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  The Night-Riders

  A Romance of Early Montana

  By

  RIDGWELL CULLUM

  _Author of "The Watchers of the Plains," "The Sheriff of Dyke Hole," "The Trail of the Axe," "The One-Way Trail," etc._

  PHILADELPHIA GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY PUBLISHERS

  Copyright, 1913, by

  GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY

  _Published February, 1913_

  _All rights reserved_ Printed in U. S. A.

  He took her in his powerful arms and drew her to hisbreast]

  Contents

  I. IN THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES 9

  II. MOSQUITO BEND 26

  III. THE BLIND MAN 46

  IV. THE NIGHT-RIDERS 68

  V. TRESLER BEGINS HIS EDUCATION 82

  VI. THE KILLING OF MANSON ORR 104

  VII. WHICH DEALS WITH THE MATTER OF DRINK 127

  VIII. JOE NELSON INDULGES IN A LITTLE MATCH-MAKING 141

  IX. TRESLER INVOLVES HIMSELF FURTHER; THE LADY JEZEBEL IN A FREAKISH MOOD 157

  X. A WILD RIDE 177

  XI. THE TRAIL OF THE NIGHT-RIDERS 192

  XII. THE RISING OF A SUMMER STORM 213

  XIII. THE BEARDING OF JAKE 232

  XIV. A PORTENTOUS INTERVIEW 248

  XV. AT WILLOW BLUFF 263

  XVI. WHAT LOVE WILL DO 285

  XVII. THE LIGHTED LAMP 301

  XVIII. THE RENUNCIATION 315

  XIX. HOT UPON THE TRAIL 332

  XX. BY THE LIGHT OF THE LAMP 349

  XXI. AT WIDOW DANGLEY'S 364

  XXII. THE PURSUIT OF RED MASK 381

  XXIII. A RETURN TO THE LAND OF THE PHILISTINES 395

  XXIV. ARIZONA 412

  Illustrations

  He Took Her in His Powerful Arms and Drew Her to His Breast _Frontispiece_

  A Moment Later He Beheld Two Horsemen _Facing page_ 74

  Left Alone with her Patient, She had Little to Do but Reflect _Facing page_ 302

  The Night-Riders

  CHAPTER I

  IN THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES

  Forks Settlement no longer occupies its place upon the ordnance map ofthe state of Montana. At least not _the_ Forks Settlement--the onewhich nestled in a hollow on the plains, beneath the shadow of theRocky Mountains. It is curious how these little places do contrive toslip off the map in the course of time. There is no doubt but thatthey do, and are wholly forgotten, except, perhaps, by those whoactually lived or visited there. It is this way with all growingcountries, and anywhere from twenty to thirty years ago Montana wasdistinctly a new country.

  It was about '85 that Forks Settlement enjoyed the height of itsprosperity--a prosperity based on the supply of dry-goods andmachinery to a widely scattered and sparse population of smallranchers and farmers. These things brought it into existence and keptit afloat for some years. Then it gradually faded from existence--justas such places do.

  When John Tresler rode into Forks he wondered what rural retreat hehad chanced upon. He didn't wonder in those words, his language wasmuch more derogatory to the place than that.

  It was late one afternoon when his horse ambled gently on to the greenpatch which served Forks as a market-place. He drew up and lookedaround him for some one to give him information. The place was quitedeserted. It was a roasting hot day, and the people of Forks were notgiven to moving about much on hot days, unless imperative businessclaimed them. As there were only two seasons in the year when such athing was likely to happen, and this was not one of them, no one wasstirring.

  The sky was unshaded by a single cloud. Tresler was tired, stiff, andconsumed by a sponge-like thirst, for he was unused to long hours inthe saddle. And he had found a dreary monotony in riding over theendless prairie lands of the West.

  Now he found himself surrounded by an uncertain circle of woodenhouses. None of them suggested luxury, but after the heaving rollersof grass-land they suggested companionship and life. And just now thatwas all the horseman cared about.

  He surveyed each house in turn, searching for a single human face. Andat last he beheld a window full of faces staring curiously at him fromthe far side of the circle. It was enough. Touching his jaded horse'sflanks he rode over toward it.

