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And the man's face was worth studying. There was no smile, no light in it, and even very little interest. His smooth, tawny skin and aquiline features, his black hair and blacker eyes, in their dark setting, had a devilish look to Tresler's imagination. He even found himself wondering where the good looks he had observed when they met before had vanished to.
The spirit of the meeting was antagonistic; a spirit which, in the days to come, was to develop into a merciless hatred. Nor was the reason far to seek, nor could it have been otherwise. Jake looked out upon the world through eyes that distorted everything to suit his own brutal nature, while Tresler's simple manliness was the result of his youthful training as a public schoolboy.
Arizona shot round and peered into Tresler's face. "An' you'll do that sure?" "Certainly. I'm not going to sleep in a filthy bunk." "Say, you're the most cur'usest 'tenderfoot' I've seen. Shake!" And again the two men gripped hands. That first evening around the bunkhouse Tresler learned a lot about his new home, and, incidentally, the most artistic manner of cursing the flies.
Tresler's tone had suddenly changed to one of icy coldness. The flash of a white dress had caught his eye. "There's a lady present," he added abruptly. And at the same time he released his hold on the smooth butt of a heavy revolver he had been gripping in his pocket. What might have happened but for the timely interruption it would be impossible to say.
Tresler's thoughts went back to his home; and, he told himself, none of the horsewomen he had known could have displayed such an abundant grace in the saddle with their rigid habits and smart hats. There was nothing of the riding-school here; just the horsemanship that is so much a natural instinct. And so they rode on to the ranch. All was still and drowsy about the ranch.
Then Bessie pawed the ground, and thrust her nose into the face of Tresler's horse in friendly, caressing fashion; and the movement broke the spell. "Urge me no further, Mr. Tresler," Diane exclaimed appealingly. "Do not make me say something I have no right to say; something I might have cause to regret all my life.
If the foreman's taunt had roused him, it was nothing to the effect of his reply. Jake crossed the room in a couple of strides and his furious face was thrust close into Tresler's, and, in a voice hoarse with passion, he fairly gasped at him "I ain't fergot. An' by G " But he got no further. A movement on the part of the rancher interrupted him.
Then without waiting for a reply he went on, "But ther', I guess it wouldn't do sendin' you. You ain't the sort to get scrappin' hoss thieves. It wants grit. It's tough work an' needs tough men. Pshaw!" Tresler's blood was up in a moment. He forgot discretion and everything else under the taunt. "I don't know that it wouldn't do, Jake," he retorted promptly.
But he, too, in spite of his own good reason, moved on to the verandah with the rest. And Jake saw the movement and understood, and he reached the verandah first and warned the blind man of their coming. And Tresler's prophecy was more than fulfilled. As they came they saw the rancher rise from his seat. He faced them, a tall, awesome figure in his long, full dressing-gown.
His convalescence threw him a good deal into Tresler's company, and a sort of uncertain friendship had sprung up between them. Arizona at first tolerated him, protested scathingly at his failures in the craft, and ended by liking him; while the other cordially appreciated the open, boisterous honesty of the cowpuncher.
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