The Night Riders Part 35

CHAPTER XVI

WHAT LOVE WILL DO

Daylight was breaking when the jaded Lady Jezebel and her double freight raced into the ranch. The mare had done the journey in precisely two hours and a quarter. Arizona galloped her up to the house and rounded the lean-to in which Joe slept. Then he pulled up and shouted. Just then he had no thought for the rancher or Jake. He had thought for no one but Tresler.

His third shout brought Joe tumbling out of his bed.

"Say, I've got a mighty sick man here," he cried, directly he heard the ch.o.r.eman moving. "Git around an' lend a hand; gentle, too."

"That you, Arizona?" Joe, half awake, questioned, blinking up at the horseman in the faint light.

"I guess; an' say, 'fore I git answerin' no fool questions, git a holt on this notion. Red Mask's bin around Willow Bluff, an' Tresler's done up. Savee?"

"Tresler, did you say?" asked a girl's voice from the kitchen doorway.

"Wounded?"

There was a world of fear in the questions, which were scarcely above a whisper.

Arizona was lifting Tresler down into Joe's arms. "I 'lows I didn't know you wus ther', missie," he replied, without turning from his task. "Careful, Joe; easy--easy now. He's dreadful sick, I guess.

Yes, missie, it's him. They've kind o' scratched him some. 'Tain't nothin' to gas about; jest barked his neck. Kind o' needs a bit o'

band'ge. Gorl durn you, Joe! Git your arm under his shoulders an' kep his head steady; he'll git bleedin' to death ef y' ain't careful.

Quiet, you jade!" he cried fiercely, to the mare whom Diane had frightened with her white robe as she came to help. "No, missie, not you," Arizona exclaimed. "He's all blood an' mussed up." Then he discovered that she had little on but a night-dress. "Gee! but you ain't wropped up, missie. Jest git right in. Wal," as she deliberately proceeded to help the struggling Joe, "ef you will; but Joe ken do it, I guess. Ther', that's it. I ken git off'n this crazy s.l.u.t of a mare now."

Directly Arizona had quit the saddle he relieved Diane, and, with the utmost gentleness, started to take the sick man into the lean-to. But the girl protested at once.

"Not in there," she said sharply. "Take him into the house. I'll go and fix a bed up-stairs. Bring him through the kitchen."

She spoke quite calmly. Too calmly, Joe thought.

"To that house?" Arizona protested.

"Yes, yes, of course." Then the pa.s.sion of grief let itself loose, and Diane cried, "And why not? Where else should he go? He belongs to me.

Why do you stand there like an imbecile? Take him at once. Oh, Jack, Jack, why don't you speak? Oh, take him quickly! You said he would bleed to death. He isn't dead? No, tell me he isn't dead?"

"Dead? Dead? Ha, ha!" Arizona threw all the scorn he was capable of into the words, and laughed with funereal gravity. "Say, that's real good--real good. Him dead? Wal, I guess not. Pshaw! Say, missie, you ain't ast after my health, an' I'm guessin' I oughter be sicker'n him, wi' that mare o' his. Say, jest git right ahead an' fix that bunk fer him, like the daisy gal you are. What about bl--your father, missie?"

"Never mind father. Come along."

The man's horse-like attempt at lightness had its effect. The girl pulled herself together. She realized the emergency. She knew that Tresler needed her help. Arizona's manner had only emphasized the gravity of his case.

She ran on ahead, and the other, bearing the unconscious man, followed.

"Never mind father," Arizona muttered doubtfully. "Wal, here goes."

Then he called back to Joe: "Git around that mare an' sling the saddle on a fresh plug; guess I'll need it."

He pa.s.sed through the kitchen, and stepping into the hall he was startled by the apparition of the blind man standing in the doorway of his bedroom. He was clad in his customary dressing-gown, and his eyes glowed ruddily in the light of the kitchen lamp.

"What's this?" he asked sharply.

