Sudden The Marshal of Lawless (1933) s-8

by Oliver Strange

  "She's a-comin', boys, shore as shootin'," Andy said. "Better be ready for anythin' that breaks loose."

  Scrambling hurriedly to, their feet, the men donned slickers, and got themselves mounted. The storm was travelling rapidly, straight towards them, each roll of thunder louder than the previous one.

  "If the herd comes this way it's gotta be stopped, even if we build a wall o' cows to do it," Andy ordered. "Hell! they're getting panicky a'ready."

  Between the peals of thunder they could hear the bawling of the frightened beasts and the voices of the riders striving desperately to keep them together. Andy decided that it was no use sending more men; if the six already there failed, three times the number could not succeed, and the others would be needed to stop the stampede.

  "If they run north it won't be so bad," he said. "We can pick 'em up on our way."

  Even as he spoke, a jagged finger of white flame split the sky, shattering the darkness for a second with a light that pained the eyes and made sight impossible. It was followed by a deafening crash overhead and a sudden deluge of frozen rain, so fast and furious that it was like a bombardment of steel rods. Huddled in their slickers, the hat-brims pulled down to shield their faces from the stinging pellets, the cowmen sat in their saddles, struggling to quiet their maddened mounts and waiting for the dreaded thunder of pounding hoofs. It did not come.

  "Gosh!" Andy cried, "I believe we're a-goin' to make it."

  For a moment it seemed he might be right; the storm was passing and a smaller flash of lightning showed them the herd, scared evidently and on the move, but milling. Then came something which dashed their new-born hopes. Above the howl of the wind and the bellowing of the cattle rang out a wild, eerie yell, shrill, penetrating, unmistakable, to anyone who had heard it before. And most of the men there had.

  "That's a 'Pache war-cry; what the hell's doin'?" Barsay shouted.

  Before anyone could answer, the blood-curdling screech was repeated, to be followed by pistol shots and the drumming beat of thousands of frenzied feet.

  "By God! they're off, boys, an' comin' this way," Bordene yelled. "Line out an' drop the leaders; if that don't stop 'em, get outa the way or keep ahead."

  The sky was clearing, the rain had ceased, and by the murky light of a few stars they could see the herd, like a great black wave, sweeping down upon them. The sharp crack of rifles and revolvers mingled with the bawling of the terrified brutes and the clash of their great horns as they strove with one another in the mad rush. Many of the front line went down, but this did not stop the others, and the cowmen were forced to spur desperately for the side of the valley to avoid being trampled to death. Green and Andy, who were in the centre of the line, adopted the only alternative and swinging their horses round, raced ahead of the herd.

  They reached the exit from the valley with but a few scant yards to spare, just in time; another few seconds and they would have been under the avalanche of death-dealing hoofs. Dismounting at the top of a little knoll, they watched the stream of terror-besotted brutes, heads down and running blindly, vanish in the gloom. They had done all that was possible; there was no longer any hope of saving the herd.

  "We can't do a thing till daylight," Andy said moodily. "Better go an' see how the boys are makin' it."

  Riding double, they made their way back to the chuck-wagon. The rain had abolished the fire, but the cook had got it going again and was boiling coffee for the group of fagged, disgruntled riders who stood around. Rusty's raised voice came to them as they approached.

  "It warn't the storm," he said. "We was holdin' 'em, even after that gran'daddy of a crash; the Injun whoop touched 'em off an' a stone wall wouldn't 'a' stopped 'em then."

  " 'Lo, boys," Andy said. "All here?"

  "Tod's missin'; we thought he was with yu," Rusty replied.

  "He was, but I ain't seen him since the herd took charge. Get busy an' look around."

  Gulping down their coffee, the men swung to their saddles and spread out. They soon found and brought him in, limp, battered almost beyond recognition. All knew how the tragedy had happened. Racing, like Andy and the marshal, to keep ahead of the herd, his pony had made a false step, and that was the end. Reverently they covered the still form of the boy--for he was no more--with a blanket, and turned in to snatch a few hours' needed rest.

