Sudden The Marshal of Lawless (1933) s-8

by Oliver Strange

  "Yu ol' son of a sweep," he told it. "Things is gettin' right interestin' in this neck o' the woods."

  CHAPTER XIII

  Riding along the street, the marshal noticed that his appearance was creating unusual interest; men he knew greeted him boisterously, and others, though silent, looked at him curiously. It was not until he reached his quarters that he learned the reason. Barsay's chubby countenance was one broad grin.

  "So yu've had another fandango with Mister Moraga?" he burst out, and the marshal swore.

  "Hell's bells! Has that got around?"

  "Shore thing. I just slips into the Red Ace to see if they'd run outa whisky--which they hadn't--an' there's a Box B puncher called Fatty tellin' the town all about it. Seems he was up on one side o' the ravine, afraid to shoot in case he hit the gel, an' no way o' gettin' down. He sees Tonia use her quirt--which she ain't lackin' sand any--an' the Mexican grab her. Yu oughta seen them fellas when he told how yu stood that jay-bird up an' shot the clothes off'n him. Me, I'm hopin' yu remembered there was a lady present. 'Shoot?' sez Fatty. 'Gents, I never seen the like. They say Sudden is fast, but I'm bettin' the marshal would have to wait for him.' They all laughed at that, but not so hearty as I did. Fatty said yu shot all over him, an' with his own guns."

  The marshal nodded. "He'll certainly have to steal another outfit; I plumb ruined that one," he admitted.

  "That's the worst o' yu fancy gun-slingers," Pete said quizzically, "Now if I'd tried to lift his hat for him I'd 'a' bin inches too low. Say, Raven an' one or two others warn't exactly joinin' in the jubilation."

  "I'm afraid he won't like it," the marshal said. "I'll be some grieved if that's so."

  "Like hell yu will," grinned the deputy, undeceived by the sober tone which the twinkling eyes belied. "Gripes! here he comes. It's me for the kitchen."

  Raven entered at the moment the deputy disappeared, storm signals flying on his visually impassive features. He did not beat about the bush.

  "Hear yu've had another clash with Moraga."

  The marshal nodded. "I found him tryin' to drag Miss Sarel from her saddle an' had to admonish him some."

  "I reckon I made a mistake over yu, Green," the other scowled. "Yu ain't exactly a shinin' success as a marshal, are yu? Sudden gets away with a stage robbery an' a murder, an' all yu do to get the town in bad with a fella strong enough to wipe it out if he takes the notion."

  "Yu tryin' to tell me that Lawless will lie down to be trampled on by that Greaser an' his band o' thieves?" the marshal asked.

  "No, the damn idjuts would pant for war immediate," Raven admitted crossly. "What I'm drivin' at is that it's bad business. I ain't a fightin' fool. I'm here to make coin, an' I reckoned yu was too."

  "Shore, but I'm a mite particular where it comes from," Green told him. "Mexican money don't appeal to me."

  The saloon-keeper regarded him with puzzled exasperation. Was he simply stupid, or playing a part? Raven could not determine, but one point stood out plainly--the marshal was not a tool to be used.

  "Mebbe yu won't like Mex bullets neither," he sneered. "Yu better tell the town to get organized', Moraga's got a good memory."

  "Then he'll stay on his own side o' the line, like I told him," the marshal said. "If he don't, you'll lose a customer for yore cows."

  The other made no reply, but his brows were bent in a heavy frown as he went out. When the coast was clear, the deputy sidled in, his face one broad grin.

  "He ain't a bit pleased with his li'l marshal, is he? No, sir, li'l marshal has got him guessin', an' he's got li'l marshal guessin', an' there yu are."

  They went out, and on their way down the street turned into the largest store to get tobacco. Loder, the proprietor, an old but hard-bitten product of the West, welcomed them with an outstretched, hairy hand.

  "Shake, marshal," he said. "I just bin hearin' how yu took the conceit outa that Greaser, an' I'm tellin' yu the town is plenty pleased."

  At Durley's they got a confirmation of the store-keeper's opinion, both from the owner of the place and from several citizens. The marshal's moderation only was criticized. "Yu shore oughta shook some lead into him," was Durley's comment. "Allus scotch a snake is my motter." Listening to this prudent sentiment, Green could not know that within a week or so he would be heartily wishing he had put it into practice, but so it was.

