Sudden--Strikes Back (A Sudden Western #1)

by Frederick H. Christian

  ‘This warn’t none o’ my doin’, Jim,’ he said. ‘That hoss is a killer.’

  ‘Shucks,’ said Sudden. ‘A mite frisky, mebbe, but he’s all right.’ Then turning to Parr, he eyed that worthy coldly. ‘Yu satisfied? The half-sneer faded abruptly from Parr’s face, and he shuffled his feet and avoided Green’s gaze. Then with an air of bravado, he looked up and replied, ‘Just a joke, Green—hell, we rim that one on every new hand.’

  ‘Which is a lie,’ snapped Gimpy flatly. ‘Nobody ever rode that hammerhead, an’ yu know it, Curt. Not,’ he finished with a grin, ‘that one or two ain’t tried?

  Green’s smile was wintry, and Parr took false assurance from it. ‘Yu ridden him, Parr?’ Green asked.

  ‘Who, me? Not on yore life!’ was the retort.

  ‘Well, let me show yu what woulda happened if yu had, an’ he’d thrown yu,’ said Sudden, and with a smooth, swift movement which Parr had no chance to evade, clutched the fellow by the front of his shirt with one hand, and by the belt with the other, and with a sweeping, deceptively-easy-looking lift, took Parr off his feet and tossed him over the corral rail into the littered horse pen. Parr landed on the back of his neck in a cloud of dust, sprawling awkwardly over. Cursing, the man scrambled to his knees, clawing for the gun which had been twisted around behind his body by the force of his fall. He actually had his hand on the butt before Green even moved, but when Parr looked up it was straight into the muzzle of a six-gun. Sudden, divining Parr’s intention, had lightly vaulted the fence, drawing his gun with his free hand as he did so. There were perhaps two feet between them.

  ‘A joke’s a joke, Parr,’ snapped Sudden. ‘If yu want to take it further, Hell’s a good piece distant.’

  Parr shook his head and forced a weak smile on to his face. Green waited silently until Parr had relinquished his hold upon the butt of the gun before returning his own weapon to its holster. Parr got to his feet, slapping vigorously at his clothes, his head bent to hide the hatred that twisted his face. When he had regained control of himself, he came across the corral to where Green was standing, and held out his hand.

  ‘No hard feelin’s, Green,’ he said, with a twisted smile.

  Green, affecting not to see the proffered hand, simply shook his head. ‘No hard feelin’s,’ he agreed. ‘Yu had yore joke. Don’t make the same mistake twice.’ And with this remark he turned away from Parr to continue his conversation with Haynes. The dark-faced Parr slouched away, mounting his horse without another word to anyone, and rode out of the yard.

  Dave Haynes watched Parr go, and as the others mounted up and streamed out on their appointed duties, observed, ‘I’d say yu ain’t made a friend o’ Curt.’ His grin indicated that he hardly considered it a calamity, and Sudden’s reply was in the same vein. ‘I’d say a man could try harder--but he’d shore have to be short on friends to want to.’ Then, ‘Whose was that fool idea with the horse, anyway?

  ‘Curt thought her up while yu was havin’ breakfast with the boss,’ Dave told him. ‘We was all against it, but at the same time… well, yu know how it is. We figgered yu’d get piled off afore yu got aboard. Nobody ever rid Ol’ Sleepy afore.’

  Sudden grinned. ‘Be a while afore I want to try her again, either—my back feels like somethin’ Sherman marched over goin’ South.’ He put a question to Dave about Parr.

  ‘Tate hired him, oh, about a month ago,’ was the reply. ‘He worked on the Stackpole place up to Jess Stackpole was killed. — Afore that he worked for Tom Sheppard. The boss took him on because Curt said he was on the chuckline, an’ he’d ruther starve than ride for Barclay.’

  ‘He shore don’t bring his employers much luck,’ was the sardonic comment.

  ‘Yu meanin’ . . .?’

  ‘Nothin’. But he’ll bear watchin’. Come on, let’s get this yere conducted tour started.’

  After Green had saddled his own horse, the two men set out from the ranch in a southerly direction, until the prairie began to show a slight, but distinct slope ahead of them. Here and there stunted pine trees clung to the sandier soil, and a line of flat-topped mesas appeared high on the horizon. It was to the foot of the nearest of these that Dave was heading, and after about ninety minutes of steady riding, the sharply rising table mountain lay athwart their path. ‘

  ‘This trail used to lead to South Bend—long way around,’ Dave explained. ‘But they mined the mountains out, an’ all the dynamitin’ and blastin’ loosened the rocks high up on the pass. She’s mighty dangerous to go through. There’s a better route down the valley.’

