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Updated: June 21, 2025
"You are too swift for me, Joe," Tresler said quietly. But his tone seemed to satisfy his companion, for the latter sat back in his saddle with a sigh of relief. "It takes the consent of two people to make a marriage. However," he went on, with deep earnestness, "I'll promise you this, Miss Marbolt shall never marry Jake unless it is her own wish to do so.
And you can rest satisfied he'll take nothing from you on that score. You may not know Arizona; I do." "You are confident," the other retorted, resentful at once. "I have reason to be," came the decided answer. Marbolt shook his close-cropped head. His resentment had gone from his manner again. He had few moods which he was unable to control at will. That was how it seemed to Tresler.
Tresler, watching, could not help thinking of the approach of some Eastern potentate, with his waiting courtiers and subjects rubbing their faces in the dust lest his wrath should be visited upon them. He admitted that Jake's attitude just now was his true one. At the door Julian Marbolt stood for a moment, doing by means of his wonderful hearing what his eyes failed to do for him.
Men, every one of you, I'll give a thousand dollars to the one who brings Anton back, dead or alive. Dead from preference, then he won't escape us. A thousand dollars. Now, who?" But Tresler could stand it no longer. "Don't trouble, Mr. Marbolt," he said icily. "It is no use your offering rewards. The man who has gone after Anton will find him.
"Miss Marbolt is going to be sent away until such time as I leave this ranch. Nearly three years, Jake," he finished up maliciously. Jake stood thoughtfully contemplating the other's shrunken figure. He displayed no feeling, but Tresler knew he had hit him hard. "An' she's goin', when?" he asked at last. "This day fortnight." "Ah. This day fortnight."
Marbolt, not his foreman. That, I believe," he added, pointing to the building on the hill, "is his house." Without waiting for a reply he stepped aside, and would have moved on. But Jake had swung round, and his hand fell heavily upon his shoulder. "No, you don't, my dandy cock!" he cried violently, his fingers painfully gripping the muscle under the Norfolk jacket.
Stock-raising was his object, and, to this end, he had sought out a ranch where he could thoroughly master the craft before embarking on his own enterprise. It was through official channels that he had heard of Mosquito Bend as one of the largest ranches in the country at the time, and he had at once entered into negotiations with the owner, Julian Marbolt, for a period of instruction.
Then, suddenly, he was recalled to his senses by the abrupt fading of the smile from the face before him; and he flushed with a rueful sense of guiltiness. "Fairly caught napping, Miss Marbolt," he said, in confusion. "I acknowledge the sloth, but not the implied laxness anent ranching. Believe me, I have learned an ample lesson to-day.
You see, you are a 'tenderfoot. You'll get over it later on." And the last barrier of formality was set aside. "Good," exclaimed Tresler, emphatically. "We are going to be friends, Miss Marbolt. I knew it. It was only that I feared that 'they' might ruin my chances of your approbation. You see, they've already caused me er trouble." "Yes, I think we shall be friends," Diane answered quietly.
He moved toward the hut, but at the first step the door of the dugout was flung wide, and Julian Marbolt, gun in hand, dashed out.
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