  Further life appeared now in the form of a small man who edged shylyround the angle of the building and stood gazing at him. The strangerwas a queer figure. His face was as brown as the surface of a prairietrail and just as scored with ruts. His long hair and flowing beardwere the color of matured hay. His dress was simple and in keepingwith his face; moleskin trousers, worn and soiled, a blue serge shirt,a shabby black jacket, and a fiery handkerchief about his neck, whilea battered prairie hat adorned the back of his head.

  Tresler pulled his horse up before this welcome vision and slidstiffly to the ground, while the little man slanted his eyes over hisgeneral outfit.

  "Is this Forks Settlement?" the newcomer asked, with an ingratiatingsmile. He was a manly looking fellow with black hair and steel-blueeyes; he was dressed in a plain Norfolk jacket and riding kit. He wasnot particularly handsome, but possessed a strong, reliant face.

  The stranger closed his eyes in token of acquiescence.

  "Ur-hum," he murmured.

  "Will you point me out the hotel?"

  The other's eyes had finally settled themselves on the magnificentpair of balloon-shaped corduroy riding-breeches Tresler was wearing,which had now resettled themselves into their natural voluminousfolds.

  He made no audible reply. He was engrossed with the novel visionbefore him. A backward jerk of the head was the only sign he permittedhimself.

  Tresler looked at the house indicated. He felt in some doubt, and notwithout reason. The place was a mere two-storied shanty, all askew andgenerally unpromising.

  "Can I--that is, does the proprietor take--er--guests?" he asked.

  "Guess Carney takes most anythin'," came the easy reply.

  The door of the hotel opened and two men came out, eyeing the newcomerand his horse critically. Then they propped themselves in leisurelyfashion against the door-casing, and chewed silently, while they gazedabroad with marked unconcern.

  Tresler hazarded another question. He felt strange in this company. Itwas his first real acquaintance with a prairie settlement, and hedidn't quite know what to expect.

  "I wonder if there is any one to see to my horse," he said with somehesitation.

  "Hitch him to the tie-post an' ast in ther'," observed theuncommunicative man, pointing to a post a few yards from the door, butwithout losing interest in the other's nether garments.

  "That sounds reasonable."

  Tresler moved off and secured his horse and loosened thesaddle-girths.
/>   "Pardon me, sir," he said, when he came back, his well-trimmed sixfeet towering over the other's five feet four. "Might I ask whom Ihave the pleasure of addressing? My name is John Tresler; I am on myway to Mosquito Bend, Julian Marbolt's ranch. A stranger, you see, ina strange land. No doubt you have observed that already," he finishedup good-naturedly.

  But the other's attention was not to be diverted from the interestingspectacle of the corduroys, and he answered without shifting his gaze.

  "My name's Ranks--gener'ly called 'Slum.' Howdy."

  "Well, Mr. Ranks----"

  "Gener'ly called 'Slum,'" interrupted the other.

  "Mr. Slum, then----" Tresler smiled.

  "Slum!"

  The man's emphasis was marked. There was no cheating him of his due."Slum" was his sobriquet by the courtesy of prairie custom. "Ranks"was purely a paternal heirloom and of no consequence at all.

  "Well, Slum," Tresler laughed, "suppose we go and sample Carney'srefreshments. I'm tired, and possess a thirst."

  He stepped toward the doorway and looked back. Mr. Ranks had notmoved. Only his wondering eyes had followed the other's movements.

  "Won't you join me?" Tresler asked. Then, noting the fixed stare inthe man's eyes, he went on with some impatience, "What the dickens areyou staring at?" And, in self-defense, he was forced into a survey ofhis own riding-breeches.

  Slum looked up. A twinkle of amusement shone beneath his heavy brows,while a broad grin parted the hair on his face.

  "Oh, jest nothin'," he said amiably. "I wer' kind o' figgerin' outwhat sort of a feller them pants o' yours wus made for." He doused thebrown earth at his feet with tobacco juice. Then shaking his headthoughtfully, a look of solemn wonder replaced the grin. "Say," headded, "but he must 'a' bin a dandy chunk of a man."

