The Night Riders Part 21

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

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

The mare fought like a demon; but Tresler had learned too much for her, and sat on his saddle as though glued to it; and the newcomer's interest became blended with admiration for the exhibition of horsemanship he was witnessing. As suddenly as she had begun the lady desisted. It was in a pause for breath that she raised her infuriated head and espied the intruder. Doubtless, realizing the futility of her efforts, and at the same time not wishing one of the opposite s.e.x to witness her defeat, she preferred to disguise her anger and gave the impression of a quiet, frivolous gambol, for she whinnied softly and stared, with ears p.r.i.c.ked and head erect, in a haughty look of inquiry at the more c.u.mbersome figure of the bay.

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

The two men met with little formality.

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

There was something wonderfully picturesque yet businesslike about this prairie sleuth. This man was the first of his kind he had seen, and he studied him with interest. The thought of Sheriff Fyles had come so suddenly into his mind, and so recently, that he had no time to form any imaginative picture of him. Had he done so he must inevitably have been disappointed with the reality, for Fyles was neither becoming nor even imposing. He was rather short and decidedly burly, and his face had an innocent caste about it, a farmer-like mould 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 was remarkable both for great intelligence and extreme shrewdness. Not only that, he was a man of cat-like activity. His bulk was the result of a superabundance of muscle, and not of superfluous tissue. His bucolic spread of features was useful to him in that it detracted from the cold, keen, compelling eyes which looked out from beneath his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows; and, too, the full cheeks and fat neck, helping to hide the determined jaws, which had a knack of closing his rather full lips into a thin, straight line. Nature never intended a man of his mould to occupy the position that Fyles held in his country's peace regime. He was one of her happy mistakes.

And in that first survey Tresler realized something of the personality which 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 his mind. "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. Tresler replied with a nod.

"Ah! Remittance man?"

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

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

"Ah! Younger son?"

"Not even a younger son!" The two horses were now moving leisurely on toward the ford. "Suppose we quit questions and answers that serve no particular purpose, sheriff. I have been waiting to see you."

"So I figured," observed the other, imperturbably, "or you wouldn't have answered my questions so amiably. Well?"

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

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

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

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 Manson Orr?"

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

"That's better than I hoped for," replied Tresler, musingly. "You see," he went on, "the blind man's something cantankerous. He's lost cattle himself, but when some of the boys offered to hunt Red Mask down, he treated them with scant courtesy--in fact, threatened to discharge 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 he wanted to say so much. Suddenly he turned and faced him, and, to his chagrin, discovered that the other was still intent on the mare he was riding. His eyes were fixed on the lady's shoulder, where the indistinct marks of the brand were still visible. "You see, sergeant,"

he went on, ignoring the other's abstraction, "I have a story to tell you, which, in your official capacity, you may find interesting. In the light of recent events, I, at any rate, find it interesting. It has set me thinking a heap."

"Go ahead," said the officer, without even so much as raising his eyes. Tresler followed the direction of his gaze, but could see nothing more interesting in his mare's fore-quarters than their perfect shape. However, there was no alternative but to proceed with his narrative. And he told the sheriff of the visit of the night-riders which he had witnessed on the night of his arrival at the ranch. In spite of the other's apparent abstraction, he told the story carefully and faithfully, and his closing remarks were well pointed and displayed a close a.n.a.lysis. He told him of the previous visits of these night-riders, and the results following upon the circulation of the story by each individual who chanced to witness them. He told of Joe Nelson's warning to him, and how his earnestness had, at length, persuaded him to keep quiet. He felt no scruples in thus changing the responsibility of Diane's warning. Nothing would have induced him to drag her name into the matter.

"You see, sheriff," he said in conclusion, "I think I did right to keep this matter to myself until such time as I could tell it to you.

It has all happened several times before, and, therefore, will no doubt happen again. What do you think?"

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

"Did Marbolt tell you of the previous visits of these raiders? He knows 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 him and refused the bait. Evidently the blind man had told his version of that morning's doings, and the sheriff wished to learn the men's side of it. Probably his, Tresler's. This calm, cold man seemed to depend in no way upon verbal answers for the information he desired, for he went on without any appearance of expecting a reply.

"There's one thing you've made plain to me. You suspect collusion between 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 into Tresler's face, and his glance was full of meaning.

"I'm glad I've had this talk with you, Tresler. You have a keen faculty for observation, and a wise caution. When you have reason to suspect any one, and wish to tell me of it, you can communicate with me 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 also were known to me--through mutual acquaintances in Forks. Now your excellent caution will tell you that it would be bad policy for you to communicate openly with me. Good. Your equally excellent observation will have called your attention to this river. I have a posse stationed further down stream, for certain reasons which I will keep to myself. It is a hidden posse, but it will always be there. Now, to a man of your natural cleverness, I do not think you will have any difficulty in finding a means of floating a message down to me. But do not send an urgent message unless the urgency is positive. Any message I receive in that way I shall act upon at once. I have learned a great deal to-day, Tresler, so much indeed that I even think you may need to use this river before long. All I ask of you is to be circ.u.mspect--that's the word, circ.u.mspect."

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

"She is a beauty," he suggested.