  Sudden nodded. ‘I come in that way. I take it this road ain’t used these days?’

  ‘Oh, yu get the occasional prospector pokin’ around for a pokeful o’ silver, but otherwise, folks travel to South Bend through the canyon. We’ll have to leave the horses here—’ He pointed at some stunted bushes growing at the foot of the cliff face, and without waiting for a reply, dismounted and tethered his horse. ‘How are yu at mountaineerin’?’

  ‘ ’Bout the same as needlework,’ Sudden told him. ‘Not much good.’

  ‘Here’s yore chance to learn, then,’ Dave grinned, and started up the faint path which led up the face of the steeply sloping escarpment. The sun, formerly cooled by the breeze as they rode, was now hot and brassy against the rock. Soon both men were sweating freely.

  ‘Shucks, if I’d known we was going climbin’ I’d have saddled Pegasus instead o’ Midnight.’

  ‘Pegasus? Who’s he, some Injun chief?’

  ‘Nope. Pegasus was a flyin’ horse, in some Greek story.’

  ‘Huh. Feller writing about flyin’ horses. He musta been drinkin’ snake oil.’

  The two men toiled on up the slope.

  ‘I’m takin’ it there’s a reason for this—exercise we’re doin’?’Green asked.

  ‘Shore,’ panted Dave. ‘I can show yu the whole range from up here!’

  ‘It better look good,’ was the dark reply.

  Soon the two men were on the summit of the mesa, and true to his promise, Dave was able to show his companion a magnificent vista across the whole of the valley.

  ‘We’re lookin’ north,’ he told Sudden. ‘Now over there to the left—that’s the west—that long line o’ hills runnin’ down towards the river is Thunder Mesa. It breaks where the Sweetwater goes through Thunder Ravine, which is about where yu can see that dark line o’ trees, an’ then on up northwest. Other side o’ Thunder Ravine is South Bend, an’ between us and there, on the other side o’ Thunder Mesa are the silver mines.’

  Shading his eyes, Sudden could just make out the trail along which he had entered the valley.

  ‘I recall seein’ some rough-lookin' country on the north side o’ the river,’ he prompted.

  ‘The Badlands,’ Dave told him. ‘They run between Barclay’s range an’ the Mesas·—about where the shimmer is, there.’ He pointed to the northwest. ‘Yu can see the Slash 8 down below us there. Now look to the right a ways—see that sort of finger o’ rock stickin’ up?’

  In the sun-hazed distance, Green could indeed see a jutting pinnacle of rock which leapt upwards from the end of the mountainous mesa formation on their right, which extended in a sweeping curve from north to south across the right-hand end of the valley.

  ‘That’s Hangin’ Rock,’ explained Dave. ‘She’s a great big boulder that stands on a smaller one, looks like a kid could push her over, but I reckon it would take more like a couple o’ sticks o’ dynamite. Just behind, there, is the metropolis o’ Hangin’ Rock-two saloons, two stores, an’ enough houses for them fool enough to want to live there.’

  Sudden nodded, then asked Dave where the Slash 8 boundaries lay.

  ‘Shucks, that’s easy,’ replied his companion. ‘On the north, yu got the river. On the south you got the mountains, like this mesa we’re a—standin’ on. Over on the east there’s The Needles o’ which Hangin’ Rock is the end bit-an’ over there on the west yu can see a small crick. We call it the Bonito, an
’ she’s our western boundary, although natcheral enough we often find some o’ our beef over on what used to be Stackpole’s land.’

  ‘An’ which now belongs to Barclay. He give yu any trouble collectin’ ’em?’

  ‘Not this far he ain’t,’ was the answer.

  ‘Let’s hope we can keep it that way,’ Sudden said. ‘Let’s mosey on down.’

  His companion looked at him for a moment, then asked mischievously, ‘Yu shore yu can manage her, ol’ feller?’

  Green grinned. ‘Well, without my walkin’ stick, she looks a mite difficult, but I’ll give ’er a whirl.’

  ‘I could allus lower yu down on a rope. If I had a rope.’

