THE BEARDING OF JAKE
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.
His head was racked with excruciating pain, which hammered through his
brain with every pulsation of his throbbing temples. But it was not
that alone which kept him awake. Thought ran riot with him, and his
mind flew from one scene to another without concentration, without
continuity, until he felt that if sleep did not come he must go mad.
He had talked late into the night with his shrewd counselor, Joe; and
the net result of their talk was that all their theories, suspicions,
deductions, were wrong. Jake and Red Mask were not one and the same.
In all probability Jake had nothing to do with the ruffianly raider.
They were driven to this ultimate conclusion by the simple fact that
while Tresler had been witnessing the movements of the masked
night-rider, Joe had been zealously dogging the footsteps of the
foreman in the general interests of his mistress. And that
individual's footsteps had never once taken him to the rancher's
private stable.
Jake had evidently been out on the spy himself. Of this Joe was
certain, for the man had scoured the woods in the direction of the
river; he had watched the trail from the rancher's stable for nearly
half an hour; he had crept up to the verandah of the house under cover
of the darkness, seeking Joe knew not what, but always on the alert,
always with the unmistakable patience of a man by no means new to such
a task. Once Joe had missed him in the woods. Somehow, like a gigantic
shadow, Jake had contrived to give him the slip. And this, on
comparing notes, the two friends found coincided with the time of the
episode of the unclosed window. Doubtless he had been the author of
that matter. They made up their minds that he had witnessed the scene
in the kitchen, which, of course, accounted for his later dastardly
attack. Who had Jake been out looking for? What was the object of his
espionage? Had he been looking for him, Tresler, or some one else? And
herein lay the mystery. Herein, perhaps, lay the key to the greater
problem they sought to solve.
Hour after hour Tresler lay awake, lost in a confusion of thought
which refused his best efforts to straighten out. The acuteness of the
pain in his head set his mind almost wandering. And he found himself
aimlessly reviewing the events since his coming to Mosquito Bend. He
tossed wearily, drearily, on his unyielding palliasse, driven to a
realization of his own utter impotence. What had he done in the cause
he had espoused? Nothing--simply nothing. Worse; he had thrust himself
like some clumsy, bull-headed elephant, into the girl's life, into the
midst of her troubles, without even that animal's capacity for
attaining his object by sheer might. And the result was only to
aggravate her lot; to cause Jake to hasten his plans, and add threats
to his other persecutions. And as for the raiders, they were still at
large and no nearer capture than when he had first arrived. Yes, he
told himself, he had nothing but failure to his account. And that
failure, instead of being harmlessly negative, was an aggravation of
the situation.
But at last, miserable, overwrought, and suffering as he was, sleep
came to him; a deep sleep that carried him far into the morning.
He had been left undisturbed by his comrades when they turned out at
daybreak. Joe had seen to this. He had put them off with an invention
of his fertile imagination which satisfied them. Then, having hurried
through his own immediate morning duties, he waited, with that
philosophic patience which he applied now in his declining years to
all the greater issues of his life, for his friend's awakening.
And when Tresler awoke he was wonderfully refreshed. His recuperative
faculties were remarkable. The aching of his head had passed away, and
with it the deplorable hopelessness of overnight. He sat up on his
bunk, and the first object that his gaze fell upon was the patient
figure of old Joe.
"Well--Scott! it's late. What's the time? Where are the boys? What are
you doing here?"
He fired his questions rapidly. But Joe was not to be hurried; neither
was he going to waste precious time on unnecessary talk. So he
shrugged his shoulders and indicated the departure of the men to work
with a backward jerk of his head, and, while Tresler performed his
brief toilet, got to business in his own way.
"Feelin' good?" he asked.
"Fair."
"Goin' right up to see Jake?"
"Yes. Where is he?"
"In his shack. Say," the old man shifted uneasily, "I've tho't a
crateful sence we wus yarnin' last night, I guess. Don't git shuvin'
Jake too close agin the wall. Give him your yarn easy. Kind o' talk
han'some by him. He's goin' to figger this thing out fer us. He'll git
givin' us a lead, mebbe, when he ain't calc'latin' to. Savee?"
Tresler didn't answer at once; in fact, he didn't quite see the old
man's point. He completed his toilet by buckling on his belt and
revolver. Then he prepared to depart.
"We'll see. I intend to be governed by circumstances," he said
quietly.
"Jest so. An' circumstances has the way o' governin' most things,
anyways. Guess I'm jest astin' you to rub the corners off'n them
circumstances so they'll run smooth."
Tresler smiled at the manner of the old man's advice, which was plain
enough this time.