  Tresler was about to reply. But a glance at Mr. Ranks, and an audiblesnigger coming from the doorway, suddenly changed his mind. He swunground to face a howl of laughter; and he understood.

  "The drinks are on me," he said with some chagrin. "Come on, all ofyou. Yes, I'm a 'tenderfoot.'"

  And it was the geniality of his reply that won him a place in thesociety of Forks Settlement at once. In five minutes his horse wasstabled and cared for. In five minutes he was addressing the occupantsof the saloon by their familiar nicknames. In five minutes he waspaying for whisky at an exorbitant price. In five minutes--well, hesniffed his first breath of prairie habits and prairie ways.

  It is not necessary to delve deeply into the characters of thesecitizens of Forks. It is not good to rake bad soil, the process isalways offensive. A mere outline is alone necessary. Ike Carneypurveyed liquor. A little man with quick, cunning eyes, and a mouththat shut tight under a close-cut fringe of gray moustache. "Shaky"Pindle, the carpenter, was a sad-eyed man who looked as gentle as adisguised wolf. His big, scarred face never smiled, because, hisfriends said, it was a physical impossibility for it to do so, and hishuge, rough body was as uncouth as his manners, and as unwieldy as hisslow-moving tongue. Taylor, otherwise "Twirly," the butcher, was a manso genial and rubicund that in five minutes you began to wish that hewas built like the lower animals that have no means of giving audibleexpression to their good humor, or, if they have, there is nonecessity to notice it except by a well-directed kick. And Slum,quiet, unsophisticated Slum, shadier than the shadiest of them all,but a man who took the keenest delight in the humors of life, and whodid wrong from an inordinate delight in besting his neighbors. A manto smile at, but to avoid.

  These were the men John Tresler, fresh from Harvard and a generoushome, found himself associated with while he rested on his way toMosquito Bend.

  Ike Carney laid himself out to be pleasant.

  "Goin' to Skitter Bend?" he observed, as he handed his new guest thechange out of a one hundred dollar bill. "Wal, it's a tidylayout;--ninety-five dollars, mister; a dollar a drink. You'll findthat c'rect--best ranch around these parts. Say," he went on, "the ol'blind hoss has hunched it together pretty neat. I'll say that."

  "Blind mule," put in Slum, vaulting to a seat on the bar.

  "Mule?" questioned Shaky, with profound scorn. "Guess you ain't workedaround his layout, Slum. Skunk's my notion of him. I 'lows hiskickin's most like a mule's, but ther' ain't nothin' more to thelikeness. A mule's a hard-workin', decent cit'zen, which ain't off'nsaid o' Julian Marbolt."

  Shaky swung a leg over the back of a chair and sat down with his armsfolded across it, and his heavy bearded chin resting upon them.

  "But you can't expect a blind man to be the essence of amiability,"said Tresler. "Think of his condition."

  "See here, young feller," jerked in Shaky, thrusting his chin-beardforward aggressively. "Condition ain't to be figgered on when a mankeeps a great hulkin', bulldozin' swine of a foreman like JakeHarnach. Say, them two, the blind skunk an' Jake, ken raise more hellin five minutes around that ranch than a tribe o' neches on thewar-path. I built a barn on that place last summer, an' I guess Iknow."

  "Comforting for me," observed Tresler, with a laugh.

  "Oh, you ain't like to git his rough edge," put in Carney, easily.

  "Guess you're payin' a premium?" asked Shaky.

  "I'm going to have three years' teaching."

  "Three years o' Skitter Bend?" said Slum, quietly. "Guess you'll learna deal in three years o' Skitter Bend."

  The little man chewed the end of a cigar Tresler had presented himwith, while his twinkling eyes exchanged meaning glances with hiscomrades. Twirly laughed loudly and backed against the bar, stretchingout his arms on either side of him, and gripping its moulded edge withhis beefy hands.

  "An' you're payin' fer that teachin'?" the butcher askedincredulously, when his mirth had subsided.

  "It seems the custom in this country to pay for everything you get,"Tresler answered, a little shortly.

  He was being laughed at more than he cared about. Still he checked hisannoyance. He wanted to know something about the local reputation ofthe rancher he had apprenticed himself to, so he fired a directquestion in amongst his audience.

