Larry’s surmise as to the owner of the Bar B was correct—he was sore both in body and mind. Ashamed to show his damaged face, he sulked in the ranch-house, brooding over his defeat. Penton found him so engaged, and there was a flicker of contempt in the foreman’s expression as he listened.
“Cussin’ ain’t goin’ to git us nowhere,” he said quietly. “I think I got some news for yu—an’ mebbe it ain’t good news, neither.”
“There ain’t no good news nowadays seemin’ly,” Bart growled. “Spill it, an’ don’t take a week.”
“We got all the time there is, an’ anyways, I ain’t shore,” Penton returned calmly. “Yu’ve allus been reckoned more than middlin’ swift with a gun, Bart, ain’t yu?”
“I never met up with a swifter,” the other admitted.
“Till last night, huh?” Penton proceeded. “Severn made yu look slow. But yu wasn’t—I never seen yu quicker, an’ yet he beat yu to it—easy.”
“Well?” said the big man sourly, for he did not relish this rubbing in of his discomfiture.
“Who cleaned up Tarman’s gang over to Hatchett’s Folly?” the foreman asked, and Bartholomew straightened up in his chair.
“Sudden,” he said. “Yu tellin’ me that Severn is—”
“I’m on’y guessin’,” Penton broke in. “It sticks in my mind that Sudden’s front name turned out to be Donald, an’ that young sidekicker o’ Severn’s called him `Don’ that night in the `Come Again’.”
The Bar B owner’s swarthy face went a shade paler. If his foreman was right, he himself must have stood on the very brink of the Valley of Shadows when he had tried to draw on Severn. After the utter destruction of Tarman’s band of range thieves, Sudden, the so-called outlaw, had vanished, merged in the personality of a law-abiding cattleman, but his fame as a fighter was not forgotten.
Bart sat silent, his damaged lips pursed into an ugly pout. When at length he looked up there was dogged determination in his outthrust jaw.
“Sudden or no, he’s human, an’ I’ll get him,” he snarled. “If the yarns about him is true, he come mighty near bein’ stretched once or twice, an’ his luck can’t last forever. Now, see here, keep this notion behind yore teeth; if it gets known in Hope, some o’ them cowardly coyotes’ll eat outa his hand from sheer funk.”
“That’s Gawspel truth,” Penton agreed. “As for gettin’ him, we gotta, or he’ll get us. My medicine is a bullet in the back, but mebbe vu has other ideas.”
“I gotta card up my sleeve no one else knows,” Bart said. “When the time comes I’ll play that same; it’s a shore winner, an’ will take the pot.”
Long after Penton had gone, the rancher sat there, chewing the butt of his cigar, his forehead ridged in a heavy frown. Despite his boastfulness, his foreman’s news had shaken him. But the Lazy M was a prize worth fighting for, and—he hungered for the girl. A curse broke from his lips as he recalled their last meeting.
“I’ll have her, willing or unwilling,” he grated. “An’ as for that damned interloper—”
Big Boy, having zigzagged his pony up the steep, sandy side of a gully and forced his way through the thick scrub at the top, suddenly pulled up with an oath of astonishment. Five or six hundred yards away on the open range, half a dozen men were leisurely gathering a herd of steers which he knew to be the property of the Lazy M. He did not recognise the men, but the white handkerchiefs concealing the lower part of their faces told him all that was necessary. He tried to back into the brush unseen, but the vicious hum of a bullet past his ear warned him that they had been on the watch. Snatching out his rifle, he dived from the saddle and gained the shelter of a tangled tussock of grass. He had no sooner accomplished this than there came the thud of a striking slug, followed by the report, and his horse crashed down, quivered and lay still.
Thrusting the muzzle of his Winchester through the grass, he fired three rapid rounds, and had the satisfaction of seeing one of the strangers lurch in his saddle.
“Yu got me, yu coyotes,” he snarled, “but I’ll shore make yu pay first.”
For he knew his situation was hopeless; they could surround and shoot him down at their leisure. To his surprise, however, they seemed more intent on getting the cattle out of range, and though he fired several times without doing any more damage, no shots came in reply. As quickly as possible, the herd was rounded up and driven off by the horsemen. When the raiders had become a mere blot on the plain, the cowboy arose from his place of concealment.