"I see. Well, so long."
He hurried out and Joe watched him go. Then the little man rose from
his seat and went out to Teddy Jinks's kitchen on the pretense of
yarning. In reality he knew that the foreman's hut was in full view
from the kitchen window.
Tresler walked briskly across to the hut. He never in his life felt
more ready to meet Jake than he did at this moment. He depended on the
outcome of this interview for the whole of his future course. He did
not attempt to calculate the possible result. He felt that to do so
would be to cramp his procedure. He meant to work on his knowledge of
his rival's character. Herein lay his hopes of success. It was Joe who
had given him his cue. "It's the most dangerousest thing to hit a
'rattler' till you've got him good an' riled," the little man had once
said. "Then he lifts an' it's dead easy, I guess. Hit him lyin', an'
ef you don't kill him, ther's goin' to be trouble. Them critters has a
way of thinkin' hard an' quick or'nary." And Tresler meant to deal
with Jake in a similar manner. The rest must be left to the
circumstances they had discussed.
It so happened that Jake, too, was late abed that morning. Tresler
found him just finishing the breakfast Jinks had brought him. Jake's
surly "Come in," in response to his knock, brought him face to face
with the last man he desired to see in his hut at that moment. And
Tresler almost laughed aloud as the great man sprang from the table,
nearly overturning it in his angry haste.
"It's all right, Jake," he said with a smile, "I come in peace."
And the other stood for a moment eyeing him fiercely, yet not knowing
quite how to take him. Without waiting for an invitation his visitor
seated himself on the end of the bunk and stared back squarely into
the angry face. It did him good, as he remembered the events of the
night before, to thus beard this man who hated him to the point of
murder.
He waited for Jake to reply; and while his gaze wandered over the
cruel, intolerant, overbearing face he found himself speculating as to
the caste of that which lay hidden beneath the black, coarse mat of
beard.
At last the reply came, and he had expected no better.
"What in h---- are you doin' here?" Jake asked brutally. Then, as an
afterthought, "Why ain't you out on the range?"
Tresler permitted himself to lounge over on his elbow and cross his
legs with an aggravating air of ease.
"For much the same reason that you are only just finishing your grub.
I overslept myself."
And he watched Jake choke back the furious retort that suddenly leapt
to his lips. It was evident, even to the intolerant disposition of the
foreman, that it was no time for abuse and anger. This man had come to
him for some particular purpose, and it behooved him to keep guard on
himself. The doings of the night before were in his mind, and he
realized that it would be well to meet him coolly. Therefore, instead
of the outburst so natural to him, he contented himself with a cool
survey of his antagonist, while he put a non-committing inquiry.
"Wal?"
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."
If he had expected any effect from this announcement he was
disappointed. Jake's face never for a moment relaxed its grim look of
attention.
"Yes," he went on, as the foreman remained silent. "These
raiders--this Red Mask, or whatever he is called--I saw him last
night. I saw him here on this ranch."
Jake stirred. He eyed his companion as though he would read him
through and through.
"You saw--Red Mask--last night?" he said slowly.
"Yes. I saw him and one of his satellites."
"Go on." It was all the man vouchsafed, but it spoke volumes.
And Tresler at once proceeded with his story of the midnight visit of
the masked rider and his companion. He told his story in as few words
as possible, being careful to omit nothing, and laying a slight stress
on his own rambling in the neighborhood of the house. He was very
careful to confine himself to the matter of the apparition, avoiding
all allusion to the further happenings of the night. When he had
finished, which he did without any interruption from the other, Jake
spoke with quiet appreciation.
"An' you've brought the yarn to me. For any partic'lar reason?"
Tresler raised his eyebrows. "Certainly," he replied. "You are foreman
of the ranch. Mr. Marbolt's interests are yours."
"That being so, I'd like to know what you were doing around the house
at that hour of the night?" was Jake's prompt retort.
Tresler had looked for this. He knew perfectly well that Jake did not
expect his question to be answered. Didn't particularly want it
answered. It was simply to serve a purpose. He was trying to draw him.
"That is my affair, Jake. For the moment, at least, let us set
personalities on one side. No doubt we have accounts to settle. I may
as well say at once we are in each other's debt. But this matter I am
speaking of is of personal interest to everybody around the district."
All the time he was speaking, Tresler was watching for the smallest
change in Jake's manner. And as he went on his appreciation of the
fellow's capability rose. He realized that Jake was, after all,
something more than a mass of beef and muscle. As no comment was
forthcoming he went on rapidly.
