The Night Riders Part 26

"Then," said Diane, steadying at once, "we had better close the door into the pa.s.sage."

She suited the action to the word, and returned dry-eyed and calm.

"My father?" Her question was sharp; it was a demand.

Instead of answering her, Tresler pointed to the broken lamp on the floor.

"You have had an accident," he said, and his blue eyes compelled hers, and held them.

"Yes," she said, after the least possible hesitation. Then, not without a slight touch of resentment: "But you have not answered my question."

"I'll answer that later on. Let me go on in my own way."

The girl was impressed with the gravity of his manner. She felt uneasy too. She felt how impossible it would be to hide anything from this man, who, quiet yet kindly, could exercise so masterful an influence over her. And there was a good deal just now she would have liked to keep from him. While they were talking she drew the sleeves of her dress down over her bruised wrists. Tresler saw the action and called her attention to the blackened flesh she was endeavoring to hide.

"Another accident?" he asked. And Diane kept silence. "Two accidents, and--tears," he went on, in so gentle a tone that fresh tears slowly welled up into her eyes. "That is quite unlike you, Miss--Diane. One moment. Let me look." He reached out to take her hands, but she drew away from him. He shrugged his shoulders. "I wonder if it were an accident?" he said, his keen eyes searching her face. "It would be strange to bruise both wrists by--accident."

The girl held silent for a while. It was evident that a struggle was going on in her mind. Tresler watched. He saw the indecision. He knew how sorely he was pressing his advantage. Yet he must do it, if he would carry out his purpose. He felt that he was acting the brute, but it was the only way. Every barrier must be swept aside. At last she threw her head back with an impatient movement, and a slight flush of anger tinged her cheeks.

"And what if it were no accident?"

"The bruises or the lamp?"

"Both."

"Then"--and Tresler's tone was keenly incisive--"it is the work of some cruelly disposed person. You would not wilfully bruise yourself, Diane," he moved nearer to her, and his voice softened wonderfully; "is there any real reason why you cannot trust me with the truth? May I not share something of your troubles? See, I will save you the pain of the telling. If I am right, do not answer me, and I shall understand. Your father has been here, and it was his doing--these things."

The anger had pa.s.sed out of the girl's face, and her eyes, troubled enough but yielding, looked up into his.

"But how do you----?"

"Some one, we both know whom, has maliciously been talking to your father," Tresler went on, without heeding the interruption; "has been lying to him to prejudice him against me--us. And your father has accepted his tales without testing their veracity. Having done so, he has spoken to you. What has pa.s.sed between you I do not know, nor shall I attempt to fathom. The result is more than sufficient for me.

You are unhappy; you have been unusually unhappy for days. You have wept much, and now you bear signs of violence on your arms."

Diane averted her gaze, her head was bent, and her eyes were fixed upon the broken lamp.

"Shall I go on?" Tresler continued. "Shall I tell you the whole story?

Yes, I had better."

Diane nodded without looking at him.

"You know most of it, but you may not have looked at it quite in the same way that I do." His tone was very low, there was a great depth of earnestness in it. "We are all in the midst of a foul conspiracy, and that conspiracy it is for us to break up. Your father is threatened.

You know it. And you are threatened with marriage to a rascal that should be wiped off the face of the earth. And this is the work of one man whom we believe to be the scourge of the countryside; whom we call Red Mask or Jake Harnach, according to when and where we meet him.

Now, is this all to go on without protest? Will you submit? Is your father to be victimized?"

The girl shook her head.

"No," she said. Then with a sudden burst of pa.s.sion she went on, only keeping her voice low by the greatest effort. "But what can we do? I have warned father. He has been told all that you have told me. He laughed. And I grew angry. Then he grew angry, too. And--and these things are the result. Oh, he hates you because he believes Jake's stories. And he scorns all my accusations against Jake, and treats me worse than some silly, tattling servant girl. How can we do anything?"

It was that last question that set fire to the powder-train. She had coupled herself with him, and Tresler, seeking only the faintest loophole, jumped at the opportunity it afforded him. His serious face softened. A slow, gentle smile crept into his eyes, and Diane was held by their caressing gaze.

"We can do something. We are going to do something," he said. "Not singly, but together; you and I."

There was that in his manner that made the girl droop her eyelids.

There was a warmth, a light in his eyes he had never permitted her to see before, and her woman's instinct set her heart beating fast, so fast that she trembled and fidgeted nervously.

