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Updated: June 16, 2025
But I swar to Gawd ef I'm pollutin' this airth on the day as sees Jake worritin' Miss Dianny, I'll perf'rate him till y' can't tell his dog-gone carkis from a parlor cinder-sifter." "Tell me how I can help, and count me in to the limit," said Tresler, catching, in his eagerness, something of the other's manner of expression.
Blindly she raced for the top, at an angle that made her rider cling to the horn of his saddle to keep himself from sliding off over the cantle. They passed Fyles struggling laboriously to reach the top. The Lady Jezebel seemed to shoot past him and leave him standing. And as he went Tresler called out "How much start has he?" "He's topping it now," the sheriff replied.
The affairs of the ranch were taken in hand by Fyles. Everything was temporarily under his control, and an admirable administrator he proved. Nor could Tresler help thinking how much better he seemed suited by such pastoral surroundings than by the atmosphere of his proper calling. But this appointment only lasted a week.
The other's eyes had finally settled themselves on the magnificent pair of balloon-shaped corduroy riding-breeches Tresler was wearing, which had now resettled themselves into their natural voluminous folds. He made no audible reply. He was engrossed with the novel vision before him. A backward jerk of the head was the only sign he permitted himself. Tresler looked at the house indicated.
And Tresler knew that his presence was accepted, and that he had scored the first point. At once he assumed a businesslike air. He sat up and generally displayed a briskness quite out of keeping with his former attitude. "I suppose I ought to apologize for my intrusion," he began, "but when you have heard my story, you will understand its necessity. I had a busy night last night."
"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."
"Never mind father. Come along." The man's horse-like attempt at lightness had its effect. The girl pulled herself together. She realized the emergency. She knew that Tresler needed her help. Arizona's manner had only emphasized the gravity of his case. She ran on ahead, and the other, bearing the unconscious man, followed. "Never mind father," Arizona muttered doubtfully. "Wal, here goes."
"Yes; the latter must have come anyway." The girl sighed, and her eyes shone with a brooding light. And Tresler, glancing at her, recognized the sadness of expression he had noticed at their first meeting, and which, he was soon to learn, was habitual to her. "I suppose so," she murmured in response. Then she roused herself, and spoke almost sharply. "What would you have done had he struck you?
But like all such overshadowed delights, their end came swiftly, ruthlessly. The signal was given at the midday meal. The rancher, who had never mentioned Tresler's name since that memorable night, rose from the table to retire to his room. At the door he paused and turned. "That man, Tresler," he said, in his smooth, even tones. "He's well enough to go to the bunkhouse. See to it."
He thought he could even hear the sound of his own temples beating. He had no fear, but he was expectant. Then Jake broke the silence, and his voice, though harsh, was low; it was muffled with a throatiness caused by the passion that moved him. "You'll never marry that gal," he said. And Tresler was round on him in an instant, and his face was alight with a cold smile. "I will," he said.
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