“Well, if that don’t beat ice in hell,” he ejaculated. He surveyed his dead mount ruefully. “Yu warn’t never a prizewinner, old fella, but I’d shore give a coupla months’ pay for yu now,” he said. “I must be near ten miles from the ranch, cuss the rotten luck ! “
To men who almost live on horseback, walking is an abomination, and the puncher shuddered at the prospect of a long tramp under the blazing sun in his tight high-heeled boots, and carrying a forty-pound saddle in addition to his rifle and other trappings. But it had to be done; the news of the robbery must be got to the Lazy M with all speed, and bestowing another hearty curse on those responsible, he set out.
The journey proved to be all he anticipated, and more. The first mile or two brought blisters on his feet, and every step became an agony. The saddle, which for convenience and as a protection from the sun, he carried on his head, seemed to weigh double what he knew it did, and the heavy wooden stirrups banged his body as he staggered over the stretches of sand and bunch-grass, and every bump brought blasphemy until his parched throat could no longer form the phrases.
Plugging doggedly on, sometimes only at the pace a man could crawl, he estimated he had done half the trip. Then he came upon a little stream, fringed with willows and cottonwoods, and after drinking and refilling his canteen, he flung himself down to rest in the welcome shade. The approach of evening brought relief from the scorching sun, but none for the blistered extremities of the traveller. Staggering, stumbling, and whispering strange oaths, he plodded on, and at last, through the gathering gloom, he glimpsed a light shining amidst the black bulk of buildings. He almost crawled the final few hundred yards, and lurching into the bunkhouse, flung the saddle on the floor and flopped into the nearest chair.
“What yu bin walkin’ for?” Linley asked.
“‘Cause I ain’t got no wings, yu lunkhead,” retorted the weary one. “Gimme some grub an’ fetch Jim.”
Severn heard the story in silence.
“White Masks again, huh?” he said. “An’ they took about fifty head?”
“Me an’ the little old gun made gettin’ more a chancy business,” Big Boy explained.
“Wonder they didn’t wipe yu out first,” Darby said. “They hadn’t the guts; I’d ‘a’ got some of ‘em.”
Severn shook his head. “I’m guessin’ that don’t explain it,” he said dubiously. “Anyways, we go after them cows at daybreak, an’ in case it’s a trap, we’ll be full strength.”
On the eastern horizon, a golden glow which deepened and spread betokened the dawn of another day. Over the plain and foothills a purplish mist hovered, and in the distance, from the peaks of the Pinnacles, great streamers of vapour drifted across the sky like smoke from mammoth chimney-stacks. The Lazy M was bubbling with excitement. With the exceptions of Larry and the cook, Severn was taking the whole outfit. He meant to be in a position not only to regain the stolen stock, but to punish the thieves. That he was playing into the hands of his enemies he had yet to learn.
The most disgruntled man at the ranch was Larry. Long after the departure of the outfit, he continued to bewail his misfortune, even the presence of his lady failing to console him.
“Cuss this shoulder,” he grumbled. “I’m a-missin’ all the fun.” Instantly from Phil’s expression he saw that he had said the wrong thing. “Aw, o’ course I don’t quite mean that, but—”
“You would rather be riding with the boys,” she finished quietly—too quietly, had Larry been versed in the wa
ys of women.
Big Boy, who, refreshed by food and a few hours’ sleep, had insisted on joining the party, guided them to the spot where he had been so ignominiously “set afoot”. They found the carcase of the horse, already picked clean, and soon struck the trail of the stolen steers. It led northwards towards the mountains, the first mile or so being over level prairie. Then it turned sharply to the right, taking them into a jumble of tree-clad slopes, gorges scooped out of the living rock, thorny thickets, and little savannahs of lush grass through which the horses waded belly deep.
“They shore wanted a job, takin’ cattle through here,” old Rayton said. “Must be tryin’ to lose ‘em.”