"Tresler's bin done up," Arizona replied at once. "Guess the gang got around Willow Bluff--G.o.d's curse light on 'em!"

"Hah! And where are you taking him?"

"Up-sta'rs," was the brief reply. Then the cowpuncher bethought him of his duty to his employer. "Guess the cattle are safe, fer which you ken thank the sheriff's gang. Miss Dianny's hustlin' a bunk fer him,"

he added.

In spite of his usual a.s.surance, Arizona never felt easy with this man. Now the rancher's manner decidedly thawed.

"Yes, yes," he said gently. "Take the poor boy up-stairs. You'd better go for the doctor. You can give me the details afterward."

He turned back into his room, and the other pa.s.sed up the stairs.

He laid the sick man on the bed, and pointed out to the girl the bandage on his neck, advising, in his practical fashion, its readjustment. Then he went swiftly from the house and rode into Forks for Doc. Osler, the veterinary surgeon, the only available medical man in that part of the country.

When Diane found herself alone with the man she loved stretched out before her, inert, like one dead, her first inclination was to sit down and weep for him. She could face her own troubles with a certain fort.i.tude, but to see this strong man laid low, perhaps dying, was a different thing, and her womanly weakness was near to overcoming her.

But though the unshed tears filled her eyes, her love brought its courage to her aid, and she approached the task Arizona had pointed out.

With deft fingers she removed the sodden bandage, through which the blood was slowly oozing. The flow, which at once began again, alarmed her, and set her swiftly to work. Now she understood as well as Arizona did what was amiss. She hurried out to her own room, and returned quickly with materials for rebandaging, and her arms full of clothes. Then, with the greatest care, she proceeded to bind up the neck, placing a cork on the artery below the severance. This she strapped down so tightly that, for the time at least, the bleeding was staunched. Her object accomplished, she proceeded to dress herself ready for the doctor's coming.

She had taken her place at the bedside, and was meditating on what further could be done for her patient, when an event happened on which she had in nowise reckoned. Somebody was ascending the stair with the shuffling gait of one feeling his way. It was her father. The first time within her memory that he had visited the upper part of the house.

A look of alarm leapt into her eyes as she gazed at the door, watching for his coming, and she realized only too well the possibilities of the situation. What would he say? What would he do?

A moment later she was facing him with calm courage. Her fears had been stifled by the knowledge of her lover's helplessness. One look at his dear, unconscious form had done for her what nothing else could have done. Her filial duty went out like a candle snuffed with wet fingers. There was not even a spark left.

Julian Marbolt stepped across the threshold, and his head slowly moved round as though to ascertain in what direction his daughter was sitting. The oil-lamp seemed to attract his blind attention, and his eyes fixed themselves upon it; but for a moment only. Then they pa.s.sed on until they settled on the girl.

"Where is he?" he asked coldly. "I can hear you breathing. Is he dead?"

Diane sprang up and bent over her patient. "No," she said, half fearing that her father's inquiry was prophetic. "He is unconscious from loss of blood. Arizona----"

"Tchah! Arizona!--I want to talk to you. Here, give me your hand and lead me to the bedside. I will sit here. This place is unfamiliar."

Diane did as she was bid. She was pale. A strained look was in her soft brown eyes, but there was determination in the set of her lips.

"What is the matter with you, girl?" her father asked. The softness of his speech in no way disguised the iciness of his manner. "You're shaking."

"There's nothing the matter with me," she replied pointedly.

"Ah, thinking of him." His hand reached out until it rested on one of Tresler's legs. His remark seemed to require no answer, and a silence fell while Diane watched the eyes so steadily directed upon the sick man. Presently he went on. "These men have done well. They have saved the cattle. Arizona mentioned the sheriff. I don't know much about it yet, but it seems to me this boy must have contrived their a.s.sistance.

Smart work, if he did so."

"Yes, father, and brave," added the girl in a low tone.