“I ain’t calc’latin’ the’r meanin’. Say, Tresler.” The man paused, and his great rolling eyes glanced furtively from right to left. Then he came close up and spoke in a harsh whisper. “It’s got to be. He ain’t fit to live. This is wot I wus thinkin’. I’ll git right up to his shack, an’ I’ll call him every son-of-a—— I ken think of. See? He’ll git riled, an’—wal, I owe her a debt o’ gratitood, an’ I can’t never pay it no other ways, so I’ll jest see my slug finds his carkis right, ’fore he does me in.”
Arizona stepped back with an air of triumph. He could see no flaw in his plan. It was splendid, subtle.
It was the one and only way to settle all the problems centering round the foreman. Thus he would pay off a whole shoal of debts, and rid Diane of Jake forever. And he felt positively injured when Tresler shook his head.
“You would pay her ill if you did that,” he said gravely. “Jake was probably only trying to frighten her. Besides, he is her father’s foreman. The man he trusts and relies on.”
“You ain’t got no savee,” Arizona broke out in disgust. “Say, he won’t need no foreman when Jake’s out of the way. You’ll marry the gal, an’——”
But he got no further. Tresler interrupted him coldly.
“That’s enough, Arizona. We aren’t going to discuss it further. In the meantime, believe me that I am wide awake to my position, and to Miss Marbolt’s, and ready to do the best for her in emergency. I must get on now, for I have several things to do before I turn in.”
Arizona had no more to say. He relapsed into moody silence, and, as they moved away together, Tresler was thankful for the freakish chance that had made this man come to him with his plan before putting it into execution. It was dark now, and as they reached the bunkhouse they parted. Tresler deposited his saddle at the barn, but he did not return to the bunkhouse. He meant to see Diane before he turned in, by hook or by crook.
He knew that the time had come when he must actively seek to help her. When Jake openly threatened her, and she was found weeping, there was certainly need of that help. He was alarmed, seriously alarmed, and yet he hardly knew what it was he feared most. He quite realized the difficulties that confronted him. She had given him no right to interfere in her affairs. More, she would have every reason to resent such interference. But, in spite of this, he held to his resolve. It was his love that urged him on, his love that overbore his scruples, his gravest apprehensions. He told himself that he had the right which every man has. The right to woo and win for himself the love he covets. It was for Diane to say “yea” or “nay,” not her father. There was no comfort she had been accustomed to, or even luxury, that he could not give her. There was no earthly reason why he should not try to win her. He vividly called to mind what Joe had suggested, and Arizona’s unfinished sentence rang in his ears, but both suggestions as a basis of hope he set aside with a lover’s egotism. What could these men know or understand of such a matter?
He had left the barn, and his way took him well out from the ranch yards in the direction of the pinewoods. He remembered his walk on his first night on the ranch, and meant to approach the back of the blind man’s house by the same route.