  "Look here," he said sharply. "What's the game? What's the matter withthis Julian Marbolt?"

  He looked round for an answer, which, for some minutes, did not seemto be forthcoming.

  Slum broke the silence at last. "He's blind," he said quietly.

  "I know that," retorted Tresler, impatiently. "It's something else Iwant to know."

  He looked at the butcher, who only laughed. He turned on thesaloon-keeper, who shook his head. Finally he applied to Shaky.

  "Wal," the carpenter began, with a ponderous air of weighing hiswords. "I ain't the man to judge a feller offhand like. I 'lows I knowsuthin' o' the blind man o' Skitter Bend, seein' I wus workin'contract fer him all last summer. An' wot I knows is--nasty. I'vesee'd things on that ranch as made me git a tight grip on my axe, an'long a'mighty hard to bust a few heads in. I've see'd that all-firedJake Harnach, the foreman, hammer hell out o' some o' the hands, wi'tha' blind man standin' by jest as though his gummy eyes could seewhat was doin', and I've watched his ugly face workin' wi' every blowas Jake pounded, 'cos o' the pleasure it give him. I've see'd some o'those fellers wilter right down an' grovel like yaller dorgs at theirmaster's feet. I've see'd that butcher-lovin' lot handle their hossesan' steers like so much dead meat--an' wuss'n. I've see'd hell aroundthat ranch. 'An' why for,' you asks, 'do their punchers an' handsstand it?' ''Cos,' I answers quick, 'ther' ain't a job on thiscountryside fer 'em after Julian Marbolt's done with 'em.' That's why.'Wher' wus you workin' around before?' asks a foreman. 'Skitter Bend,'says the puncher. 'Ain't got nothin' fer you,' says the foremanquick; 'guess this ain't no butcherin' bizness!' An' that's jest howit is right thro' with Skitter Bend," Shaky finished up, drenching thespittoon against the bar with consummate accuracy.

  "Right--dead right," said Twirly, with a laugh.

  "Guess, mebbe, you're prejudiced some," suggested Carney, with an eyeon his visitor.

  "Shaky's taken to book readin'," said Slum, gent
ly. "Guess dimefiction gits a powerful holt on some folk."

  "Dime fiction y'rself," retorted Shaky, sullenly. "Mebbe young DaveSteele as come back from ther' with a hole in his head that left himplumb crazy ever since till he died, 'cos o' some racket he had wi'Jake--mebbe that's out of a dime fiction. Say, you git right to it,an' kep on sousin' whisky, Slum Ranks. You ken do that--you can't tellme 'bout the blind man."

  A pause in the conversation followed while Ike dried some glasses. Theroom was getting dark. It was a cheerless den. Tresler wasthoughtfully smoking. He was digesting and sifting what he had heard;trying to separate fact from fiction in Shaky's story. He felt thatthere must be some exaggeration. At last he broke the silence, and alleyes were turned on him.

  "And do you mean to say there is no law to protect people on theseoutlying stations? Do you mean to tell me that men sit down quietlyunder such dastardly tyranny?" His questions were more particularlydirected toward Shaky.

  "Law?" replied the carpenter. "Law? Say, we don't rec'nize no lawaround these parts--not yet. Mebbe it's comin', but--I 'lows ther'sjest one law at present, an' that we mostly carries on us. Oh, JakeHarnach's met his match 'fore now. But 'tain't frekent. Yes, Jake's abig swine, wi' the muscle o' two men; but I've seen him git downed,and not a hund'ed mile from wher' we're settin'. Say, Ike," he turnedto the man behind the bar, "you ain't like to fergit the night BlackAnton called his 'hand.' Ther' ain't no bluff to Anton. When he gitsto the bizness end of a gun it's best to get your thumbs up sudden."

  The saloon-keeper nodded. "Guess there's one man who's got Jake'smeasure, an' that's Black Anton."

  The butcher added a punctuating laugh, while Slum nodded.

  "And who's Black Anton?" asked Tresler of the saloon-keeper.