  Following up the notion that had come to him on his way back from the Sarel ranch, the marshal spent the whole of the next morning exploring the country east of the 88, his interest being in the brands of such cattle as he encountered. Though he found nothing suspicious he persevered in his quest.

  "It would be easy as takin' a drink, an' if Jevons is honest he's shore got a misleadin' face," he muttered.

  Though he was many miles from the Double S, he was working in that direction, passing over a level expanse of good grass, gashed here and there with little gullies. From one of these came the bellow of a steer, and forcing his way in, the marshal found that the trees ringed a grassy, saucer-like depression, in the middle of which was a rough corral. Riding down to the enclosure, one glance told him he had found what he sought--stolen stock. There were about a score of cows in the corral and the brand on them had been recently worked over, transforming a Double S into an 88. The dead ashes of a fire afforded further proof. Regaining the level, the marshal loped leisurely in the direction of the town, turning over his discovery. That Raven, as owner of the 88, was in on the steal, he had not the slightest doubt, but the trouble was to prove it.

  "Cuss the luck," he soliloquized. "I'm findin' nothin' but loose ends."

  He was crossing a little tree-covered plateau from which a gravelly stretch of ground sloped gently down when a slug sang past his ear, followed by the report of a revolver. Instantly he flung himself headlong to the earth, falling so that he lay behind a convenient boulder. Some sixty yards down the decline wisps of blue smoke showed that the shot came from behind a low bush, apparently the only cover the spot offered. Nigger, smacked on the rump when his master dived for shelter, had retreated into the trees behind. At one side the chunk of rock did not touch the ground, and this provided the marshal with a peep-hole through which he could watch events. Motionless, with gun drawn, he waited, but nothing happened.

  "He's wonderin' if he got me," Green muttered. "Well, I ain't tellin' him."

  Another ten minutes passed, and first the crown and then the brim of a black sombrero edged into view above the bush. The marshal chuckled softly; he knew there was no head inside the hat and declined to be drawn. The hat vanished and the bush became slightly agitated, but the silence remained unbroken. Another interval and abruptly from behind the bush, a man stood up, pistol in hand; it was Leeson.

  He weapon ready for instant use, he stepped from his cover and began to mount the slope. The marshal waited until he was too far from the bush to regain it and then rose noiselessly to his feet.

  "Reach for the sky, Leeson; I'm coverin' yu," he called.

  The man flung up his arms as ordered.

  When he had sworn himself to a standstill, the marshal spoke:

  "Chuck yore weapons ahead o' yu."

  He watched while a gun and a knife curved through the air towards him.

  "What's the idea?" Leeson snarled, and then, as though he had just discovered the identity of his opponent, "Why, damn me if it ain't the marshal."

  Green picked up the surrendered weapons. "Yu didn't know, o' course," he said sarcastically.

  "An' that's a fact," Leeson replied. "I took yu for that road-agent fella, Sudden; that black hoss o' yores--"

  "Ain't got a white face," the marshal reminded.

  "That's so. I oughta remembered," the other agreed readily. "Well, mistakes will happen, but there's no harm done; I'm glad I didn't get yu, marshal."

  "I'm a mite pleased about that my own self," the officer admitted. "I got yu instead, an' I'm takin' yu in."

  Leeson stared at him in anger and amazement, the latter well s
imulated. "Ain't I explained it was a mistake?" he demanded.

  "Folks have to pay for 'em in this hard world, fella," the marshal told him. "Where's yore hoss?"

  "Bottom o' the slope--in the brush," the man replied, and then, "Lookit, marshal--"

  "Get a-goin'," Green cut in. "Yu can sing yore little song on the way."

  A low whistle brought Nigger stepping sedately towards them. The marshal climbed into the saddle and with his drawn pistol motioned the prisoner to proceed. They found the horse, and Leeson mounted.

  "Seth'll have a word to say 'bout this," he growled, and for the rest of the journey maintained a sullen silence. On reaching town, the marshal handed the captive over to his assistant and went in search of Raven. He found him in his private room at the saloon.

  "Leeson tried to bushwhack me this afternoon," he said bluntly. "I fetched him in--alive."

  For one fleeting second the man's face betrayed an emotion, but whether it was surprise, anger, or disappointment, the marshal could not determine; then it was gone, and the cold, passionless mask was back again.