Severn had already seen that the rustlers were breaking fresh trail; apparently they were not taking the steers to the valley below the Cavern. The fact that they had gone to all this trouble and had made no effort to hide their tracks was giving him uneasiness. He began to wish he had brought only half the outfit, but it was too late now for regrets; he could only go on.
Noon came and went, and then, threading their way through a deep, rocky fissure no more than a dozen yards wide, they heard the bellow of a steer. Severn gave the word for caution, guns were got in readiness, and the party pressed on. The fissure gave way to an open stretch of grass, walled in by dense, prickly shrub, and in the centre, peacefully browsing, was the stolen herd. Fearing an ambush, the cowboys waited a while, and then Severn, Darby and Big Boy rode into the open. No shots saluted them; the cattle were unattended. Darby looked at his foreman in bewilderment.
“Odd number, this,” he said. “They ain’t tried to blot their tracks. Looks as if they brought ‘em here a-purpose for us to find.”
“I’m afraid yo’re right, Darby,” Severn agreed. “They baited a hook an’ I bit it good an’ plenty. Why they wanted us outa the way, I dunno, but I’m goin’ to see, pronto. Three o’ yu will be enough to drive the herd back; the rest will come with me.”
Leaving Big Boy and two others to put the cattle on the range again, the foreman and the remainder of the outfit headed for the Lazy M. Speed was impossible on such a difficult trail, even had their mounts been capable of it, and though no time was wasted, it was nightfall ere they sighted the ranch buildings. Beyond the fact that no lights were showing, everything seemed to be as usual. They pulled up at the bunkhouse with a shrill whoop, a hint to the cook to get busy, but there was no answer.
“Somethin’ wrong here—let’s try the house,” Severn said and led the way.
The ranch-house was dark and silent. The foreman found the back door unfastened, and striding in was brought to a stop by a muffled groan. He struck a match and saw Jonah, tied to a chair and gagged, gazing at him with goggling eyes in which fear gave way to relief when he recognised the visitor. Severn lighted the lamp, drew his knife and cut away the gag and bonds.
“What the devil’s happened?” he asked.
It was some moments before the cook was able to answer, and then his stiffened jaws could only articulate, “Dem White Masks—dey got Miss Phil.”
Leaving the others to get the story out of him, Severn sprang up the stairs. In the girl’s room he discovered Dinah, tied up and incoherent with fear. Setting her free, he went to seek Larry. He found that young man in like case, save that he was able to express himself and did so with great freedom the moment the gag was removed.
“Yu cuss pretty near like a growed man,” his friend said satirically. “S’pose now yu tell us somethin’.”
It was not a long story. Early in the afternoon Larry had heard the sound of horses and the mutter of voices outside and had concluded that the outfit had returned sooner than expected. Then his door opened, and instead of the pleasant sight of his young nurse, he saw two masked men, one of whom immediately trained a gun on him while the other tied him up.
“An’ with this crippled wing I couldn’t do nothin’ but say what I thought of ‘em,” Larry explained. “I shore did that till they jammed that rag in my mouth. What were they after?”
“The girl, an’ they got her,” Severn told him, and the sick man’s language became more lurid.
“Aw, what’s the use—cussin’ never cured anythin’,” the foreman commented.
“Ain’t yu goin’ to do nothin’ tonight?” his friend asked indignantly.
“Shore thing. I’m goin’ to sleep, an’ yu better do the same,” Severn grinned, and did not wait to hear the commentary.
Going down to the bunkhouse he swallowed a much-needed meal and retired to his own quarters. Here, he remembered for the first time, that he had not seen anything of Quirt; he called and whistled but the dog seemed to have disappeared. An examination of his room showed that it had not been disturbed, and he was forced to the conclusion that the girl was the sole object of the raid. What did they want with her? Was the outrage a come-back on the part of Shadwell? Only one other man could have any interest in stealing the girl. Had Black Bart carried out the abduction, masking his men to make it appear the work of the bandits, or—a vague suspicion, born of the chance accusation he had made just before the fight in the “Come Again”, and which had been dormant at the back of his mind ever since, began to obtrude itself.
