"Ah, my daughter. Yes?"
But the other gave no heed to the sneer. "You have no right to stand between us," he went on angrily. "You have no reasonable grounds. I tell you straight I will not submit. When your daughter is of age I will take her from this home, which is no home to her, from you who have never been a father to her."
"True," a.s.sented the other, with an aggravating calmness.
"You will have no power to interfere then. The law----"
"Enough of this nonsense," the rancher interrupted, with his first sign of impatience. "You"ll never marry Diane while I live. Take it from me. Now--get out!"
And somehow, in spite of himself, Tresler found himself outside the house and moving in the direction of the bunkhouse at the most rapid pace his weakness permitted. But before he reached his destination Jake intercepted him, and he had little doubt in his mind that the man had seen him go to the house and had waited for his return.
"Wal?" he said, drawling out his inquiry, as though the contemplation of the answer he would receive gave him more than ordinary satisfaction. "Guess blind hulks is a pretty hard man to deal with, eh? You"re goin" to quit us?"
Tresler was in no mood for this man"s sneers. "No," he said. "On the contrary, I stay till my time"s out."
Jake could not conceal his surprise and chagrin. "You ain"t quittin"?"
"No." Tresler really enjoyed his discomfiture.
"An" you"re goin"----"
"No." A thought suddenly occurred to him. He could hand something on to this man. "Miss Marbolt is going to be sent away until such time as I leave this ranch. Nearly three years, Jake," he finished up maliciously.
Jake stood thoughtfully contemplating the other"s shrunken figure. He displayed no feeling, but Tresler knew he had hit him hard.
"An" she"s goin", when?" he asked at last.
"This day fortnight."
"Ah. This day fortnight."
After that Jake eyed his rival as though weighing him up in his mind along with other things; then he said quietly--
"Guess he"d best have sent her right now." And, with this enigmatical remark, he abruptly went back to his shack.
A week saw Tresler in the saddle again. His recuperative powers were wonderful. And his strength returned in a manner which filled his comrades with astonishment. Fresh air and healthy work served as far better tonics than anything the horse-doctor had given him.
And the week, at least to Tresler, was full of portent. True, the rustlers had been quiet, but the effect of their recent doings was very apparent. The sheriff was now in constant communication with the ranch. Fyles visited Julian Marbolt frequently, holding long consultations with him; and a significant fact was that his men made the place a calling station. He realized that the long arm of the law was seriously at work, and he wondered in what direction the real object lay, for he quite understood that these open movements, in all probability, cloaked the real suspicions. Both he and Joe were of opinion that the sheriff was acting on some secret information, and they puzzled their heads to fathom the depths of the wily officer"s motives.
Then happened something that Tresler had been expecting for some time.
He had not seen Fyles to speak to since the Willow Bluff incident, and this had caused him some wonder. Therefore, one day while out on a distant pasture, rounding up a small bunch of yearlings, he was in no way surprised to see the farmer-like figure of the sheriff appear over the brow of a rising ground, and canter his raw-boned horse down toward him.
And that meeting was in the nature of an eye-opener to Tresler. He learned something of the machinery that was at work; of the system of espionage that was going on over the whole district, and the subtle means of its employment. He learned, amongst other things, something of what Jake was doing. How he was in constant touch with a number of half-breeds of the most disreputable type, and that his doings were of the most underground nature. He also learned that his own personal efforts in conveying warning before Willow Bluff were more than appreciated, and, finally, that Fyles wanted him to further act in concert with him.
Acceding to the officer"s request he was then informed of certain other things for his future guidance. And when the man had gone, disappearing again over the rising ground, in the same ghostly fashion that he had appeared, he looked after him, and, in reviewing all he had heard, marveled how little he had been told, but what a lot had been suggested, and how devilish smart that farmer-like man, in spite of his recent failures, really was.
And during those days Tresler heard very little from Diane; which little came from Joe Nelson. Now and again she sent him a grief-stricken note alluding to her departure. She told him, although Joe had done so already, that her father had brought Anton into the house for the express purpose of preventing any communication with him, Tresler, and to generally keep sentry over her. She told him much that made his heart bleed for her, and made him spend hours at night writing pages of cheering messages to her. There was no help for it.
He was powerless to do more than try to console her, and he frequently found himself doubting if the course he had selected was the right one; if he were not aggravating her position by remaining on the ranch. His reason told him that it was surely best. If she had to go away, she would, at least, be free of Jake, and, no matter what condition the people to whom she was to be sent, no worse a.s.sociations than the combination of the blind man and his mate could possibly be found for her anywhere.
