“Then I’m not wanted to-night?”
“Guess not.” Jake broke off. Then he turned sharply and faced his man. “I’ve just one word to say to you ’fore you start in,” he went on. “We kind o’ make allowance fer ‘tenderfeet’ around here—once. After that, we deal accordin’—savee? Say, ther’ ain’t no tea-parties customary around this layout.”
Tresler smiled. If he had been killed for it he must have smiled. In that last remark the worthy Jake had shown his hand. And the latter saw the smile, and his face darkened with swift-rising anger. But he had evidently made up his mind not to be drawn, for, with a curt “S’long,” he abruptly strode off, leaving the other to make his way to the bunkhouse.
The men had not yet come in for their evening meal, but he found Arizona disconsolately sitting on a roll of blankets just outside the door of the quarters. He was chewing steadily, with his face turned prairieward, gazing out over the tawny plains as though nothing else in the world mattered to him.
He looked up casually as Tresler came along, and edged along the blankets to make room, contenting himself with a laconic—
“Set.”
The two men sat in silence for some moments. The pale-faced cowpuncher seemed absorbed in deep reflection. Tresler was thinking too; he was thinking of Jake, whom he clearly understood was in love with his employer’s daughter. It was patent to the veriest simpleton. Not only that, but he felt that Diane herself knew it. The way the foreman had desisted from his murderous onslaught upon himself at her coming was sufficient evidence without the jealousy he had betrayed in his reference to tea-parties. Now he understood, too, that it was because the blind man was asleep, and in going up to the house he, Tresler, would only meet Diane, and probably spend a pleasant afternoon with her until her father awoke, that Jake’s unreasoning jealousy had been aroused, and he had endeavored to forcibly detain him. He felt glad that he had learned these things so soon. All such details would be useful.
At last Arizona turned from his impassive contemplation of the prairie.
“Wal?” he questioned. And he conveyed a world of interrogation in his monosyllable.