  "Anton? Wal, I guess he's Marbolt's private hoss keeper. He's ahalf-breed. French-Canadian; an' tough. Say, he's jest as quiet an'easy you wouldn't know he was around. Soft spoken as a woman, an' jestabout as vicious as a rattler. Guess you'll meet him. An' I 'lows he'smeetable--till he's riled."

  "Pleasant sort of man if he can cow this wonderful Jake," observedTresler, quietly.

  "Oh, yes, pleasant 'nough," said Ike, mistaking his guest's meaning.

  "The only thing I can't understand 'bout Anton," said Slum, suddenlybecoming interested, "is that he's earnin' his livin' honest. He's tooquiet, an'--an' iley. He sort o' slid into this territory wi'out ablamed cit'zen of us knowin'. We've heerd tell of him sence from'crost the border, an' the yarns ain't nice. I don't figger to arguewi' strangers at no time, an' when Anton's around I don't never gitgivin' no opinion till he's done talkin', when I mostly find mine'sthe same as his."

  "Some folks ain't got no grit," growled Shaky, contemptuously.

  "An' some folk 'a' got so much grit they ain't got no room fer savee,"rapped in Slum sharply.

  "Meanin' me," said Shaky, sitting up angrily.

  "I 'lows you've got grit," replied the little man quietly, lookingsquarely into the big man's eyes.

  "Go to h----"

  "Guess I'd as lief be in Forks; it's warmer," replied Slum,imperturbably.

  "Stow yer gas! You nag like a widder as can't git a second man."

  "Which wouldn't happen wi' folk o' your kidney around."

  Shaky was on his feet in an instant, and his anger was blazing in hisfierce eyes.

  "Say, you gorl----"

  "Set right ther', Shaky," broke in Slum, as the big man sprang towardhim. "Set right ther'; ther' ain't goin' to be no hoss-play."

  Slum Ranks had not shifted his position, but his right hand had divedinto his jacket pocket and his eyes flashed ominously. And thecarpenter dropped back into his seat without a word.

  And Tresler looked on in amazement. It was all so quick, so sudden.There had hardly been a breathing space between the passing of theirgood-nature and their swift-rising anger. The strangeness of it all,the lawlessness, fascinated him. He knew he was on the fringe ofcivilization, but he had had no idea of how sparse and short thatfringe was. He thought that civilization depended on the presence ofwhite folk. That, of necessity, white folk must themselves have theinstincts of civilization.

  Here he saw men, apparently good comrades all, who were ready, on thesmallest provocation, to turn and rend each other. It was certainly anew life to him, something that perhaps he had vaguely dreamt of, butthe possibility of the existence of which he had never seriouslyconsidered.

  But, curiously enough, as he beheld these things for himself for thefirst time, they produced no shock, they disturbed him in nowise. Itall seemed so natural. More, it roused in him a feeling that suchthings should be. Possibly this feeling was due to his own upbringing,which had been that of an essentially athletic university. He evenfelt the warm blood surge through his veins at the prospect of aforcible termination to the two men's swift passage of arms.

  But the ebullition died out as quickly as it had risen. Slum slid fromthe bar to the ground, and his deep-set eyes were smiling again.

  "Pshaw," he said, with a careless shrug, "ther' ain't nothin' to gritwi'out savee."

  Shaky rose and stretched himself as though nothing had happened todisturb the harmony of the meeting. The butcher relinquished his holdon the bar and moved across to the window.

  "Guess the missis'll be shoutin' around fer you fellers to git yoursuppers," Slum observed cheerfully. Then he turned to Tresler. "Ike,here, don't run no boarders. Mebbe you'd best git around to my shack.Sally'll fix you up with a blanket or two, an' the grub ain't bad. Yousee, I run a boardin'-house fer the boys--leastways, Sally does."

  And Tresler adopted the suggestion. He had no choice but to do so.Anyway, he was quite satisfied with the arrangement. He had enteredthe life of the prairie and was more than willing to adopt its waysand its people.

  And the recollection of that first night in Forks remained with himwhen the memory of many subsequent nights had passed from him. Itstuck to him as only the first strong impressions of a new life can.