  At sunrise they were in the saddle again, seeking in all directions for survivors of the stampede. They rode in couples, Andy and the marshal again pairing up. The former's face was grey and drawn; the loss of the young puncher had hit him hard. The place from which the shot had been fired was easily found--a little group of scrub-oaks, with sufficient undergrowth to conceal a horseman. The trampled ground showed shod hoof-prints, and the ends of several cigarettes indicated that the watcher had waited there for some time.

  "Don't tell us much, 'cept that he wasn't a redskin," Green grumbled. "We better go an' look for yore beef, Andy."

  The tracks showed that on leaving the valley the herd had spread widely out. Green was heading his horse to the left when Bordene stopped him.

  "Shiverin' Sands lays over there," he said. "Any cows what have gone that way would have to be dug out."

  The country to the right of the trail was open range broken only by thickets and brush-filled arroyos. Emerging from one of the latter, they came upon a rider driving twenty Box B steers. The man turned at their hail, and they saw that it was Leeson. The marshal did not miss the start of alarm as he pulled up his mount and waited for them.

  "Say, Bordene," he greeted, "what the hell's yore cows doin' around here? I just happened on this bunch an' was takin' 'em to the 88 'fore they rambled farther."

  The explanation was plausible enough, but the marshal did not like the haste with which it was made, nor the accompanying half-grin. Andy, however, seemed to have no suspicion.

  "Much obliged to yu, Leeson, for collectin' 'em," he replied. "My herd stampeded outa The Pocket in the storm last night. I reckon mebbe you'll find some more."

  "Tough luck," Leeson commiserated. "Didn't know yu was drivin'. That storm was shore a cracker-jack."

  "Seen any Injuns about here lately?" Green asked, and watched the man closely.

  "Why, no," was the reply, and then, after a pause, "that is, I ain't actually seen any, but I come upon a fresh sign 'bout a mile or so north o' here yestiddy."

  Green suspected the statement was an afterthought, concocted for the occasion, but he affected to accept it. Bordene pointed to the cattle.

  "We'll take these off yore hands, Leeson," he said. "If yu get any more tell Saul to let me know an' I'll send for 'em."

  The sullen eyes of the 88 man followed them as they drove the little herd away.

  He jabbed his heels into the flanks of his horse, and rocketed away over the plain in the direction of Raven's ranch.

  Dusk found Bordene and his men back in the valley. The day's hard riding had resulted in the recovery of about five hundred of the scattered cows.

  "An' that's all we'll get," the owner said gloomily. "The rustlers an' that blasted quicksand have got the rest, an' we'll never see hide nor hair of 'em. No use makin' the drive with this handful, boys; we'll get back to the ranch an' gather another herd."

  The night passed quietly but miserably, for the loss of a comrade and the disaster of the stampede had been too much for the usually buoyant natures of the outfit. In the early morning they started the depleted herd homewards, leaving behind them, beneath a beautiful palo verde, an oblong pile of rocks. The marshal and his deputy rode in the other direction, and, at the far end of the valley, found what they were seeking--the spot where the stampeders had been stationed. Behind a sharp ridge the soft ground was scored and trampled.

  "Shod hosses an' men wearin' boots," Green commented. "I had a notion that Injun yell warn't just the genuine article."

  Beyond a few spent shells there was nothing else, and though they tried to follow the tracks, they soon lost them in the welter of the main trail. Giv
ing up the task as hopeless, they followed the herd. The marshal was very silent; he was remembering that Leeson had used the Apache cry that night in the Red Ace.

  CHAPTER XI

  Long before the remnant of the trail herd had got back to the Box B the news of the disaster had come to the Red Ace. On the afternoon following the stampede, a Mexican rider, who had approached the town by devious ways, slipped into the private office. Raven's small black eyes gleamed maliciously as he listened to the messenger's tale.

  When the man had gone Raven sat thinking for a while, and then, taking his hat, sauntered down the street. Lawless boasted only one bank. Built of 'dobe bricks, with walls three feet in thickness, it presented an appearance, at least, of solidity. The manager, Lemuel Potter, who was commonly regarded as also the owner, possessed one of those curious neuter personalities which caused him to be neither liked nor disliked. He was a pompous person, fond of affecting a superiority which imposed on some and amused others, but he was reputed to be straight in his dealings. It was into this building that Raven turned, and, with a nod to the clerk behind the counter, walked through the door marked "Manager." At the sight of his visitor, Potter stood up, and then as suddenly sat down again.

