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Updated: June 29, 2025
But just now, as you said, we can let things bide. I say you're honest in this thing, and if you choose to be honest with me I'll be honest with you." One word flashed through Tresler's brain: "finesse." "I'm glad you think that way, Jake," he said seriously. "My object is to get to the bottom of this matter." It was a neat play in the game, the way in which these two smoothed each other down.
Tresler saw the trap the wily police officer had laid for him and refused the bait. Evidently the blind man had told his version of that morning's doings, and the sheriff wished to learn the men's side of it. Probably his, Tresler's. This calm, cold man seemed to depend in no way upon verbal answers for the information he desired, for he went on without any appearance of expecting a reply.
"But it ain't no use. Guess I couldn't sleep yet." "Well, please yourself. I'm going to watch till daylight." Tresler's manner was quietly decided, and Arizona seemed to accept it. "Wal, ef it hits you that a-ways I'll jest set around till I git sleepy."
The rancher stood over the dead man in silence for some minutes. Then, to Tresler's horror, he broke out into a low-voiced lamentation, the hypocrisy of which made him want to seize him by the throat and choke the words ere they were uttered. "My poor old Jake!" he said, with infinite pity. "Poor old Jake!" he repeated, addressing the dead man sorrowfully.
"Did you know the man?" he asked. "Never set eyes on him. But I guess I shall some day." And Tresler's decision was irrevocably confirmed. "And the 'gun' message?" "Wal, it's a way they have in Texas," replied Arizona. "A loaded gun is a mean sort o' challenge. It's a challenge which ain't fer the present zacly. Guess it holds good fer life. Et means 'on sight." "I understand."
And, as something of this flashed through Tresler's brain, another thought came with it, prompted by the presence of Arizona, who was now on his knees beside him. "It's Anton, Arizona," he said. "Jake riled him. He shot him, and has bolted through the wood, back there, mounted on one of Marbolt's horses. He's making for the hills. Quick, here, listen! the others are coming.
Both horses wheeled round and raced out of their improvised fort, and Tresler, following the keen-witted man, appreciated his resource as he darted into another angle between two other corrals. The darkness favored them, and the rustlers swept by. Arizona only waited long enough for them to get well clear, then his gun rang out again, and Tresler's too. But the game was played out.
Then the authorities drafted a man to relieve him for the more urgent business of the investigation into the death of the rancher and his foreman, and the trial of the half-breed raiders captured at Widow Dangley's. Diane, acting on Tresler's advice, had taken up her abode with Mrs. Doc.
They led her out of the corral, and Arizona's saddle was brought and the stirrups adjusted to Tresler's requirements. She was taken well clear of the buildings into the open, and Jacob, with the subtlety and art acquired by long practice in breaking horses, proceeded to saddle her.
"But, Joe, I saw the night-riders go out to-night. Not more than half an hour before the storm came on." The little man made no answer, but quietly urged his patient forward in the direction of the bunkhouse. That night was one that lived long in Tresler's memory. Weary in mind and body, he was yet unable to sleep when at last he sought his bunk.
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