The Night Riders Part 9

"If you're going to the horse corrals now I'll go with you. I'm so beastly wide awake that I can't turn in yet."

"Come right along, then. Guess I ain't feelin' that ways, sure."

Joe jerked his saddle up and slung it across his back again, and the two men walked off in silence.

And as they walked, Joe, under cover of the darkness, eyed his companion with occasional sidelong glances, speculating as to what he wanted with him. He quite understood that his companion was not walking with him for the pleasure of his company. On his part Tresler was wondering how much he ought to tell this man--almost a stranger--of what he had seen. He felt that some one ought to know--some one with more experience than himself. He felt certain that the stealthy visit of the two hors.e.m.e.n was not wholesome. Such espionage pointed to something that was not quite open and aboveboard.

They reached the corrals, and Joe deposited his burden upon the wooden wall. Then he turned sharply on his companion.

"Wal, out wi' it, man," he demanded. "Guess you got something you're wantin' to git off'n your chest."

Tresler laughed softly. "You're pretty sharp, Joe."

"Pretty sharp, eh?" returned the little man. "Say, it don't need no razor to cut through the meanin' of a 'tenderfoot.' Wal?"

Tresler was looking up at the saddle. It was a small, almost skeleton saddle, such as, at one time, was largely used in Texas; that was before the heavier and more picturesque Mexican saddles came into vogue among the ranchmen.

"What does Jake want that for?" he asked.

His question was an idle one, and merely put for the sake of gaining time while he arrived at a definite decision upon the other matter.

"Guess it's fer some feller to ride to-morrow--eh? Whew!"

The ch.o.r.eman broke off and whistled softly. Something had just occurred to him. He measured Tresler with his eye, and then looked at the short-seated saddle with its high cantle and tall, abrupt horn in front. He shook his head.

Tresler was not heeding him. Suddenly he stopped and sat on the ground, propping his back against the corral wall, while he looked up at Joe.

"Sit down," he said seriously; "I've got something rather particular I want to talk about. At least, I think it's particular, being a stranger to the country."

Without replying, Joe deposited himself on the ground beside his new acquaintance. His face was screwed up into the expression Tresler had begun to recognize as a smile. He took a chew of tobacco and prepared to give his best attention.

"Git goin'," he observed easily.

"Well, look here, have we any near neighbors?"

"None nigher than Forks--'cep' the Breeds, an' they're nigh on six mile south, out toward the hills. How?"

Then Tresler told him what he had seen at the edge of the pinewoods, and the ch.o.r.eman listened with careful attention. At the end of his story Tresler added--

"You see, it's probably nothing. Of course, I know nothing as yet of prairie ways and doings. No doubt it can be explained. But I argued the matter out from my own point of view, and it struck me that two hors.e.m.e.n, approaching the ranch under cover of the forest and a dark night, and not venturing into the open after having arrived, simply didn't want to be seen. And their not wis.h.i.+ng to be seen meant that their object in coming wasn't--well, just above suspicion."

"Tol'ble reasonin'," nodded Joe, chewing his cud reflectively.

"What do you make of it?"

"A whole heap," Joe said, spitting emphatically. "What do I make of it? Yes, that's it, a whole heap. Guess that feller you see most of had his face covered. Was that cover a mask?"

"It might have been."

"A red mask?"

"I couldn't see the color. It was too dark. Might have been."

Joe turned and faced his companion, and, hunching his bent knees into his arms, looked squarely into his eyes.

"See here, pard, guess you never heard o' hoss thieves? They ain't likely to mean much to you," he said, with some slight contempt. Then he added, by way of rubbing it in, "You bein' a 'tenderfoot.' Guess you ain't heard tell of Red Mask an' his gang, neither?"

"Wrong twice," observed Tresler, with a quiet smile. "I've heard of both horse thieves and Red Mask."

"You've heard tell of hoss thieves an' Red Mask? Wal, I'm figgerin'

you've seen both to-night, anyway; an' I'll further tell you this--if you'd got the drop on him this night an' brought him down, you'd 'a'

done what most every feller fer two hundred miles around has been layin' to do fer years, an' you'd 'a' been the biggest pot in Montana by sundown to-morrow." He spoke with an accent of triumph, and paused for effect. "Say, ther' wouldn't 'a' been a feller around as wouldn't 'a' taken his hat off to you," he went on, to accentuate the situation. "Say, it was a dandy chance. But ther', you're a 'tenderfoot,'" he added, with a sigh of profound regret.

Tresler was inclined to laugh, but checked himself as he realized the serious side of the matter.

"Well, if he were here to-night, what does it portend?" he asked.

"If he was here to-night it portends a deal," said Joe, sharply. "It portends that the biggest 'tough,' the biggest man-killer an' hoss thief in the country, is on the war-path, an' ther'll be trouble around 'fore we're weeks older."

"Who is he?"

"Who is he? Wal, I 'lows that's a big question. Guess ther' ain't no real sayin'. Some sez he's from across the border, some sez he's a Breed, some sez he's the feller called Duncan, as used to run a b.u.m saloon in Whitewater, an' shot a man in his own bar an' skipped. No one rightly knows, 'cep' he's real 'bad,' an' duffs nigh on to a thousand head o' stock most every year."

"Then what's to be done?" Tresler asked, watching the little man's twisted face as he munched his tobacco.

"What's to be done? Wal, I don't rightly know. Say, what wus you doin'

around that house? I ain't askin' fer cur'osity. Ye see, if you got tellin' Jake as you wus round ther', it's likely he'd git real mad. Y'

see, Jake's dead sweet on Miss Dianny. It gives him the needle that I'm around that house. O' course, ther' ain't nuthin' wi' me an' Miss Dianny, 'cep' we're kind o' friendly. But Jake's that mean-sperrited an' jealous. She hates him like pizen. I know, 'cos I'm kind o'

friendly wi' her, so to speak, meanin' nuthin', o' course. But that ain't the point. If you wus to tell him he'd make your head swim."

"Oh, hang Jake!" exclaimed Tresler, impatiently; "I'm sick to death of hearing of his terrorizing. He can't eat me----"

"No, but he'll make you wish he could," put in the ch.o.r.eman, quietly.

"He'd find me a tough mouthful," Tresler laughed.

"Mebbe. How came you around that house?"

"I simply wandered there by chance. I was smoking and taking a stroll.

I'd been all round the ranch."

"That wouldn't suit Jake. No." Joe was silent for a moment.

Tresler waited. At last the little man made a move and spat out his chew.

"That's it," he said, slapping his thigh triumphantly--"that's it, sure. Say, we needn't to tell Jake nuthin'. I'll git around among the boys, an' let 'em know as I heerd tell of Red Mask bein' in the region o' the Bend, an' how a Breed give me warnin', bein' scared to come along to the ranch lest Red Mask got wind of it an' shut his head lights fer him. Ther' ain't no use in rilin' Jake. Meanin' for you.

He's layin' fer you anyways, as I'm guessin' you'll likely know.

Savee? Lie low, most as low as a dead cat in a well. I'll play this hand, wi'out you figgerin' in it; which, fer you, I guess is best."