Diane was packing up the tea-things, and Tresler still lingered on the verandah; he was watching the blind man as he tapped his way into the house. Then, as he disappeared, and the sound of his shuffling feet grew faint and distant, he became aware that Diane was standing holding the tray and watching him. He knew, too, by her attentive attitude, that she was listening to ascertain when her father should be out of ear-shot. As the sounds died away, and all became silent within the house, she came over to him. She spoke without pausing on her way; it seemed that she feared observation.
“Don’t forget, Mr. Tresler, what I told you about Jake. Be warned. In spite of what you say, you do not know him.”
“Thanks, Miss Marbolt,” he replied warmly; “I shall not forget.”
Diane was about to speak again, but the voice of her father, harsh and strident enough now, reached them from the hallway.
“Come in, child, and let Tresler go to his work.”
And Tresler noted the expression of fear that leapt into the girl’s face as she hurriedly passed into the house. He stood for a moment wrathful and wondering; then he strode away toward the corrals, reflecting on the strange events which had so swiftly followed one upon the other.
“Ye gods,” he muttered, “this is a queer place—and these are queer people.”
Then as he saw the great figure of Jake coming up the hill toward him, from the direction of a small isolated hut, he went out to meet him, unconsciously squaring himself as he drew near.
He expected an explosion; at least an angry demonstration. But nothing of the sort happened. The whole attitude of the man had changed to one of studied amiability. Not only that, but his diction was careful to a degree, as though he were endeavoring to impress this man from the East with his superiority over the other ranchmen.