  "Leeson shot at yu? Whatever for?" he asked.

  "Pure affection, don't you reckon?" Green returned flippantly, and then, "He claims he took me for Sudden."

  "Well, that's likely enough too," Raven returned. "Yu better get rid o' that black hoss. As for Leeson, I'd turn him loose, in yore place."

  "If yu want I should--" the marshal began.

  "I don't give a damn; the fella's just one o' my hands--not too good a one at that," Raven retorted, adding carelessly, "His tale will clear him with most."

  Green nodded and came away. At the office he found Pete and the prisoner chatting amiably. When handed his weapons and informed that he was at liberty to depart, a sneering grin further disfigured Leeson's features.

  "Got yore orders from Seth, huh?" he said.

  "Don't push yore luck too hard, fella," the marshal replied caustically.

  When he had gone Barsay burst into a roar of merriment, and it was some moments before he could explain.

  "He's bin tellin' me how yu turned the tables on him," he said. "An' he was as solemn as an undertaker at his own funeral; reckons yu got no right to monkey with citizens thataway, an' I had to listen without a smile; I near died."

  "It was shorely funny," the marshal grinned. "Just the same, he damn near got me."

  "You oughta abolished him right away," Pete said disgustedly. "Where's the sense in totin' him in?"

  "Wanted to see what line Raven would take," Green replied. "But he warn't makin' presents to-day. As hard to catch as a greased snake, that fella. The 88 is rustlin' Double S cows. What yu make o' that?"

  "I ain't surprised a-tall," Pete told him. "That gang at the 88 ain't got enough honesty to protect a plugged peso, I've a hunch Mister Raven is swingin' a wide loop."

  In which conjecture Pete was undoubtedly correct, but as to how wide the said loop was neither of them had, as yet, the smallest conception.

  CHAPTER XIV

  Seth Raven was paying a visit, and though attired as usual, a careful observer might have noted that his sallow face was newly shaven, his shirt and collar clean, and his black coat and boots brushed. Slumped in his saddle, with a loose rein, he jogged steadily along the eastern trail on his way to the Double S. From every tree and shrub came the chatter and piping of the birds.

  For the saloon-keeper the beauties of Nature had no appeal; his mind was wholly absorbed by material considerations. The move he was about to make was one he had long deliberated, being, in fact, the coping-stone of all his plannings. He would have to walk warily--to-day's expedition was merely the first step--but Raven had the patience of the red woman who had borne him; he could plant seed and wait, uncomplainingly, for it to mature and flower. Over-eagerness was the fault of a fool, and therefore, as he reflected sardonically, the weakness of the majority of mankind. Money, and the power that money provides, would put him in the position to treat white men as they had so often treated him--like dirt. And he thirsted for it. Cold, calculating, ruthless, this passion of prolonged hate made him inhuman.

  By the time he had covered the open range and reached the ranch-house the sun's rays were slanting down like beams of flame and the shaded veranda was a comforting sight. An even more pleasant one was the girl standing upon it, though there was no welcoming smile on her face; she had early discovered the identity of the visitor.

  "Mornin', Miss Tonia. No need to ask after yore health," the saloon-keeper greeted, as he got down and tied his steed.

  The girl returned the salutation, adding, "You want to see my uncle, of course."

  "No, 'of course' about it when yo're around," Raven replied with clumsy gallantry. "But, as a matter o' fact, there's a bit o' business I wanta talk over with him. Ah, here he is. 'Lo, Reub, how are yu?"

  "Mornin', Seth. Hot, ain't it? Here, have a seat an' a 'smile.' Too bad I can't offer yu a decent drink. Tonia, fetch this fella some of his own poison."

  The saloon-keeper was only half-listening. He was watching the girl, admiring the lithe grace of her every movement, savouring the appeal of her slim, rounded form, and feeling again the fury of hate stir in him as he reflected that she would regard him as little better than a full-blooded Apache, and somewhat lower in the scale of humanity than Moraga. Having set the liquor on the table she went away.

  "Here's how," Sarel said, adding with a shade of anxiety in his tone, "What's brung yu, Seth?"

  Raven did not reply at once; he was taking in his surroundings, noting the solidity and apparent comfort of the ranch buildings, and the good grazing which extended as far as the eye could reach, and farther. He had seen it all before, but to-day it took on a fresh aspect.