"Now, last night's apparition was not altogether new to me. I saw the
same thing the first night I arrived on the ranch, but, being 'green'
at the time, it lost its significance. Now, it is different. It needs
explaining. So I have come to you. But I have not come to you without
having considered the matter as fully as it is possible for one in my
position to do. Mark me carefully. I have weighed all the details of
Red Mask's raids; considered them from all points. Time and place,
distance, the apparitions around the ranch, for those ghostly visitors
have, at times, been seen in the neighborhood by others. And all these
things so tally that they have produced a conviction in my mind that
there is a prime mover in the business to be found on this ranch."
"An' the prime mover?" Jake's interest had in no way relaxed. He
seemed to be eager to hear everything Tresler could tell him. The
latter shrugged.
"Who is there on this ranch that cannot at all times be accounted for?
Only one man. Anton--Black Anton."
A pause ensued. Tresler had played a high card. If Jake refused to be
drawn it would be awkward. The pause seemed endless and he was forced
to provoke an answer.
"Well?" he questioned sharply.
"Well," echoed the foreman; and the other noted the quiet derision in
his tone, "seems to me you've done a deal of figgering."
Tresler nodded.
Jake turned away with something very like a smile. Evidently he had
decided upon the course to be pursued. Tresler, watching him, could
not quite make up his mind whether he was playing the winning hand, or
whether his opponent was finessing for the odd trick. Jake suddenly
became expansive.
"I'd like to know how we're standin' before we go further," he said;
"though, mind you, I ain't asking. I tell you candidly I ain't got no
use for you, and I guess it would take a microscope to see your
affection for me. This bein' so, I ask myself, what has this feller
come around with his yarn to me for? I allow there's two possible
reasons which strike me as bein' of any consequence. One is that,
maybe, some'eres in the back of your head, you've a notion that I know
a heap about this racket, and sort o' wink at it, seein' Marbolt's
blind, an' draw a bit out of the game. And the other is, you're
honest, an' tryin' to play the game right. Now, I'll ask you not to
get plumb scared when I tell you I think you're dead honest about this
thing. If I didn't--wal, maybe you'd be lit out of this shack by now."
Jake reached over to the table and picked up a plug of tobacco and
tore off a chew with his great strong teeth. And Tresler could not
help marveling at the pincher-like power with which he bit through the
plug.
"Now, Tresler, there's that between us that can never let us be
friends. I'm goin' to get level with you some day. 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. 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. Mind, I haven't got the dead-gut
cinch on these folk yet, though I'm right on to 'em, sure. Anton,
that's the feller. I've tracked him from the other side of the line.
His real name's 'Tough' McCulloch, an' I guess I know as much as there
is to be known of him an' his history, which is pretty rotten. He's
wanted in Alberta for murder. Not one, but half a dozen. Say, shall I
tell you what he's doin'? He rides out of here at night, an' joins a
gang of scallywag Breeds, like himself, an' they are the crowd that
have been raiding all around us. And Anton--well, I'd like to gamble
my last dollar he's the fellow wearing the Red Mask. Say, I knew he
was out last night. He was out with two of the horses. I was around.
An' at daylight I went up to the stable while he was sleepin', an' the
dog-gone fool hadn't cleaned the saddle marks from their backs. Now,
if you're feeling like bearin' a hand in lagging this black
son-of-a---- I'm with you fair an' square. We won't shake hands, for
good reasons, but your word'll go with me."
"Nothing would suit me better."
Tresler was struggling to fathom the man's object.
"Good. Now we'll quietly go up to the stable. Maybe you can tell if a
horse has been recently saddled, even after grooming?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll show you. An' mind, Marbolt hasn't ordered one of his
private horses out. Nor ain't Miss Diane. It's Anton."
He rose and prepared to depart, but Tresler stayed him.
"One moment, Jake," he said. "I don't wish to give offense, but tell
me why, if you have discovered so much about Anton, have you let these
things go on so long? Think of the murder of Manson Orr, of Arizona's
wound, of the dozen and one outrages of which even I am aware."
Jake stood silently contemplating him for a while. Nor was there any
sign of his swift anger. He smiled faintly, and again Tresler noted
the nasty tone of derision in his voice when he answered.
"I thought maybe you'd learnt a deal out here where you find everybody
on their own. I thought you'd p'r'aps learned that it ain't wise to
raise trouble till you've got the business end of your gun pointin'
right. Can't you see there's not a cent's worth of evidence against
the man yet? Have you ever heard where he runs his cattle? Has
anybody? Has any one ever seen under that mask? Has any one been found
who could identify even his figure? No. Red Mask is a will-o'-the-wisp.