  "Afternoon, Potter," the saloon-keeper said, and, not troubling to remove his hat, took a seat and lit a cigar. "How's Andy Bordene's account stand?"

  The manager's fleshy, clean-shaven face flushed, and with some attempt at dignity he replied: "It is against all rules, Mr. Raven, for a bank to disclose the affairs of a customer."

  The saloon-keeper looked at him with an expression of amused contempt.

  "Come down to earth, yu worm," he said cuttingly. "It suits me that folk should think yu own this place, but yu know better. Don't put any frills on with me or I'll trim yu good an' plenty, Mr. Rutson." The man's cheeks became deathly white and his portly form seemed to shrink in his clothes at the name he hated to hear. Raven chuckled at the effect he had produced. "I asked yu a question, Mr.--Potter," he added, and laughed again when the other winced at the pause. Utterly cowed, Potter went into the outer office and consulted a ledger.

  "Bordene is overdrawn five thousand," he announced. "I saw him a few days ago and I understood that the sale of his herd would put him right."

  Raven grinned sardonically. "Mebbe, but he's lost most of the cows in a stampede," he said. "Now listen to me. Bordene is in a hole an' he'll be comin' to yu. Let him have thirty thousand on his ranch but tie him up tight. Yu understand?"

  "Yes--sir," the manager replied.

  The title of respect only brought a sneer to the visitor's lips. "See to it then, an' keep yore mouth shut or--I'll open mine," he growled, and went out.

  Potter paled again at the threat, but he said nothing; he knew he was hopelessly in the power of this man. With trembling hands he lighted a cigarette, and, as he had done so many times, sat there trying to find some means of escape.

  * * *

  Two days later Bordene, having brought his salvaged herd safely back to the Box B, was sitting in Raven's office, telling the story of the ill-fated drive. The elder man listened with a sympathetic expression.

  "So yu saved 'bout a third of 'em," he commented. "Well, that's somethin'. But yu was shore playin' in pore luck, an' it hits us both. I told yu how I'm fixed, an' I was dependin' on yu gettin' that money. What yu aim to do?"

  "Scratch up another bunch--it won't be such a good one--an' try again. I've sent word to my buyer."

  "That means waitin'--which I can't do. Why not see Potter? He'll let yu have the ready on yore ranch, an' that'll give yu time to turn round; yu can easy get clear when yu sell yore cows. I don't want to ride yu, Andy, but I'm bein' rode myself."

  So because it seemed the only way out, and to avoid letting down one whom he deemed to be a friend, Andy went to the bank, and the man who had advised him to do so grinned felinely when he was gone. Once he held the mortgage, he would see that Bordene got deeper in the mire, and in the end the Box B would his. Things had not quite come out as he had planned, but perhaps it was as well. It meant some delay, but his Indian blood had endowed him with patience. Andy had been profuse in his praise of his preserver, and presently the saloon-keeper went in search of him. He found the marshal and his deputy lolling in the door of their dwelling.

  "Any news, marshal?" he asked.

  "Bordene came from the Red Ace a piece ago, so I'm figurin' yu musta heard it all," Green told him.

  "I got his account, but I thought yu might 'a' noticed some-thin' he missed," Raven replied.

  "Andy didn't miss nothin' 'cept a visit to the next world, an' not that by so awful much," Green smiled. "Them war-whoops had it framed up pretty neat."

  "Yu reckon it was Injuns?" the other asked casually.

  "Seemed so, didn't it, Pete?" the marshal said.

  "Shore did," the deputy lied with ready alacrity. He did not know what Green's game was, but he was prepared to back it to the limit.

  "It's rough on Bordene, comin' on top o' the old man bein' rubbed out," the saloon-keeper said reflectively. "Yu ain't struck the trail o' Mister Sudden yet?"

  "Somebody musta told yu," the marshal said satirically. "Me an' Pete was tryin' to keep that a secret."

  If Raven appreciated the pleasantry his wooden face did not betray it. "What's come o' that no-'count Injun yu fetched in?" he enquired.

  "Oh, he's around," the marshal said carelessly.

  "Send him on his way; this town don't want his kind," Raven growled harshly.

  At this order--for it was nothing else--the marshal's lounging form straightened. "He's workin' for me," he said quietly.

