“Very well, Tresler,” responded the rancher. “And you can choose your own companion. You can go and get ready. Jake,” turning to the other, “I want to talk to you.”
Tresler went out, feeling that he had made a mess of things. He gave Jake credit for his cleverness, quite appreciating the undying hate that prompted it. But the thing that was most prominent in his thoughts was the display the blind man had given him. He smiled when he thought of Jake’s boasted threats to Diane; how impotent they seemed now. But the smile died out when he remembered he, himself, had yet to face the rancher on the delicate subject of his daughter. He remembered only too well Jake’s reference to a cyclone, and he made his way to the bunkhouse with no very enlivening thoughts.
In the meantime the two men he had just left remained silent until the sound of his footsteps had quite died out. Then Marbolt spoke.
“Jake, you are a damned idiot!” he said abruptly.
The foreman made no answer and the other went on.
“Why can’t you leave the boy alone? He’s harmless; besides he’s useful to me—to us.”
“Harmless—useful?” Jake laughed bitterly. “Pshaw, I guess your blindness is gettin’ round your brains!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it ’ud have been better if you’d let me—wipe him out. Better for us—for you.”