He's a ghost; and it's our business to find the body o' that ghost.
I'm not the fool to go around to Anton and say, 'You are Red Mask.'
He'd laugh in my face. An' later on I guess I'd be targettin' a shot
for him. What if I rounded to the gove'nor an' got him fired? It would
be the worst possible. Keepin' him here, and lying low, we have a
chance of puttin' him out of business. No, sir, we're dealin' with the
smartest crook west of Chicago. But I'll have him; we'll get him. I
never was bested yet. An' I'll have him, same as I get any other guy
that crosses me. Let's get on."
They moved out of the hut.
"It's been taking you some time, already," Tresler suggested with a
smile, as they moved across the open.
Jake took no umbrage. His dark face responded with a sardonic grin,
and his eyes were fiercely alight.
"Tchah!" he ejaculated impatiently. "Say, you never heard tell of a
feller gettin' his own good, an' gettin' it quick. Cattle-thieves
ain't easy handlin', an' I don't jump till I'm riled."
Tresler made no answer, and the two reached the stable without
exchanging another word. Inside they found Anton at work, cleaning
harness. He looked up as they came in, and Tresler eyed him with a
renewed interest. 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. Jake nodded to him and passed into
Bessie's stall at once.
"This is the mare, Tresler, the dandiest thing ever bred on this
ranch. Look at her points. See the coat, its color. Red roan, with
legs as black as soot. Say, she's a picture. Now I guess she'd fetch a
couple of hundred dollars away down east where you come from."
He said all this for Anton's benefit while he smoothed his hand over
Bessie's back. Tresler followed suit, feeling for the impression of
the saddle-cloth in the hair. It was there, and he went on inspecting
the legs, with the air of a connoisseur. The other saddle-horse they
treated in the same way, but the drivers were left alone. For some
minutes they stood discussing the two animals and then passed out
again. Anton had displayed not the least interest in their doings,
although nothing had escaped his keen, swift-moving eyes.
Once out of ear-shot Jake turned to Tresler.
"Wal?"
"The horses have both been saddled."
"Good. Now we've got the thing plumb located. You heard them gassin'
at the stable. You heard 'em slam the door. You saw the two come
along. An' one of 'em must have been Anton. Leastways he must have let
'em have the hosses. I guess that's an alternative. I say Anton was up
on one of them hosses, an' the other was some gorl durned Breed mate
of his. Good. We're goin' right on to see the governor."
"What to do?" asked Tresler.
"To give him your yarn," Jake said shortly.
They were half-way to the house when the foreman suddenly halted and
stared out over the lower ranch buildings at the distant pastures.
Tresler was slightly behind him as he stood, and only had a sight of
the man's profile. He did not seem to be looking at any particular
object. His attitude was one of thoughtful introspection. Tresler
waited. Things were turning out better than he had hoped, and he had
no wish but to let the arbiter of the situation take his own way. He
began to think that, whatever Jake's ulterior object might be, he was
in earnest about Anton.
At last his companion grunted and turned, and he saw at once that the
artificial comradeship of his manner had lifted, and the "Jake" he had
already learned to understand was dominant again. He saw the vicious
setting of the brows, the fiery eyes. He quite understood that
self-control was the weakest side of this man's character, and could
not long withstand the more powerful bullying nature that swayed him.
"I asked you a question back there," he said, jerking his head in the
direction of his hut, "an' you said it was your affair; an' we'd best
let personalities stand for the moment. I'd like an answer before we
go further. You reckon to be honest, I guess. Wal, now's your chance.
Tell me to my face what I've learned for myself. What were you doin'
round here last night? What were you doin' in Marbolt's kitchen?"
Tresler understood the motive of the man's insistence now. Jake was
showing him a side of his character he had hardly suspected. It was
the human nature in the man asking for a confirmation of his worst
fears, in reality his worst knowledge. For he was well aware that Jake
had witnessed the scene in the kitchen.
"As I said before, it is my affair," he responded, with an assumption
of indifference. "Still, since you insist, you may as well know first
as last. I went to see Miss Diane. I saw her----"
"An'?" There was a tense restraint in the monosyllable.
Tresler shrugged. "Miss Marbolt is my promised wife."
There was a deathly silence after his announcement. Tresler looked out
over the ranch. He seemed to see everything about him at once; even
Jake was in the strained focus, although he was not looking at him.
His nerves were strung, and seemed as though they were held in a vice.
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.
And then Jake moved on with something very like a rush. And Tresler
followed. His smile was still upon his face. But it was there of its
own accord, a nervous mask which had nothing to do with the thoughts
passing behind it.