The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana. Cullum Ridgwell
wondering if he were in bed yet, if Diane had retired, and in which portion of the house she slept.
His pipe had gone out again, and he paused to relight it. He had his matches in his hand, and was about to strike one, when suddenly a light flashed out in front of him. It came and was gone in a second. Yet it lasted long enough for him to realize that it came from a window, and the window, he knew, from its position, must be the window of Julian Marbolt’s bedroom.
He waited for it to reappear, but the house remained in darkness; and, after a moment’s deliberation, he realized its meaning. The door of the blind man’s room must be opposite the window, and probably it was the opening of it that had revealed the lamplight in the hall. The thought suggested the fact that the rancher had just gone to bed.
He turned his attention again to his pipe; but he seemed destined not to finish his smoke. Just as he had the match poised for a second time, his ears, now painfully acute in the stillness about him, caught the sound of horses’ hoofs moving through the forest.
They sounded quite near; he even heard the gush of the animals’ nostrils. He peered into the depths. Then, suddenly realizing the strangeness of his own position lurking so near the house and under cover of the forest at that hour of the night, he dropped down in the shadow of a low bush. Nor was it any too soon, for, a moment or two later, he beheld two horsemen moving slowly toward him out of the black depths. They came on until they were within half a dozen yards of him, and almost at the edge of the woods. Then they drew up and sat gazing out over the ranch in silent contemplation.
Tresler strained his eyes to obtain a knowledge of their appearance, but the darkness thwarted him. He could see the vague outline of the man nearest him, but it was so uncertain that he could make little of it. One thing only he ascertained, and that was because the figure was silhouetted against the starlit sky. The man seemed to have his face covered with something that completely concealed his profile.
The whole scene passed almost before he realized it. The horsemen had appeared so suddenly, and were gone so swiftly, returning through the forest the way they had come, that he was not sure but that the whole apparition had been a mere trick of imagination. Rising swiftly, he gazed after the vanished riders, and the crunching of the pine cones under the horses’ hoofs, dying slowly away as they retreated, warned him that the stealthy, nocturnal visit was no illusion, but a curious fact that needed explanation.
Just for an instant it occurred to him that it might be two of the hands out on night work around the cattle, then he remembered that the full complement were even now slumbering in the bunkhouse. Puzzled and somewhat disquieted, he turned his steps in the direction of his quarters, fully intending to go to bed; but his adventures were not over yet.
As he drew near his destination he observed the figure of a man, bearing something on his back, coming slowly toward him. A moment later he was looking down upon the diminutive person of Joe Nelson in the act of carrying a saddle upon his shoulder.
“Hello, Nelson, where are you going at this hour of the night?” he asked, as he came face to face with the little man.
The choreman deposited the saddle on the ground, and looked his man up and down before he answered.
“Wher’ am I goin’?” he said, as though he were thinking of other things. “I guess I’m doin’ a job in case I git fergittin’ by the mornin’. Jake reckons to want my saddle in the mornin’ over at the hoss corrals. But, say, why ain’t you abed, Mr. Tresler?”
“Never mind the ‘mister,’ Joe,” Tresler said amiably.
“If you’re going to the horse corrals now I’ll go with you. I’m so beastly wide awake that I can’t turn in yet.”
“Come right along, then. Guess I ain’t feelin’ that ways, sure.”
Joe jerked his saddle up and slung it across his back again, and the two men walked off in silence.
And as they walked, Joe, under cover of the darkness, eyed his companion with occasional sidelong glances, speculating as to what he wanted with him. He quite understood that his companion was not walking with him for the pleasure of his company. On his part Tresler was wondering how much he ought to tell this man – almost a stranger – of what he had seen. He felt that some one ought to know – some one with more experience than himself. He felt certain that the stealthy visit of the two horsemen was not wholesome. Such espionage pointed to something that was not quite open and aboveboard.
They reached the corrals, and Joe deposited his burden upon the wooden wall. Then he turned sharply on his companion.
“Wal, out wi’ it, man,” he demanded. “Guess you got something you’re wantin’ to git off’n your chest.”
Tresler laughed softly. “You’re pretty sharp, Joe.”
“Pretty sharp, eh?” returned the little man. “Say, it don’t need no razor to cut through the meanin’ of a ‘tenderfoot.’ Wal?”
Tresler was looking up at the saddle. It was a small, almost skeleton saddle, such as, at one time, was largely used in Texas; that was before the heavier and more picturesque Mexican saddles came into vogue among the ranchmen.
“What does Jake want that for?” he asked.
His question was an idle one, and merely put for the sake of gaining time while he arrived at a definite decision upon the other matter.
“Guess it’s fer some feller to ride to-morrow – eh? Whew!”
The choreman broke off and whistled softly. Something had just occurred to him. He measured Tresler with his eye, and then looked at the short-seated saddle with its high cantle and tall, abrupt horn in front. He shook his head.
Tresler was not heeding him. Suddenly he stopped and sat on the ground, propping his back against the corral wall, while he looked up at Joe.
“Sit down,” he said seriously; “I’ve got something rather particular I want to talk about. At least, I think it’s particular, being a stranger to the country.”
Without replying, Joe deposited himself on the ground beside his new acquaintance. His face was screwed up into the expression Tresler had begun to recognize as a smile. He took a chew of tobacco and prepared to give his best attention.
“Git goin’,” he observed easily.
“Well, look here, have we any near neighbors?”
“None nigher than Forks – ’cep’ the Breeds, an’ they’re nigh on six mile south, out toward the hills. How?”
Then Tresler told him what he had seen at the edge of the pinewoods, and the choreman listened with careful attention. At the end of his story Tresler added —
“You see, it’s probably nothing. Of course, I know nothing as yet of prairie ways and doings. No doubt it can be explained. But I argued the matter out from my own point of view, and it struck me that two horsemen, approaching the ranch under cover of the forest and a dark night, and not venturing into the open after having arrived, simply didn’t want to be seen. And their not wishing to be seen meant that their object in coming wasn’t – well, just above suspicion.”
“Tol’ble reasonin’,” nodded Joe, chewing his cud reflectively.
“What do you make of it?”
“A whole heap,” Joe said, spitting emphatically. “What do I make of it? Yes, that’s it, a whole heap. Guess that feller you see most of had his face covered. Was that cover a mask?”
“It might have been.”
“A red mask?”
“I couldn’t see the color. It was too dark. Might have been.”
Joe turned and faced his companion, and, hunching his bent knees into his arms, looked squarely into his eyes.
“See here, pard, guess you never heard o’ hoss thieves? They ain’t likely to mean much to you,” he said, with some slight contempt. Then he added, by way of rubbing it in, “You bein’ a ‘tenderfoot.’ Guess you ain’t heard tell of Red Mask an’ his gang,