the great hands clench at his sides and his arms draw up convulsively. He saw the working face and the black eyes as they half closed and reduced themselves to mere slits beneath the overshadowing brows. Then the hoarse, rage-choked voice came.
“By G——! I’ll smash you, you——”
“I shouldn’t say it.” Tresler’s tone had suddenly changed to one of icy coldness. The flash of a white dress had caught his eye. “There’s a lady present,” he added abruptly. And at the same time he released his hold on the smooth butt of a heavy revolver he had been gripping in his pocket.
What might have happened but for the timely interruption it would be impossible to say. Jake’s arms dropped to his sides, and his attitude relaxed with a suddenness that was almost ludicrous. The white dress fluttered toward him, and Tresler turned and raised his prairie hat. He gave the foreman no heed whatever. The man might never have been there. He took a step forward.
“Miss Marbolt, I believe,” he said. “Forgive me, but it seems that, being a stranger, I must introduce myself. I am John Tresler. I have just been performing the same ceremony for your father’s foreman’s benefit. Can I see Mr. Marbolt?”
He was looking down into what he thought at the moment was the sweetest, saddest little face he had ever seen. It was dark with sunburn, in contrast with the prim white drill dress the girl wore, and her cheeks were tinged with a healthy color which might have been a reflection of the rosy tint of the ribbon about her neck. But it was the quiet, dark brown eyes, half wistful and wholly sad, and the slight droop at the corners of the pretty mouth, that gave him his first striking impression. She was a delightful picture, but one of great melancholy, quite out of keeping with her youth and fresh beauty.
She looked up at him from under the brim of a wide straw sun-hat, trimmed with a plain silk handkerchief, and pinned to her wealth of curling brown hair so as to give her face the utmost shade. Then she frankly held out her hand in welcome to him, whilst her eyes questioned his, for she had witnessed the scene between the two men and overheard their words. But Tresler listened to her greeting with a disarming smile on his face.
“Welcome, Mr. Tresler,” she said gravely. “We have been expecting you. But I’m afraid you can’t see father just now. He’s sleeping. He always sleeps in the afternoon. You see, daylight or night, it makes no difference to him. He’s blind. He has drifted into a curious habit of sleeping in the day as well as at night. Possibly it is a blessing, and helps him to forget his affliction. I am always careful, in consequence, not to waken him. But come along up to the house; you must have some lunch, and, later, a cup of tea.”
“You are awfully kind.”
Tresler watched a troubled look that crept into the calm expression of her eyes. Then he looked on while she turned and dismissed the discomfited foreman.
“I shan’t ride this afternoon, Jake,” she said coldly. “You might have Bessie shod for me instead. Her hoofs are getting very long.” Then she turned again to her guest. “Come, Mr. Tresler.”
And the New Englander readily complied.
Nor did he even glance again in the direction of the foreman.
Jake cursed, not audibly, but with such hateful intensity that even the mat of beard and moustache parted, and the cruel mouth and clenched teeth beneath were revealed. His eyes, too, shone with a diabolical light. For the moment Tresler was master of the situation, but, as Jake had said, he was “boss” of that ranch. “Boss” with him did not mean “owner.”
CHAPTER III
THE BLIND MAN
Tresler was unfeignedly glad to leave Jake Harnach behind him, but he looked very serious as he and his companion moved on to the house. The result of his meeting with the foreman would come back on him later, he knew, and it was as well that he was prepared. The meeting had been unfortunate, but, judging by what he had heard of Jake in Forks, he must inevitably have crossed the bully sooner or later; Jake himself would have seen to that.
Diane Marbolt paused as she came to the verandah. They had not spoken since their greeting. Now she turned abruptly, and quietly surveyed her guest. Nor was there any rudeness in her look. Tresler felt that he was undergoing a silent cross-examination, and waited, quietly smiling down at her from his superior height.
At last she smiled up at him and nodded.
“Will I do?” he asked.
“I think so.”
It was a curious position, and they both laughed. But in the girl’s manner there was no levity.
“You are not sure? Is there anything wrong about me? My—my dress, for instance?” Tresler laughed again; he had missed the true significance of his companion’s attitude toward him.
Just for a moment the dark little face took on a look of perplexity. Then the pucker of the brows smoothed out, and she smiled demurely as she answered.
“Oh, I see—no,” doubtfully. Then more decidedly, “No. You see, you are a ‘tenderfoot.’ You’ll get over it later on.”
And the last barrier of formality was set aside.
“Good,” exclaimed Tresler, emphatically. “We are going to be friends, Miss Marbolt. I knew it. It was only that I feared that ‘they’ might ruin my chances of your approbation. You see, they’ve already caused me—er—trouble.”
“Yes, I think we shall be friends,” Diane answered quietly. “In the meantime, come along into the house and have your lunch. It is ready, I saw you coming and so prepared it at once. You will not mind if I sit and look on while you eat. I have had mine. I want to talk to you before you see my father.”
There was distinct anxiety in her manner. More surely than all, her eyes betrayed her uneasiness. However, he gave no sign, contenting himself with a cordial reply.
“You are very kind. I too should like a chat. You see, I am a ‘tenderfoot,’ and you have been kind enough to pass over my shortcomings.”
Diane led the way into the house. And Tresler, following her, was struck with the simple comfort of this home in the wilds. It was a roomy two-storied house, unpretentious, but very capacious. They entered through one of three French windows what was evidently a useful sort of drawing-room-parlor. Beyond this they crossed a hallway, the entrance door of which stood open, and passed into a dining-room, which, in its turn, opened directly into a kitchen beyond. This room looked out on the woods at the back. Diane explained that her father’s sanctum was in front of this, while behind the parlor was his bedroom, opposite the dining-room and kitchen. The rooms up-stairs were bedrooms, and her own private parlor.
“You see, we keep no female servants, Mr. Tresler,” the girl said, as she brought a pot of steaming coffee from the kitchen and set it on the table. “I am housekeeper. Joe Nelson, the choreman, is my helper and does all the heavy work. He’s quite a character.”
“Yes,