It was a poor sort of consolation with which he bolstered himself, and he spent many miserable hours during those last few days. Once he had said to Joe, "If I could only see her for a few minutes it might be some measure of comfort to us both." But Joe had shaken his gray head.
"It ain"t no use," he said. "You can"t take no chances foolin" wi"
Anton around. "Sides, things might be wuss," he finished up, with a considerable emphasis.
And so Tresler had to be content; ill at ease, chafing, but quite powerless. In truth the rancher had outwitted him with a vengeance; moreover, what he had said he soon showed that he meant, for Joe brought him the news, two days before the date fixed for departure, that Diane was making her preparations, and had even begun to pack up.
And all this time Jake was very cheerful. The men on the ranch never remembered an easier time than the foreman was giving them now. He interfered very little with the work, and, except at the morning muster, they hardly saw anything of him. Tresler he never came near.
He seemed to have forgotten that he had ever discussed Anton with him.
It may have been that that discussion had only been inspired on the impulse of the moment, or it may have been--and Tresler thought this far more likely--he had deeper plans. However, the man, in face of Diane"s departure, was unusually cheerful, and the wise old Joe quickly observed the fact.
For Joe to observe anything of interest was the cue for him to inquire further, and thus he set himself to watch Jake. And his watching quickly resulted in Tresler"s attention being called to Jake"s movements at night. Joe found that night after night Jake left the ranch, always on foot, but he left it for hours at a time. Twice during the last week he did not return until daylight. All this was more than interesting, but nothing developed to satisfy their curiosity until the last day of Diane"s stay on the ranch. Then Jake visited her, and, taking her out of the kitchen, had a long confabulation with her in the open. Joe watched them, but, much to his disgust, had no means of learning the man"s object. However, there was only one thing for him to do, and he did it without delay: he hurried down to convey his news to Tresler, who was having supper at the bunkhouse.
Taking him on one side he imparted his tidings hurriedly. And in conclusion spoke with evident alarm.
"Ther"s suthin" doin"," he said, in, for him, quite a condition of excitement. "I can"t locate it nohow. But Jake, he"s that queer. See, he"s jest gone right into his shack. Ther"s suthin" doin", sure."
"And didn"t you ask her what it was all about?" asked Tresler, catching something of the other"s manner.
"Wal, no. That is, I guess I mentioned it like, but Miss Dianny wus that fl.u.s.trated an" kind o" angry she jest went right up to her room, an" I thought best to git around hyar."
Tresler was thinking hard; and while he thought he stood watching the door where they had both seen Jake disappear. It occurred to him to go and seek Diane for himself. Poor girl, she would surely tell him if there were anything wrong. After all, he had the right to know. Then he thought of Anton.
"Was Anton----?"
He had turned to Joe, but his remark was cut short. Jake"s door suddenly opened and the foreman came hurriedly out. Joe caught his companion by the arm, and they both looked after the giant as he strode away toward the barn. And they simultaneously became aware of something unsteady in his gait. Joe was the first to draw attention to it.
"Say, he"s bin drinkin"," he whispered, in an awed manner.
Tresler nodded. This was something quite new. Jake, with all his faults, was not usually given to drink. On the contrary, he was a particularly sober man.
Tresler swiftly made up his mind. "I"m going to see what"s up, Joe,"
he said. "Do you see? He"s making for Marbolt"s stable."
It was almost dusk. The men had settled down to their evening"s occupations. Tresler and Joe were standing alone in the shadow of the bunkhouse wall. The lamp was lit within the building, and the glow from the window, which was quite near them, darkened the prospect still further. However, Tresler still could see the foreman, an indistinct shadow in the growing darkness.
Leaving his companion without further remark he hurried after the disappearing man and took up his position near the barn, whence he could both see and hear what might be going forward.
Jake reached the door of the stable and knocked on it in a forceful and peremptory manner.
CHAPTER XX
BY THE LIGHT OF THE LAMP
Impelled by curiosity and nervous antic.i.p.ation Tresler did not long remain in the shelter of the barn. It was too dark to see distinctly all that way off, so he closed up on the object of his watch. He intended to miss nothing of what was happening, so he crept out into the open, quite careless of the chances of being discovered at his undignified occupation.
And all the time he was a prey to unpleasant foreboding; that unaccountable foreboding so truly prophetic, which refuses to be shaken off. He knew that disaster was in the air as surely as if it had all happened, and there was nothing left for him but to gaze impotently upon the ruin. He had a certain amount of reason for his fears, of course, but that reason was largely speculative, and, had he been asked to state definitely what he antic.i.p.ated, on whom disaster was to fall, he could not have answered with any real conviction.