Kneeling at his side he raised the great leonine head. The man was alive, and he shouted to the men at the bunkhouse for aid. But even as he called Jake spoke.
"It ain't no good," he said, in a hoarse tone. "I'm done. Done up by that lyin' son-of-a----, 'Tough' McCulloch. I might 'a' known. Guess I flicked him sore." He paused as the sound of running feet came from the bunkhouse and Arizona's voice was calling to know Tresler's whereabouts. Then the foreman's great frame gave a shiver. "Quick, Tresler," he said, in a voice that had suddenly grown faint; "ther' ain't much time. Listen! get around Widow Dangley's place--to-night--two--mornin' all----"
There came a rattle of flowing blood in his throat which blurred anything else he had to say. But he had said sufficient. Tresler understood.
When Arizona came up Jake, so long the bully of Mosquito Bend, had passed over the One-Way Trail. He died shot in three places, twice in the chest and once in the stomach. Anton, or rather "Tough" McCulloch, had done his work with all the consummate skill for which he had once been so notorious. And, as something of this flashed through Tresler's brain, another thought came with it, prompted by the presence of Arizona, who was now on his knees beside him.
"It's Anton, Arizona," he said. "Jake riled him. He shot him, and has bolted through the wood, back there, mounted on one of Marbolt's horses. He's making for the hills. Quick, here, listen! the others are coming. You know 'Tough' McCulloch?"
"Wal?" There was an ominous ring in Arizona's voice.
"Jake, here. I didn't mention it before, because--because----"
Arizona had risen to his feet. There was no emotion in his manner. They might have been discussing the most ordinary topic. Now the rest of the men crowded round. And Tresler heard the rancher's voice calling from the verandah to inquire into the meaning of the shots. However, heedless of the others, he replied to the cowpuncher's question.
The two men gripped and Arizona faded away in the uncertain light, in the direction of the barn.
And the dead Jake was borne by rough but gentle hands into his own shack. And there was not one amongst those "boys" but would have been ready and eager to help him, if help had been possible. Even on the prairie death atones for much that in life is voted intolerable.