  ‘I’d ruther jump an’ do her quick,’ replied Sudden. Together the two men made their way carefully down the none too distinct path, Sudden in the lead. It was treacherous going. The face of the cliff was sun-dry and brittle, and the ever-present wind tugged at their bodies on the exposed corners and juts of the winding track. They were about half-way down when Dave, prattling away behind Sudden, turned his heel upon a small stone, and with a cry of amazement mixed with fear, found himself plummeting downwards off the path. By sheer luck, he managed to twist his body in mid-air, and grasp one of the stunted briars clinging for sustenance to the bare face of the cliff. The wicked spikes tore his hands, face, and body cruelly, but he gritted his teeth and hung on as Green, lying Hat on the path above, leaned over the edge and called his name.

  ‘Dave—Dave, yu all right?’

  ‘No … yu idiut. I’m dead as a doornail.’ Dave strove to keep his voice level, but a cold sweat broke out of every pore on his body as the small tree lurched slightly. Its meager roots, unaccustomed to this strange extra weight, were beginning to pull slowly from their precarious grasp in the crevices of the rock. Risking another movement, Dave shifted his body slightly. He could see Green’s anxious face about ten feet above. Sudden meanwhile had been thinking rapidly.

  ‘Can yu get yore gun belt an’ pants belt off without movin’ too much?’ he called down.

  ‘Expect so,’ was the exasperated reply. ‘Though I’d as lief not.’

  ‘Take ’em off, buckle ’em together, an’ don’t argue,’ snapped Sudden. ‘I’m gonna link my belts together an’ lower ’em to yu. Try to buckle yore belt to mine.’

  Divining his friend’s plan to make an improvised rope, Dave began to unbuckle his belts. Every movement he made was slow and deliberate, but even so the bush swayed dangerously as he moved. His fingers were slippery with sweat, but eventually he was ready. Green, dangling head and shoulders over the precipice, lowered his connected belts down towards Dave. Dave slowly stretched his hand upwards, his fingers extended. The belts were just out of reach. He moved just slightly, and a thin trickle of earth slithered down past his head as the bush again lurched. ‘She’s no use, Jim,’ he called, hoarsely. ‘Every time I move, this durned tree moves too.’

  Without another word, Green pulled himself back on to the path. In a moment he had slipped off his boots, and in another, was lowering his body downwards off the path and on to the face of the cliff, his feet probing for footholds in the rock.

  ‘Jim, for Godsakes don’t try it!’ cried Dave.

  Sudden did not answer. His whole attention was riveted on the exploring toes and lingers which held him, spread-eagled, on the cliff face. Once he looked down, and the sheer drop below brought a clammy sweat to his forehead. Still lower he inched, and lower, until he was a few feet above Dave’s head. Holding on to a small outcropping of rock with one hand, he extended the linked belts, which he had been carrying gripped in his teeth, down to Dave, who fastened them in a few moments to his own and carefully lifted them upwards until Sudden could reach them. Sudden then transferred the buckle to his teeth again, and began the far more difficult task of retracing his descent. Inch by agonizing inch he moved, crabwise, his fingers torn and bloody from the needle-sharp rocks, his socks torn to shreds on his gory feet. Dave watched him as he slowly climbed, sweat staining the blue shirt as the powerful muscles coiled and bunched beneath it. It seemed like an eternity before Green finally found a full purchase for his hands on the path, and with an aching gasp of relief, hoisted himself back on to the comparatively level ground.

  Despite the pain it caused him, he forced his lacerated feet into the tight-fitting boots, and, digging the heels firmly into the path, took the full weight of his companion. Within moments, Dave had climbed hand over hand up their improvised rope and was safe on the path where both men sat, bathed in sweat, gasping together in near exhaustion.

  When they had recovered their breath somewhat, Dave turned to Sudden.

  ‘Jim,’ he vowed, ‘I ain’t forgettin’ this—never.’

  ‘See yu don’t,’ was the smiling reply. ‘Us old fellers can’t keep pullin’ yu kids outa trouble all the time. In the first place, it’s mighty hard work, an’ in the second’—he assumed a quavering voice—‘it could durn near kill me.’

  A few more minutes’ rest, and both men were fully recovered from their ordeal, thanks to their wonderful constitutions, and continued their way down to the foot of the mesa. Once, Dave glanced over the side of the path and gulped at the thought of how near to a dreadful death he had been. If it had not been for this slow-smiling man … he shook his head. ‘I’d shore be shakin' hands with Old Nick right now,’ he muttered. When they reached the horses, he bent down and reverently kissed the ground.