  For an instant the black eyes tried to stare down the grey-blue ones--and failed. Nevertheless, no trace of rancour appeared in his voice as he replied:

  "Oh, well, if yu can use him--but yu'll be responsible."

  Pete spat disgustedly as his gaze followed the saloon-keeper down the street. "That damn war-whoop is shore gettin' yu some friends," he said. "What is he a-doin' anyways?"

  For immediately they had reached Lawless again the Mohave had vanished, taking his horse and gun. The marshal's grin was provoking.

  "Curiosity brought sin into the world, Tubby," he said. "If Eve hadn't wondered about that apple--"

  "Oh, go to blazes," the deputy rudely retorted, and stamped into the kitchen to make coffee. He was enjoying this half an hour later when his friend strode into the office.

  "Come an' get yore hoss. Black Feather is back an' we got some ridin' to do," the marshal told him.

  "Ridin'? This time o' the day? Why, it'll be dark in two-three hours," the other expostulated. "Where we goin'?"

  "All the way there an' back again," was the non-committal explanation. "Yo're gettin' fatter'n a hawg, loafin' around; yu want exercise."

  "Yo're a trifler with the truth--I don't want nothin' o' the kind," Pete said. " 'Cause yu look like a scraped shin-bone yu think everybody oughta."

  They found the Indian waiting for them at the corral, and having secured their own mounts, set out. Keeping, at the marshal's suggestion, behind the houses, they slipped out of town unobserved. The redskin led the way due west, riding at a smart clip. Several miles of semi-desert were covered in silence and then Pete's patience came to an end.

  He shot an oblique glance at the long, silent figure riding beside him, and said: "S'pose yu spill some o' the beautiful thoughts millin' in yore majestic mind, an' tell us where we're at?"

  "I'm hopin' to find some o' Bordene's cows for him," the marshal said. "Black Feather don't talk much."

  "Yo're damn right, he don't," Pete agreed. "Yu'd think words was a dollar each he's that sparin' of 'em, an' yo're pretty near as bad."

  The approach of night found them threading a tumbled tract of country which was new to both the white men. Their guide rode stolidly on, twisting and turning without hesitation, though they could see no trail. At length they emerged from an arroyo and saw a trampled track stretching away to the right and left.
Black Feather slid down and examined the ground closely in the fading light. He rose with a grunt of satisfaction.

  "No come--yet," he said. "We wait."

  He pointed to the thick underbrush at the mouth of the arroyo out of which they had ridden, and, leading the horses, they ensconced themselves behind it. An hour passed and Green was beginning to fear that the Indian had made a mistake when the distant bellow of cattle broke the silence. The moon was rising now, and peering through the bushes, they could see on the plain a dark blur which was coming nearer. Then came the dull tramp of hoofs and the low calls of the riders. Mounting their horses, the watchers waited until the herd began to file past at a tired trot. The man riding point on the left of the cattle was Leeson. The marshal forced his horse into the open.

  " 'Lo, Leeson," he said.

  Like a flash the man twisted in the saddle, his hand streaking to his hip, but it came away as quickly when he recognized the officer. Under the flapping brim of his hat the narrowed eyes looked vicious, but for the moment he could find nothing to say. Then reflecting that the new-comer was apparently alone, he blurted out:

  "What the hell yu doin' here?"

  "I'm good an' lost," the marshal smiled. "Yu see, I ain't very acquainted with these parts yet." He raised his voice: "Yu can show yoreself, Pete; it's some o' the 88 boys."

  Leeson's face lowered as the deputy and the Indian appeared. "What's the bright idea, hidin' yoreselves an' bustin' out thisaway?" he growled.

  "We didn't know who yu was," the marshal explained sweetly. "Yu mighta been Greasers or--rustlers."

  The cattle were still moving slowly on. There was a rider on the right point and two more behind. The marshal cast a casual glance at a passing beast.

  "Box B, huh?" he commented. "Where'd yu find 'em?"

  "Spraddled all over our range," the man said sullenly.

  "An' yo're takin' 'em back to Andy, huh?" Green continued. "Well, that's right kind o' Jevons, I gotta admit, but ain't yu goin' a long ways round? Yu'll be over the Border 'fore yu know it."