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Updated: June 21, 2025
Tresler had given audible expression to his impatience, and the other abruptly withdrew his gaze from the mare. "It's interesting decidedly." "Did Marbolt tell you of the previous visits of these raiders? He knows of them." "He told me more than I had time to listen to." "How?" "He told me of the revolutionary spirit pervading the ranch." "Ah!"
It is probable that Jake, at that moment, had no fear of either man or devil. And, though Tresler could not distinguish a word, his talk was braggart, domineering, and there was a strong flavor of drink in its composition. But even so, there was a relentless purpose in it, too. "Ther' ain't no option fer you, Marbolt," Jake was saying.
But for the rest all was still. And he paced to and fro before the bunkhouse, thinking. And, strangely enough, of all the scenes he had witnessed that day, and of all the people he had met, it was the scene in which Diane Marbolt had taken part, and of her he mostly thought. Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of meeting a girl so charming that held him interested.
"You're welcome, Mr. Tresler," he said, in a low, gentle tone. "I knew you were here some time ago." Tresler was astonished at the quiet refinement of his voice. He had grown so accustomed to the high, raucous twang of the men of these wilds that it came as a surprise to him. "I hope I didn't disturb you," he answered cheerily. "Miss Marbolt told me you were sleeping, and "
"Well, what about the men for Willow Bluff, Jake?" It was Tresler who answered the question, and without a moment's hesitation. "I should like to go out there, Mr. Marbolt. Especially if there's likely to be trouble." It was the only position possible for him after what had gone before, and he knew it.
Yes, it will certainly have that effect; but I, too, have a little idea that I have been working at, and Miss Marbolt, forgive the seeming impertinence, but I want to discuss Jake again; this time from a personal point of view. You dislike Jake; more, you have shown me that you fear him." The girl hesitated before replying.
The old man's head was poised alertly for a second; then he turned swiftly in the foreman's direction. "Hah! that you, Jake?" He nodded as he spoke, and then turned back to the other. The blind man's instinct seemed something more than human. "Eh? Your father murdered, boy?" Marbolt questioned, without the least softening of tone. "Murdered?" Archie gulped down his rising emotion.
It had gone; no trace was left, not a tatter of cloth, not a spot of blood, nothing. He knew. His imaginary vision of the old-time trapper had been enacted before his very eyes. All that remained of Julian Marbolt was lying down there. Fyles and Tresler were standing in the valley below. They were gazing on the mangled remains of the rancher.
The doctor was standing beside the window gazing out over the pastures, but he turned at once as they came in. "A nasty case, Mr. Marbolt," he said, the moment the rancher had taken up his position. "A very nasty case." He was a brusque little man with a pair of keen black eyes, which he turned on the blind man curiously. "An artery cut by bullet. Small artery.
"You are right, Miss Marbolt," he said. "I promise you to do all in my power to keep the peace with Jake. But," and here he held up a finger in mock warning, "anything in the nature of a physical attack will be resented to the last." Diane nodded. She had obtained all the assurance he would give, she knew, and wisely refrained from further pressure. Now a silence fell.
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