  ‘Shore am glad I didn’t hit yu no harder than this,’ he said.

  Green, limping to his horse, turned, and said over his shoulder, ‘Shucks, there was on’y a fifty-fifty chance o’ yore gettin’ hurt even if you’d fell all the way down.’ It was Dave’s turn to be puzzled and he looked his question at Green.

  ‘Yu might have landed on yore head,’ explained that worthy. ‘In which case yu’d have suffered no damage at all.’

  Dave’s reply to this insult was neither pretty nor printable, but Sudden only grinned and led the way on to the trail towards the Slash 8.

  Later that evening, when all the hands were assembled at the supper table Shorty was the first to draw attention to the multiple scratches and cuts on Dave’s hands and face, and to Green’s wounded fingers and limping gait.

  ‘Yu boys been plowin’, or somethin’ equally repulsive? He asked.

  ‘Naw,’ put in Dobbs, ‘they been stringin’ bob-wire.’

  ‘Or down in the mines, mebbe, diggin’ silver,’ chimed in Gimpy.

  Only George Tate did. not join in the general banter, which was accepted without any attempt at self-defense by the two men. Sudden had already related to him in the barest detail the events of the day; afterwards, Tate had wormed the full story out of Dave. It had taken some doing: Green had enjoined the younger man to secrecy. Tate surveyed his new hand as Sudden settled back in his chair, his face crinkling into a grin.

  ‘Wa—a-a-l, gents, to tell yu the truth, it wasn’t none o’ those things—although it was no Sunday school outin’.’

  Seeing that he had the complete attention of the crew, Sudden threw an air of mystery around his next words, so that the silence brought Cookie in from the kitchen. So effective was the spell Sudden cast that he made no move to leave. ‘We was up high in the mesas, Dave an’ me,’ Sudden was saying. ‘High up, away from the paths an’ trails. Lot of pine forest up there—dark, an’ deep, an’ mighty spooky. Horses was nervous. Dave was nervous. I was a mite uneasy myself. Had that feelin’ o’ somethin’ goin’ to happen; didn’t know what. Anyways, there we was when, without so much as a by-yore-leave, the biggest mountain lion I ever hope to see jumps straight out of a tree an’ on to Dave’s back.’ He paused for effect, then went on, ‘Without even thinkin’, I piled off my bronc an’ danced around tryin’ to get in a good clean shot. T’warn’t no use ; him an’ Dave was close to each other as a snake an’ his skin. All this time, Dave was a-bellerin’ an’ a-hollerin’ “Git him offa me, git him off!” so I done the only thing I could—I thre
w my gun down and got a-hold o’ that big ol’ cat with my bare hands.’ The listeners waited with bated breath as he paused again. ‘Course, that ol’ cougar was so intent on tryin’ to get a bite—sized piece o’ Dave, he just kinda shrugged me off. That ol’ cat’s pelt was like a Mex rowel—took all the skin off my fingers, but he shore didn’t scare me none—not while he was a-chewin’ on Dave, anyway. I thunk a moment, then ran back a step, an’ hauled off an’ gave that cat just about the hardest kick I ever gave any animal in my life, an’ that includes a skunk once came to a picnic I was at. Well, sir, I durn near broke my foot on that cat’s rump, so he turns around to see who was a-bootin’ him, which allowed Dave to roll clear from underneath. Cat looks back to see what’s a-happenin’ to his meal and see’s old Dave’s face for the first time. He took one look, an’ then, boys, he let out a yowl I bet they heard clear to San Antone. Next think I knowed, he was boltin’ into the forest like all Hell was on his tail. I guess Dave there must have given him a powerful mean look.’

  By this time, laughter was loud in the warm room, with George Tate slapping his thigh, so Green concluded, ‘Anyway, boys, that’s how Dave got his scratches an’ I got my limp. She ain’t much of a story, but she’s the only one we got.’

  When the laughter had subsided somewhat, George Tate said to everyone, ‘Boys, it looks like we’ve been took. Green gets a free drink next time we’re in town.’ A chorus of agreement greeted this remark, and Gimpy added, ‘A man that can tell tall ’uns like that oughta meet Mike Mountford, an’ see who can come out on top.’