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Updated: June 21, 2025
Now like a whipped child, he stood with his back to the wall, a picture of hate and fury. With Jake silenced Marbolt turned on him. His words were few but sufficient. "And as for you, Tresler," he said coldly, "keep that tongue of yours easy. I am master here." There was a brief silence, then the rancher returned to the subject that had caused the struggle.
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.
They accepted each other's assurances with the suavity of practiced lawyers, each without an atom of credence or good faith. "Just so," Jake responded, with a ludicrous attempt at benignity. "An' it's due to the fact that you've been smart enough to light on the right trail, that I'm ready to tell you something I've been holding up from everybody, even Marbolt himself.
There was a pleasant feeling of excitement and uncertainty in his position, and he followed Jake all the more eagerly to the presence of the rancher, only wondering in what manner the forthcoming interview was to affect matters. Julian Marbolt had not left his bedroom when they arrived at the house.
She spoke without pausing on her way; it seemed that she feared observation. "Don't forget, Mr. Tresler, what I told you about Jake. Be warned. In spite of what you say, you do not know him." "Thanks, Miss Marbolt," he replied warmly; "I shall not forget." Diane was about to speak again, but the voice of her father, harsh and strident enough now, reached them from the hallway.
Marbolt had obtained a contract to supply the troops with a large band of remounts, and the terms demanded that each animal must be saddle-broken. Tresler, with the rest, was up betimes. He, too, was going to take his part in the horse-breaking. While breakfast was in the course of preparation he went out to overhaul his saddle. There must be no doubtful straps in his gear.
They're sold, you remember, an' ther's only them two Breeds, Jim an' Lag Henderson, in charge of 'em. Why, it 'ud be pie, a dead soft snap fer Red Mask's gang. An' the station's that lonesome. All o' twenty mile from here." Julian Marbolt sat thinking for a moment. "Yes, you're right," he agreed at last. "We'll send out extra night guards.
Fyles visited Julian Marbolt frequently, holding long consultations with him; and a significant fact was that his men made the place a calling station. He realized that the long arm of the law was seriously at work, and he wondered in what direction the real object lay, for he quite understood that these open movements, in all probability, cloaked the real suspicions.
He was a slave-trader once, and no doubt he stocked his ranch originally by raiding the Indians' cattle. Then, when white people came around, and the Indians disappeared, he continued his depredations on less open lines." "Ah! slave-trader, was he? Who said?" "Miss Marbolt innocently told me he once traded in the Indies in 'black ivory. She did not understand." "Just so ah, here is the wagon."
I I don't account for it. I only warn you not to take your story to Jake." Tresler drew a step nearer, and stood so close to her that her dungaree skirt was almost touching him. He looked up in a manner that compelled her gaze. "You do account for it, Miss Marbolt," he said emphatically. Nor did the girl attempt denial. Just for a moment there was a breathless silence.
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