The Night Riders Part 7

"Yes. I have now come to report myself ready for work," Tresler replied at once. He adopted a cold business tone, deeming it best to observe this from the start.

To his surprise Jake became almost cordial. "Good. We can do with some hands, sure. Had a pleasant talk with the old man?" The question came indifferently, but a sidelong glance accompanied it as the foreman turned away and gazed out over the distant prairie.

"I have," replied Tresler, shortly. "What are my orders, and where do I sleep?"

"Then you don't sleep up at the house?" Jake inquired, pretending surprise. There was a slight acidity in his tone.

"That is hardly to be expected when the foreman sleeps down there."

Tresler nodded, indicating the outbuildings.

"That's so," observed the other, thoughtfully. "No, I guess the old man don't fancy folk o' your kidney around," he went on, relapsing into the speech of the bunkhouse unguardedly. "Mebbe it's different wi' the other."

Tresler could have struck him as he beheld the meaning smile that accompanied the fellow's words.

"Where do I sleep?" he demanded sharply.

"Oh, I guess you'll roll into the bunkhouse. Likely the boys'll fix you for blankets till your truck comes along. As for orders, why, we start work at sunup, and Slushy dips out breakfast before that. Guess I'll put you to work in the morning; you can't do a deal yet, but maybe you'll learn."

"Then I'm not wanted to-night?"

"Guess not." Jake broke off. Then he turned sharply and faced his man.

"I've just one word to say to you 'fore you start in," he went on. "We kind o' make allowance fer 'tenderfeet' around here--once. After that, we deal accordin'--savee? Say, ther' ain't no tea-parties customary around this layout."

Tresler smiled. If he had been killed for it he must have smiled. In that last remark the worthy Jake had shown his hand. And the latter saw the smile, and his face darkened with swift-rising anger. But he had evidently made up his mind not to be drawn, for, with a curt "S'long," he abruptly strode off, leaving the other to make his way to the bunkhouse.

The men had not yet come in for their evening meal, but he found Arizona disconsolately sitting on a roll of blankets just outside the door of the quarters. He was chewing steadily, with his face turned prairieward, gazing out over the tawny plains as though nothing else in the world mattered to him.

He looked up casually as Tresler came along, and edged along the blankets to make room, contenting himself with a laconic--

"Set."

The two men sat in silence for some moments. The pale-faced cowpuncher seemed absorbed in deep reflection. Tresler was thinking too; he was thinking of Jake, whom he clearly understood was in love with his employer's daughter. It was patent to the veriest simpleton. Not only that, but he felt that Diane herself knew it. The way the foreman had desisted from his murderous onslaught upon himself at her coming was sufficient evidence without the jealousy he had betrayed in his reference to tea-parties. Now he understood, too, that it was because the blind man was asleep, and in going up to the house he, Tresler, would only meet Diane, and probably spend a pleasant afternoon with her until her father awoke, that Jake's unreasoning jealousy had been aroused, and he had endeavored to forcibly detain him. He felt glad that he had learned these things so soon. All such details would be useful.

At last Arizona turned from his impa.s.sive contemplation of the prairie.

"Wal?" he questioned. And he conveyed a world of interrogation in his monosyllable.

"Jake says I begin work to-morrow. To-night I sleep in the bunkhouse."

"Yes, I know."

"You know?" Tresler looked around in astonishment.

"Guess Jake's bin 'long. Say, I'll shoot that feller, sure--'less some interferin' cuss gits along an' does him in fust."

"What's up? Anything fresh?"

For answer Arizona spat forcibly into the little pool of tobacco-juice on the ground before him. Then, with a vicious clenching of the teeth--

"He's a swine."

"Which is a libel on hogs," observed the other, with a smile.

"Libel?" cried Arizona, his wild eyes rolling, and his lean nostrils dilating as his breath came short and quick. "Yes, grin; grin like a blazin' six-foot ape. Mebbe y'll change that grin later, when I tell you what he's done."

"Nothing he could do would surprise me after having met him."

"No." Arizona had calmed again. His volcanic nature was a study.

Tresler, although he had only just met this man, liked him for his very wildness. "Say, pardner," he went on quietly, reaching one long, lean hand toward him, "shake! I guess I owe you grat.i.tood fer bluffin'

that hog. We see it all. Say, you've got grit." And the fierce eyes looked into the other's face.

Tresler shook the proffered hand heartily. "But what's his latest achievement?" he asked, eager to learn the fresh development.

"He come along here 'bout you. Sed we wus to fix you up in pore Dave Steele's bunk."

"Yes? That's good. I rather expected he'd have me sleep on the floor."

Arizona gave a snort. His anger was rising again, but he checked it.

"Say," he went on, "guess you don't know a heap. Ther' ain't bin a feller slep in that bunk since Dave--went away."

"Why?" Tresler's interest was agog.

"Why?" Arizona's voice rose. "'Cos it's mussed all up wi' a crazy man's blood. A crazy man as wus killed right here, kind of, by Jake Harnach."

"I heard something of it."

"Heerd suthin' of it? Wal, I guess ther' ain't a feller around this prairie as ain't yelled hisself hoa.r.s.e 'bout Dave. Say, he wus the harmlessest lad as ever jerked a rope or slung a leg over a stock saddle. An' as slick a hand as ther' ever wus around this ranch. I tell ye he could teach every one of us, he wus that handy; an' that's a long trail, I 'lows. Wal, we wus runnin' in a bunch of outlaws fer brandin', an' he wus makin' to rope an old bull. Howsum he got him kind o' awkward. The rope took the feller's horns. 'Fore Dave could loose it that bull got mad, an' went squar' for the corral walls an'

broke a couple o' the bars. Dave jumped fer it an' got clear. Then Jake comes hollerin' an' swearin' like a stuck hog, an' Dave he took it bad. Y' see no one could handle an outlaw like Dave. He up an' let fly at Jake, an' cussed back. Wot does Jake do but grab up a brandin'

iron an' lay it over the boy's head. Dave jest dropped plumb in his tracks. Then we got around and hunched him up, an' laid him out in his bunk, bleedin' awful. We plastered him, an' doctored him, an' after a whiles he come to. He lay on his back fer a month, an' never a sign o'

Jake or the blind man come along, only Miss Dianny. She come, an' we did our best. But arter a month he got up plump crazed an' silly-like.

He died back ther' in Forks soon after." Arizona paused significantly.

Then he went on. "No, sir, ther' ain't bin a feller put in that bunk sense, fer they ain't never gotten pore Dave's blood off'n it. Say, ther' ain't a deal as 'ud scare us fellers, but we ain't sleepin' over a crazy man's blood."

"Which, apparently, I've got to do," Tresler said sharply. Then he asked, "Is it the only spare bunk?"

"No. Ther's Thompson's, an' ther's Ma.s.sy's."

"Then what's the object?"

"Cussedness. It's a kind o' delicate attention. It's fer to git back on you, knowin' as us fellers 'ud sure tell you of Dave. It's to kind o' hint to you what happens to them as runs foul o' him. What's like to happen to you."

Arizona's fists clenched, and his teeth gritted with rage as he deduced his facts. Tresler remained calm, but it did him good to listen to the hot-headed cowpuncher, and he warmed toward him.

"I'm afraid I must disappoint him," he said, when the other had finished. "If you fellows will lend me some blankets, I'll sleep in Ma.s.sy's or Thompson's bunk, and Mr. Jake can go hang."

Arizona shot round and peered into Tresler's face. "An' you'll do that--sure?"

"Certainly. I'm not going to sleep in a filthy bunk."