"Diane," he went on, reaching out and quietly taking possession of one of her hands, and raising it till the bared wrist displayed the cruel bruise encircling it, "no man has a right to lay a hand upon a woman to give her pain. A woman has a right to look to her men-folk to protect her, and when they fail her, she is indeed in sore straits.

This," touching the bruises with his finger, "is the work of your father, the man of all who should protect you. You are sadly alone, so much alone that I cannot see what will be the end of it--if it is allowed to go on. Diane, I love you, and I want you, henceforward, to let me be your protector. You will need some whole-hearted support in the future. I can see it. And you can see it too. Say, tell me, little girl, fate has pitched us together in a stormy sea, surely it is for me to aid you with all the loving care and help I can bestow.

Believe me, I am no idle boaster. I do not even say that my protection will be worth as much as that of our faithful old Joe, but, such as it is, it is yours, whether you take me with it or no, for as long as I live."

Diane had had time to recover from her first embarra.s.sment. She knew that she loved this man; knew that she had done so almost from the very first. He was so different from the men she had known about the ranch. She understood, and acknowledged without shame, the feeling that had prompted her first warning to him. She knew that ever since his coming to the ranch he had hardly ever been out of her thoughts.

She had never attempted to deceive herself about him. All she had feared was that she might, by some chance act, betray her feelings to him, and so earn his everlasting contempt. She was very simple and single-minded. She had known practically no a.s.sociation with her s.e.x.

Her father, who had kept her a willing slave by his side all her life, had seen to that. And so she had been thrown upon her own resources, with the excellent result that she had grown up with a mind untainted by any worldly thought. And now, when this man came to her with his version of the old, old story, she knew no coquetry, knew how to exercise no coyness or other blandishment. She made no pretense of any sort. She loved him, so what else was there to do but to tell him so?

"Joe has been my faithful protector for years, Mr. Tresler," she replied, her sweet round face blushing and smiling as she raised it to him, "and I know his value and goodness. But--but I'd sooner have you--ever so much."

And of her own accord she raised her other hand to his and placed it trustfully within his only too willing clasp. But this was not sufficient for Tresler. He reached out and took her in his powerful arms and drew her to his breast. And when he released her there were tears again in her eyes, but they were tears of happiness.

"And now, sweetheart, we must be practical again," he said. "If I am to be your protector, I must not allow my inclination to interfere with duty. Some day, when you are my wife, we shall be able to look back on this time and be proud of our restraint. Just now it is hard.

It is a moment for kisses and happy dreams, and these things are denied us----"

He broke off and started as the flutter of the linen blind behind him drew his attention.

"I thought you shut the window," he said sharply.

"I thought I did; perhaps I didn't quite close it."

Diane was about to move over to investigate, but Tresler restrained her.

"Wait."

He went instead. The window was open about six inches. He closed and bolted it, and came back with a smile on his face that in no way deceived the girl.

"Yes, you left it open," he said.

And Diane's reply was an unconvinced "Ah!"

"Now let us be quick," he went on. "Jake may threaten and bully, but he can do nothing to really hurt you. You are safe from him. For, before anything can possibly happen--I mean to you--I shall be on hand to help you. Joe is our watch-dog, asking his pardon. You can take heart in the thought that you are no longer alone. But developments are imminent, and I want you to watch your father closely, and endeavor to ascertain Jake's att.i.tude toward him. This is my fear--that Jake may put some nefarious scheme, as regards him, into operation; such schemes as we cannot antic.i.p.ate. He may even try to silence me, or make me ineffective in some way before such time comes along. He may adopt some way of getting rid of me----"

"What way?" There was a world of fear and anxiety in Diane's question, and she drew up close to him as though she would protect him with her own frail body.

Tresler shrugged. "I don't know. But it doesn't matter; I have my plans arranged. The thing that is of more importance is the fact that the night-riders are abroad again. I saw them on my way here. At the same spot where I saw them before. This time I shall not conceal my knowledge of the fact."

"You mean you will tell Jake--to his face?"

Diane gave a little gasp, and her beautiful eyes fixed themselves apprehensively upon his. They had in their depths a soft look of admiration, in spite of her anxiety and fear. But Tresler saw nothing of that. He took her question seriously.

"Certainly; it is my only means of getting into line of battle. By this means I shall make myself the centre of open attack--if all our surmises be true. It is getting late and I must go. I want to witness the return of the ruffians."