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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Might I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing? My name is John Tresler; I am on my way to Mosquito Bend, Julian Marbolt's ranch. A stranger, you see, in a strange land. No doubt you have observed that already," he finished up good-naturedly. But the other's attention was not to be diverted from the interesting spectacle of the corduroys, and he answered without shifting his gaze.
Jake was watching that strong sightless face, gazing into it with a look of bitter hatred and sinister intentness. This change so astonished Tresler that he paid no attention to the rancher's reply. And at once Marbolt's peculiar instinct asserted itself.
The rancher took him up sharply. "What do you mean?" "Arizona has no love for Anton." "Ah! And Jake. Who found him? Who was there when he died?" Marbolt's eyes had fixed themselves on Tresler's face. And the latter had no hesitation in suiting his reply to his own purpose. "I found him dead; quite dead. His death must have been instantaneous." "So." Marbolt turned back to the bed.
Arrange to get there by half-past one in the morning and don't forget your guns. There's a big bluff adjoining the house," he suggested significantly. "I shall be along, and so will the sheriff and all his men. I think there'll be a racket, and we may there, I can tell you no more. I refrained from asking Marbolt's permission; you remember what he said once before.
"Guess there's one man who's got Jake's measure, an' that's Black Anton." The butcher added a punctuating laugh, while Slum nodded. "And who's Black Anton?" asked Tresler of the saloon-keeper. "Anton? Wal, I guess he's Marbolt's private hoss keeper. He's a half-breed. French-Canadian; an' tough. Say, he's jest as quiet an' easy you wouldn't know he was around.
One is that, maybe, some'eres in the back of your head, you've a notion that I know a heap about this racket, and sort o' wink at it, seein' Marbolt's blind, an' draw a bit out of the game. And the other is, you're honest, an' tryin' to play the game right. Now, I'll ask you not to get plumb scared when I tell you I think you're dead honest about this thing.
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.
The whole scene had occurred so swiftly that Tresler simply stood aghast. The agility, the wonderful sureness and rapidity of movement on Marbolt's part were staggering. The whole thing seemed impossible, and yet he had seen it; and the meaning of the stories of this man he had listened to came home to him. He was, indeed, something to fear. The great bullying Jake was a child in his hands.
Do you think Marbolt's going to turn us all loose on the war-path? Not he. And how are two or three of us going to get a gang of ten or twelve? Besides, I believe it'll be easier to get him without a lynching party. Remember he's no ordinary cattle-rustler. I say lie low, he'll come our way, and then "
You reckon to be honest, I guess. Wal, now's your chance. Tell me to my face what I've learned for myself. What were you doin' round here last night? What were you doin' in Marbolt's kitchen?" Tresler understood the motive of the man's insistence now. Jake was showing him a side of his character he had hardly suspected.
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