Ridgwell Cullum - The Night Riders - A Romance of Early Montana

“He’d find me a tough mouthful,” Tresler laughed.

“Mebbe. How came you around that house?”

“I simply wandered there by chance. I was smoking and taking a stroll. I’d been all round the ranch.”

“That wouldn’t suit Jake. No.” Joe was silent for a moment.

Tresler waited. At last the little man made a move and spat out his chew.

“That’s it,” he said, slapping his thigh triumphantly – “that’s it, sure. Say, we needn’t to tell Jake nuthin’. I’ll git around among the boys, an’ let ’em know as I heerd tell of Red Mask bein’ in the region o’ the Bend, an’ how a Breed give me warnin’, bein’ scared to come along to the ranch lest Red Mask got wind of it an’ shut his head lights fer him. Ther’ ain’t no use in rilin’ Jake. Meanin’ for you. He’s layin’ fer you anyways, as I’m guessin’ you’ll likely know. Savee? Lie low, most as low as a dead cat in a well. I’ll play this hand, wi’out you figgerin’ in it; which, fer you, I guess is best.”

Tresler got up and dusted his clothes. There was a slight pause while he fingered the leather-capped stirrups of the stock saddle on the wall.

Joe grew impatient. “Wal?” he said at last; “y’ ain’t bustin’ wi’ ’preciation.”

“On the contrary, I appreciate your shrewdness and kindly interest on my behalf most cordially,” Tresler replied, dropping the stirrup and turning to his companion; “but, you see, there’s one little weakness in the arrangement. Jake’s liable to underestimate the importance of the nocturnal visits unless he knows the real facts. Besides – ”

“Besides,” broke in Joe, with an impatience bred of his reading through Tresler’s lame objection, “you jest notion to rile Jake some. Wal, you’re a fool, Tresler – a dog-gone fool! Guess you’ll strike a snag, an’ snags mostly hurts. Howsum, I ain’t no wet-nurse, an’ ef you think to bluff Jake Harnach, get right ahead an’ bluff. An’ when you bluff, bluff hard, an’ back it, or you’ll drop your wad sudden. Guess I’ll turn in.”

Joe moved off and Tresler followed. At the door of the bunkhouse they parted, for Joe slept in a lean-to against the kitchen of the rancher’s house. They had said “good-night,” and Joe was moving away when he suddenly changed his mind and came back again.

“Say, ther’ ain’t nothin’ like a ‘tenderfoot’ fer bein’ a fool, ’less it’s a settin’ hen,” he said, with profound contempt but with evident good-will. “You’re kind o’ gritty, Tresler, I guess, but mebbe you’ll be ast to git across a tol’ble broncho in the mornin’. That’s as may be. But ef it’s so, jest take two thinks ’fore settin’ your six foot o’ body on a saddle built fer a feller o’ five foot one. It ain’t reason’ble, an’ it’s dangerous. It’s most like tryin’ to do that as isn’t, never wus, and ain’t like to be, an’ if it did, wouldn’t amount to a heap anyway, ’cep’ it’s a heap o’ foolishness.”

Tresler laughed. “All right. Two into one won’t go without leaving a lot over. Good-night, Joe.”

“So long. Them fellers as gits figgerin’ mostly gits crazed fer doin’ what’s impossible. Guess I ain’t stuck on figgers nohow.”

And the man vanished into the night, while Tresler passed into the bunkhouse to get what little sleep his first night as a ranchman might afford him.

But the story of the nocturnal visit of the horse thieves did not reach the foreman next morning. Jake hailed Tresler down to the corrals directly after breakfast. He was to have a horse told off to him, and this matter, and the presence of others, made him postpone his purpose to a more favorable time.

When he arrived at the corrals, three of the boys, under Jake’s superintendence, were cutting out a big, raw-boned, mud-brown mare from a bunch of about sixty colts.

She stood well over sixteen hands – a clumsy, big-footed, mean-looking, clean-limbed lady, rough-coated, and scored all over with marks of “savaging.” She was fiddle-headed and as lean as a hay-rake, but in build she was every inch a grand piece of horse-flesh. And Tresler was sufficient horseman to appreciate her lines, as well as the vicious, roving eye which displayed the flashing whites at every turn.

Jacob Smith was after her with a rope, and the onlookers watched his lithe, active movements as he followed her, wildly racing round and round the corral seeking a means of escape.

Suddenly the man made a dart in to head her off. She turned to retreat, but the other two were there to frustrate her purpose. Just for a second she paused irresolutely; then, lowering her head and setting her ears back, she came open-mouthed for Jacob. But he anticipated her intention, and, as she came, sprang lightly aside, while she swept on, lashing out her heels at him as she went. It was the opportunity the man sought, and, in the cloud of dust that rose in her wake, his lariat shot out low over the ground. The next moment she fell headlong, roped by the two forefeet, and all three men sprang in to the task of securing her.

It was done so quickly that Tresler had hardly realized her capture when Jake’s harsh voice rang out —

“That’s your mare, Tresler!” he cried; “guess that plug of yours’ll do for fancy ridin’. You’ll break this one to handlin’ cattle. You’re a tolerable weight, but she’s equal to it.” He laughed, and his laugh sent an angry flush into the other’s face. “Say,” he went on, in calmly contemptuous tones; “she’s wild some. But she’s been saddled before. Oh, yes, she ain’t raw off the grass. You, comin’ from down east, can mebbe ride. They mostly reckon to be able to ride till they come along to these parts.”

Tresler understood the man’s game; he also understood and fully appreciated Joe Nelson’s warning. He glanced at the saddle still hanging on the corral wall. It would be simple suicide for him to attempt to ride an outlaw with a saddle fit for a boy of fifteen. And it was Jake’s purpose, trading on his ignorance of such matters, to fool him into using a saddle that would probably rupture him.

“I presume she’s the worst outlaw on the ranch,” he replied quietly, though his blue eyes shone dangerously. “She must be,” he went on, as Jake made no answer, “or you wouldn’t give her to me, and point out that she’s been saddled before.”

“Kind o’ weakenin’?” Jake asked with a sneer.

“No. I was just thinking of my saddle. It will be no use on her; she’d burst the girths.”

“That needn’t worry you any. There’s a stock saddle there, on the fence.”

“Thank you, I’ll ride on a saddle that fits a man of my size, or you can ride the mare yourself.”

Tresler was round and facing his man, and his words came in a tone the other was unaccustomed to. But Jake kept quite cool while he seemed to be debating with himself. Then he abruptly turned away with a short, vicious laugh.

“Guess the ‘tenderfoot’s’ plumb scared to ride her, boys,” he called out to the men, relapsing into the vernacular as he addressed them. “Any o’ you boys lendin’ a saddle, or shall we find him a rockin’-hoss to run around on?”

Tresler fell headlong into the trap. Jake had drawn him with a skill worthy of a better object.

“If there is anybody scared, I don’t think it is I, boys,” he said with a laugh as harsh as Jake’s had been. “If one of you will lend me a man’s saddle, I’ll break that mare or she’ll break me.”

Now, Tresler was a very ordinary horseman. He had never in his life sat a horse that knew the first rudiments of bucking; but at that moment he would have mounted to the back of any horse, even if his life were to pay the forfeit next moment. Besides, even in his blind anger, he realized that this sort of experience must come sooner or later. “Broncho-busting” would be part of his training. Therefore, when some one suggested Arizona’s saddle – since Arizona was on the sick list – he jumped at the chance, for that individual was about his size.