The Night Riders: A Romance of Early Montana. Cullum Ridgwell

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СКАЧАТЬ My warning is not the idle fear of a silly girl.”

      Tresler remained silent for a moment or two. Then he asked sharply —

      “Why does your father keep him?”

      The girl shrugged her shoulders. “Jake is the finest ranchman in the country.”

      And in the silence that followed Tresler helped himself to more coffee, and finished off with cheese and crackers. Neither seemed inclined to break up the awkwardness of the pause. For the time the man’s thoughts were wandering in interested speculation as to the possibilities of his future on the ranch. He was not thinking so much of Jake, nor even of Julian Marbolt. It was of the gentler associations with the girl beside him – associations he had never anticipated in his wildest thoughts. She was no prairie-bred girl. Her speech, her manner, savored too much of civilization. Yes, he decided in his mind, although she claimed Mosquito Bend as her home since she was four, she had been educated elsewhere. His thoughts were suddenly cut short. A faint sound caught his quick ears. Then Diane’s voice, questioning him, recalled his wandering attention.

      “I understand you intend to stay with us for three years?”

      “Just as long as it will take to learn all the business of a ranch,” he answered readily. “I am going to become one of the – ”

      Again he heard the peculiar noise, and he broke off listening. Diane was listening too. It was a soft tap, tap, like some one knocking gently upon a curtained door. It was irregular, intermittent, like the tapping of a telegraph-sounder working very slowly.

      “What’s that?” he asked.

      The girl had risen, and a puzzled look was in her eyes. “The noise? Oh, it’s father,” she said, with a shadowy smile, and in a lowered tone. “Something must have disturbed him. It is unusual for him to be awake so early.”

      Now they heard a door open, and the tapping ceased. Then the door closed and the lock turned. A moment later there came the jingle of keys, and then shuffling footsteps accompanied the renewed tapping.

      Tresler was still listening. He had turned toward the door, and while his attention was fixed on the coming of the blind rancher, he was yet aware that Diane was clearing the table with what seemed to him unnecessary haste and noise. However, his momentary interest was centred upon the doorway and the passage outside, and he paid little heed to the girl’s movements. The door stood open, and as he looked out the sound of shuffling feet drew nearer; then a figure passed the opening.

      It was gone in a moment. But in that moment he caught sight of a tall man wrapped in the gray folds of a dressing-gown that reached to his feet. That, and the sharp outline of a massive head of close-cropped gray hair. The face was lost, all except the profile. He saw a long, high-bridged nose and a short, crisp grayish beard. The tapping of the stick died slowly away. And he knew that the blind man had passed out on to the verandah.

      Now he turned again to the girl, and would have spoken, but she raised a warning finger and shook her head. Then, moving toward the door, she beckoned to him to follow.

      “Father, this is Mr. Tresler.”

      Tresler found himself looking down upon a remarkable face. He acknowledged Diane’s introduction, forgetful, for the moment, of the man’s sightless eyes. He gripped the outstretched hand heartily, while he took in his first impression of a strange personality.

      They were out on the verandah. The rancher was sitting in a prim, uncushioned armchair. He had a strong, well-moulded, pale face, the sightless eyes of which held the attention. Tresler at once appreciated Shaky’s description of them.

      They were dreadful eyes. The pupils were there, and, in a measure, appeared natural except for their enormous size. They were black, jet black, and divided from what should have been the whites by minute rings of blue, the only suspicion of iris they possessed. But it was the whites that gave them their dreadful expression. They were scarlet with inflammation – an inflammation which extended to the rims of the lids and had eaten away the lashes. Of the rest of the face it was impossible for him to form much of an opinion. The iron-gray brows were depressed as though with physical pain, and so obliterated all natural expression. And the beard shut out the indications which the mouth and chin might have afforded.

      “You’re welcome, Mr. Tresler,” he said, in a low, gentle tone. “I knew you were here some time ago.”

      Tresler was astonished at the quiet refinement of his voice. He had grown so accustomed to the high, raucous twang of the men of these wilds that it came as a surprise to him.

      “I hope I didn’t disturb you,” he answered cheerily. “Miss Marbolt told me you were sleeping, and – ”

      “You didn’t disturb me – at least, not in the way you mean. You see, I have developed a strange sensitiveness – a sort of second sight,” he laughed a little bitterly. “I awoke by instinct the moment you approached the house, and heard you come in. The loss of one sense, you see, has made others more acute. Well, well, so you have come to learn ranching? Diane” – the blind man turned to his daughter – “describe Mr. Tresler to me. What does he look like? Forgive me, my dear sir,” he went on, turning with unerring instinct to the other. “I glean a perfect knowledge of those about me in this way.”

      “Certainly.” The object of the blind man’s interest smiled over at the girl.

      Diane hesitated in some confusion.

      “Go on, child,” her father said, with a touch of impatience in his manner.

      Thus urged she began. “Mr. Tresler is tall. Six feet. Broad-shouldered.”

      The man’s red, staring eyes were bent on his pupil with a steady persistency.

      “Yes, yes,” he urged, as the girl paused.

      “Dressed in – er fashionable riding costume.”

      “His face?”

      “Black hair, steel-blue eyes, black eyelashes and brows. Broad forehead – ”

      “Any lines?” questioned the blind man.

      “Only two strong marks between the brows.”

      “Go on.”

      “Broad-bridged, rather large nose; well-shaped mouth, with inclination to droop at the corners; broad, split chin; well-rounded cheeks and jaw.”

      “Ha! clean-shaven, of course – yes.”

      The rancher sat silent for some moments after Diane had finished her description. His lips moved, as though he were talking to himself; but no words came to those waiting. At last he stirred, and roused from his reverie.

      “You come from Springfield, Mr. Tresler, I understand?” he said pleasantly.

      “Yes.”

      “Um. New England. A good country that breeds good men,” he nodded, with an expression that was almost a smile. “I’m glad to be able to welcome you; I only wish I could see. However,” he went on kindly, “you will be able to learn ranching in all its branches here. We breed horses and cattle. You’ll find it rough. My foreman is not exactly gentle, but, believe me, he knows his business. He is the finest ranchman in the country, and I owe much of my success to him. You must get on the right side of Jake, though. It requires finding – the right side, I mean – but it is worth seeking.”

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