  "Anthony knowed what he was about when he hit on this place--I reckon there ain't a better ranch in a hundred mile," he said slowly. "How much stock yu runnin', Reub?"

  "Can't tell till round-up," the fat man replied. "Oughta be around four thousand head, I guess."

  "An' if it all belongs to Tonia. She's of age, ain't she?"

  Reuben Sarel nodded, trying to fathom what the other was driving at.

  "It's a big property for a gal to manage," Raven said reflectively.

  "She's got me," Sarel pointed out.

  "Yeah, an' she had her dad," the saloon-keeper reminded him. "Somethin' might happen to yu too, Reub; we're all mortal."

  The stout man's face lost a little of its colour and he took a swallow of whisky rather hastily. He did not like the suggestion, or the tone in which it was made.

  "Cheerful chap, ain't you?" he said, with an attempt at jocularity. "Anyways, I s'pose Tonia will be gettin' married sooner or later."

  "To Andy Bordene?"

  "Looks like, though I dunno as anythin' is fixed."

  "An' what happens to yu then, Reub?"

  Sarel stared in surprise. "Why, I hadn't give it a thought," he said. "S'pose I'd stay put, or perhaps Andy would let me run the Box B if they decided to live here."

  "Don't yu gamble on that," the visitor said quietly. "I happen to know that Andy don't think much o' yore business capacity--heard him say once that yu hadn't savvy enough to sell cold water in hell. Young blood, yu know, is apt to have ideas of its own an' ain't very patient with age. I'm bettin' yu get yore time."

  The statement was made with conviction, and, moreover, though he had denied it, confirmed a fear that had already assailed Tonia's relation more than once. Raven's crafty eyes read all this, saw that the man was shaken to the core, and sneered inwardly.

  "Tonia wouldn't turn me out," Reuben protested.

  "Mebbe not, but her husband might, an' I figure she'll be a dutiful wife," Raven replied, and struck again, "I'm hopin' not, seein' yu still owe me four thousand."

  "It ain't so much, Seth; yu had fifty cows."

  "Which I gave yu twenty a head for--good price too for stolen stock," the saloon-keeper retorted, sneering when the other winced. "It was five thou., warn't it? More than I can afford
to drop, Reub. If yu lose out here I'll have to go to Tonia."

  The threat of exposure to the child he had robbed, but of whom he was genuinely fond, wilted the man. When he spoke it was in a husky whisper:

  "Anythin' but that, Seth. Take some more cows; I can manage so they won't be missed."

  Raven shook his head. "Too risky--for me. Think I wanta be pulled for rustlin'? I on'y took 'em before 'cause I was damn short an' to oblige yu. No, there's a better way."

  Sarel. raised his head, a gleam of hope in his deep-sunk eyes.

  "S'pose she married someone else?" Raven went on.

  "Yu got anybody in yore mind?" Reuben queried.

  The saloon-keeper hesitated, and then, "Yeah," he said firmly. "A fella who wouldn't send yu travellin' an' who might forget about that four thousand."

  It took a moment or two for the significance of this to sink in, but when it did the fat man sat up in his chair as though he had been stung.

  "Yu?" he cried. "Yu marry 'Ionia? Why, damn--" He clamped his lips suddenly.

  "Yu were goin' to say--?" Raven suggested softly.

  Sarel swallowed hard and looked uncomfortable. "I was goin' to say, damn me if I ever thought of it," he lied.

  The man who had made the proposition smiled acidly; he knew better. But he was enjoying himself; to get a white man in his power, ride and rake him with the spurs, afforded his mean mind the keenest satisfaction. But having indulged this desire he must apply the soothing ointment; he did not wish to drive his victim to desperation.

  "Why should yu 'a' thought of it, Reub?" he asked, smiling. "An' again, why shouldn't yu? I'm young yet, an' there's less important fellas than me in these parts. Is there any reason why I mustn't aspire to yore niece?"

  The cold, beady eyes of the speaker bored into those of the man opposite, daring him to say what he knew was in his mind--that there was a reason, one no amount of argument could ever remove. Reuben Sarel squirmed in his chair, fearful of giving offence, as helpless as a hog-tied calf in the branding corral. When the words came they were no answer to the question.