Chapter XV
DESPITE the strenuous work of the preceding day, sunrise found the Lazy M outfit busily preparing for whatever task Severn had to set them. The customary air of carefree gaiety had given place to a grim seriousness, for apart from the fact that their young mistress was very popular, the riders regarded her taking off as a personal insult; they had been made to look foolish, and it rankled.
Therefore they looked closely to their weapons, filled belts with ammunition, carefully picked and saddled their mounts, and waited expectantly for Severn, who had breakfasted in his own shack. Presently he stepped out, and at the same moment came a faint bark. Severn turned just as Quirt limped up and dropped panting at his master’s feet. Stooping to pat the dog, the foreman saw a glimpse of white in the thick hair of the animal’s neck. It proved to be a twist of paper, secured by a thin rawhide thong. Printed in pencil were the words :
“The White Masks have the girl at the Cavern. Hurry.
A FRIEND.”
The missive was identical in character with the others he had received and the foreman stared at it in perplexity. Who could the mysterious correspondent be? Certainly not Darby, for he had been with the rest of the outfit all the previous day. Evidently the dog had sneaked after the girl’s captors and so provided the sender with a means of despatching his message. Severn scratched Quirt’s head affectionately.”Yu shore pull yore weight in this outfit,” he said.
The foreman explained the situation to the men, asking for suggestions.
“What about sending to Hope for the sheriff an’ a posse?” offered one.
The foreman shook his head. “Tyler don’t like us none,” he said. “An’, anyways, I figure this is mainly a Lazy M job. I’m proposin’ that we head for the XT, get Ridge an’ some o’ his boys, an’ smoke these coyotes outa their holes.”
A chorus of “Yo’re shoutin’ ” and “That’s the play”, showed that this plan of action was fully in accord with the feelings of the men, and without further loss of time a start was made. Larry, whose hurt did not permit him to go, lay fuming helplessly in his room.
“Don’t yu worry, boy, we’ll get yore Princess,” the foreman assured him. “An’ make a clean-up, too, while we’re about it.” Knowing they could get fresh ones at the XT, the rescuers did not spare their mounts, and the trail being an easy one they arrived in good time. The rancher himself welcomed them with a whoop of delight, and when Severn explained the reason for their visit his enthusiasm equalled their own.
“Will we help? Why, yu can’t lose us,” he boomed. “Kidnappin’ folks outa their own homes in broad daylight, eh? Somebody’s gotta show these skunks that they don’t own the country, I guess. Know anythin’ ‘bout him?”
He jerked a thumb towards the bench outside the bunkhouse door, w
here lolled Snap Lunt, his hat pushed back, his bowed legs outstretched, and a cigarette drooping from his thin lips. His eyes met those of the visitor with the stolid immobility of a redskin.
“One o’ yore outfit?” asked Severn.
“Not yet; drifted in ‘s’morning an’ I reckon he’s lookin’ for a job though he ain’t asked for it,” the ranchman replied. “What yu think of him?”
“Looks like he’d be useful in a ruckus,” the foreman said meaningly. “Them guns he’s totin’ ain’t by no means new.”
“Yo’re right,” Ridge returned. “Well, here’s his chance to make good. I’ll give him an invite to the dance. Betcha a dollar he ducks.”
“It’s plain robbery but I’ll take yu,” Severn said, and smiled when Ridge, having spoken to the little gunman, came back and flipped a coin over to him.
“Glad it warn’t more,” he said. “Cripes, yu’d ‘a’ thought I was offerin’ him a drink.”
Severn grinned at his host. “That warn’t a fair bet; that fella’s a friend o’ mine. He ain’t here to be hired, but yu can trust him the limit.”
Ridge shook a fist at him. “Yu old pirut, yo’re too damned deep for me,” he said. “But I’m backin’ yore play.”
Mounted on fresh horses and reinforced by Ridge, five of his men and Lunt, the expedition set out again, their objective the great tooth in the range beneath which Severn knew the bandits’ retreat was situated. The few miles of grazing were soon covered, and then they reached the foothills and broken country out of which the mountains rose. There was little conversation; the difficulties of the trail focused the attention of each rider upon his mount : a careless step might bring about a catastrophe.
Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) Page 13