  He met Sally Ranks--she was two sizes too large for the dining-room ofthe boarding-house--who talked in a shrieking nasal manner that cutthe air like a knife, and who heaped the plates with coarse food thatit was well to have a good appetite to face. He dined for the firsttime in his life at a table that had no cloth, and devoured his foodwith the aid of a knife and fork that had never seen a burnish sincethey had first entered the establishment, and drank boiled tea out ofa tin cup that had once been enameled. He was no longer John Tresler,fresh from the New England States, but one of fourteen boarders, themajority of whom doubled the necessary length of their sentences whenthey conversed by reason of an extensive vocabulary of blasphemy, andpicked their teeth with their forks.

  But it was pleasant to him. He was surrounded by something approachingthe natural man. Maybe they were drawn from the dregs of society, butnevertheless they had forcibly established their right to live--afeature that had lifted them from the ruck of thousands of law-abidingcitizens. He experienced a friendly feeling for these ruffians. More,he had a certain respect for them.

  After supper many of them drifted back to their recreation-ground, thesaloon. Tresler, although he had no inclination for drink, would havedone the same. He wished to see more of the people, to study them as aman who wishes to prepare himself for a new part. But the quiet Slumdrew him back and talked gently to him; and he listened.

  "Say, Tresler," the little man remarked offhandedly, "ther's threefellers lookin' fer a gamble. Two of 'em ain't a deal at 'draw,' theother's pretty neat. I tho't, mebbe, you'd notion a hand up here wi'us. It's better'n loafin' down 't the saloon. We most gener'ly play adollar limit."

  And so it was arranged. Tresler stayed. He was initiated. He learnedthe result of a game of "draw" in Forks, where the players made thewhole game of life a gamble, and attained a marked proficiency in theart.

  The result was inevitable. By midnight there were four richer citizensin Forks, and a newcomer who was poorer by his change out of ahundred-dollar bill. But Tresler lost quite cheerfully.
He neverreally knew how it was he lost, whether it was his bad play or badluck. He was too tired and sleepy long before the game ended. Herealized next morning, when he came to reflect, that in somemysterious manner he had been done. However, he took his initiationphilosophically, making only a mental reservation for future guidance.

  That night he slept on a palliasse of straw, with a pillow consistingof a thin bolster propped on his outer clothes. Three very yellowblankets made up the tally of comfort. And the whole was spread out onthe floor of a room in which four other men were sleeping noisily.

  After breakfast he paid his bill, and, procuring his horse, preparedfor departure. His first acquaintance in Forks stood his friend to thelast. Slum it was who looked round his horse to see that the girths ofthe saddle were all right; Slum it was who praised the beast in quiet,critical tones; Slum it was who shook him by the hand and wished himluck; Slum it was who gave him a parting word of advice; just as itwas Slum who had first met him with ridicule, cared for him--at aprice--during his sojourn, and quietly robbed him at a game he knewlittle about. And Tresler, with the philosophy of a man who has thatwithin him which must make for achievement, smiled, shook handsheartily and with good will, and quietly stored up the wisdom he hadacquired in his first night in Forks Settlement.

  "Say, Tresler," exclaimed Slum, kindly, as he wrung his departingguest's hand, "I'm real glad I've met you. I 'lows, comin' as you did,you might 'a' run dead into some durned skunk as hadn't the mannersfor dealin' with a hog. There's a hatful of 'em in Forks. S'long. Say,ther's a gal at Skitter Bend. She's the ol' blind boss's daughter, an'she's a dandy. But don't git sparkin' her wi' the ol' man around."

  Tresler laughed. Slum amused him.

  "Good-bye," he said. "Your kindness has taken a load--off my mind. Iknow more than I did yesterday morning. No, I won't get sparking thegirl with the old man around. See you again some time."

  And he passed out of Forks.

  "That feller's a decent--no, he's a gentleman," muttered Slum, staringafter the receding horseman. "Guess Skitter Bend's jest about theplace fer him. He'll bob out on top like a cork in a water bar'l. Say,Jake Harnach'll git his feathers trimmed or I don't know a'deuce-spot' from a 'straight flush.'"

  Which sentiment spoke volumes for his opinion of the man who had justleft him.