr. Tresler," she went on hurriedly, "I do not say that; I dare not think of it. Jake has been with us so long; he cares for father's interest as for his own. In spite of his terrible nature he is father's--friend."

"And the man who intends to marry you," Tresler added to himself.

Aloud he asked, "Then how do you account for it?"

"That's just it. I--I don't account for it. I only warn you not to take your story to Jake."

Tresler drew a step nearer, and stood so close to her that her dungaree skirt was almost touching him. He looked up in a manner that compelled her gaze.

"You do account for it, Miss Marbolt," he said emphatically.

Nor did the girl attempt denial. Just for a moment there was a breathless silence. Then Bessie pawed the ground, and thrust her nose into the face of Tresler's horse in friendly, caressing fas.h.i.+on; and the movement broke the spell.

"Urge me no further, Mr. Tresler," Diane exclaimed appealingly. "Do not make me say something I have no right to say; something I might have cause to regret all my life. Believe me, I hardly know what to believe, and what not to believe; I hardly know what to think. I can only speak as my instinct guides me. Oh, Mr. Tresler, I--I can trust you. Yes--I know I can."

The girl's appeal had its effect. Tresler reached up and caught the little outstretched hands.

"Yes, you can trust me, Miss Marbolt," he said with infinite kindness.

"You have done the very best thing you could have done. You have given me your confidence--a trouble that I can see has caused you ages of unhappiness. I confess you have opened up suspicions that seem almost preposterous, but you----" He broke off, and stood gazing down thoughtfully at the two hands he still held clasped within his. Then he seemed to become suddenly aware of the position, and, with a slight laugh, released them. "Pardon me," he said, glancing up into the troubled eyes with a kindly smile. "I was dreaming. Come, let us return to the ranch. It is time. It will be pleasant riding in the cool. By Jove, I begin to think that it is more than possible I owe Jake considerable grat.i.tude after all."

"You owe him nothing," answered Diane, with angry emphasis. "You owe him nothing but obedience as a ranch hand, and that you will have to pay him. For the rest, avoid him as you would a pest."

Tresler sprang into the saddle, and the horses ambled leisurely off in the direction of the ranch. And, as he rode, he set aside all thoughts of Jake and of Red Mask. He thought only of the girl herself, of her delightful companions.h.i.+p.

His steady-going horse, with due regard for the s.e.x of his companion, allowed Bess to lead him by a neck. He traveled amiably by her side, every now and then raising his nose as though to bite his spirited little companion, but it was only pretense. Nor did Tresler urge him faster. He preferred that they should travel thus. He could gaze to his heart's content upon Diane without displaying rudeness. He could watch the trim, erect figure, poised so easily and gracefully upon the saddle. She rode like one born to the saddle, and by the gait of her mare, he could see that her hands were of the lightest, yet firm and convincing to the high-mettled animal they controlled.

The girl was a perfect picture as she rode; her rich, dark hair was loosely coiled, and several waving ringlets had fluffed loose with the breeze and motion of riding, and strayed from the shadow of her wide hat. Tresler's thoughts went back to his home; and, he told himself, none of the horsewomen he had known could have displayed such an abundant grace in the saddle with their rigid habits and smart hats.

There was nothing of the riding-school here; just the horsemans.h.i.+p that is so much a natural instinct.

And so they rode on to the ranch.

CHAPTER VI

THE KILLING OF MANSON ORR