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.