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

by Frederick H. Christian

  ‘I say that tryin’ to hang an old man an’ hidin’ behind a gun are about all yo’re fit for, Pardoe. No wonder yu didn’t have the guts to face George Tate. Bushwackin’s more in yore line.’

  Pardoe smiled a slow, evil smile. ‘Wrong again, hero!’ he said. ‘It don’t hurt to tell yu now. Linkham beefed the old man, but he was really after yore scalp. In fact, he used this Remington. That’s why I’m so shore he ain’t gonna mind if we have a little fun with yu, since yu’ve been so charmin’ as to come an’ see us alone. Eh, hero?’ Once again he poked the rifle barrel into Sudden’s ribs, but this time Sudden was ready. Imperceptibly he had been shifting his position, inch by inch, during Pardoe’s diatribe, and now, with a fluid, lightning movement, he grabbed the rifle barrel and yanked it forward, pulling Pardoe off balance towards him. With a curse, Pardoe lurched forward, and Sudden locked an arm like iron about the outlaw’s bull neck, and in the same movement whipped Pardoe’s six-gun from it’s a holster. Before any of the others had time to even move, they were ‘covered by the unwavering bore of the .45, and they had looked into those deadly slitted eyes once before. They froze.

  ‘That’s better, gents,’ said Sudden. His voice was like shifting ice in some polar sea. ‘Now—suppose yu all very gently unbuckle yore gun belts an’ step away from them.’

  During this speech he did not relax one ounce of the pressure of the arm locked about Pardoe’s neck, but kept the wheezing outlaw bent backwards like a bow, the pig eyes bulging as the man struggled for air. The four outlaws faced Sudden, and for a moment they hesitated; then an imperious flick of the revolver in Green’s hand convinced them that hesitation might prove fatal, and their hands flew to their belt buckles. It was in this moment that Pardoe acted.

  Without warning, the big outlaw simply let his entire body go slack, and folded his knees. His weight slumped against Sudden and for a moment pulled Sudden slightly off balance. In the same second, Pardoe struck blindly backwards at the Slash 8 man with his elbows and roared, ‘Get him, boys!’

  Sudden, pulled forward into the wicked blows of Pardoe’s ham-like arms, reeled to one side as the broken-nosed outlaw rolled clear of him to allow his fellows an unimpeded shot. He was immediately sent spinning by Sudden’s first shot, which caught him high on the left shoulder and knocked him into a sitting position against the porch of the cabin, half-unconscious, but still able to see the unbelievable tableau before him.

  Pardoe saw Ray yank his gun from its holster as the other three dived for cover, clutching their guns. He saw Sudden through a cloud of dust as the Slash 8 man hit the dirt and kept rolling, heard Ray’s gun boom, saw Ray suddenly wilt as Green’s second shot took the outlaw clean between the eyes; saw Callaghan plucked off his feet, while still running, by Green’s third shot; saw MacAlmon stop, turn, and fire at Green, missing him. Green’s fourth shot drove MacAlmon back against the rails of the corral, where he lay unmoving, and Green was now out of sight behind a water trough in the yard. Pardoe cursed and tried to move, but the pain in his shattered shoulder kept him pinned where he was like a collector’s butterfly. And he watched in agonized disbelief as Bob Roberts, who had skittered into the barn, came thrashing out on horseback, firing as he came, driving diagonally away from Green’s hiding place and trying to pin the Slash 8 man down until he was out of range.

  Green remained unmoving behind the stone trough as Roberts’ bullets whined off it and thunked huge sprays of water upwards. Within a few moments Roberts was clear of the yard and heading for the trail. Pardoe cursed again, feebly, watching impotently as Green vaulted nimbly over the trough, scooped up the Remington which Pardoe had dropped, and in one movement swept it to the shoulder and fired. Pardoe watched Roberts tumble from the saddle as though reluctant; there was a small pull of dust as the man’s body hit the ground. The riderless horse careered on for a few yards and then stopped, ground hitched by the trailing reins.

  Pardoe shrank back against the porch steps as the dust-smeared, slit-eyed Slash 8 man came across the yard and stood looking down at him in disgust.

  ‘All right Pardoe—yore war’s over!’ he grated.

  Pardoe tried to speak, but found that his voice was gone. He had been around most of the trail towns of the West, and he had seen some good men with a gun. What could he say to this ice-cold devil, whose six-gun wizardry had in one unbelievably fast battle left him the only man out of six still on his feet? Pardoe looked vainly for some indication that Green had been hit, and finding none, resorted finally to a weak round of cursing. His self-indulgence was interrupted rudely by a kick in the ribs that set whorls of pain-fire dancing before his eyes.

  ‘Pardoe, yo’re faced with a choice: I want some information. If yu give it to me, I’ll promise yu a fair trial. If yu don’t, I’ll kill yu now. An’ I ain’t shore that killin’ yu wouldn’t be the best thing.’

  Pardoe nodded; he did not dare argue with this menacing figure.

  ‘I want to know where Linkham is, and when he’s due here again.’

  ‘What time is it?’ Pardoe asked, weakly.

  ‘About six o’clock.’

  ‘Link oughta be on his way here now, in that case.’

  Sudden smiled, a cold smile that sent no answering warmth into Pardoe’s face; he looks like a wolf thinkin’ o’ deer meat, was the outlaw’s unspoken thought. ·

  ‘Then let’s wait for him,’ said Sudden cheerfully. ‘Maybe he’s got good news for yu.’

  Without seeming effort, he bent, pulled Pardoe’s good arm around his neck, and half dragged, half lifted that worthy into the house. When he got the burly outlaw inside, he threw him down on one of the rough straw mattresses in the bunks that lined the wall. Pardoe fell like a sack of potatoes.

  ‘Out like a light,’ Sudden told himself. ‘He shore ain’t as tough as he thinks he is.’

  So saying, he tore Pardoe’s shirt open, and using strips from it, bound the man’s wound roughly. Having made the man comfortable, he then proceeded to bind and gag Pardoe efficiently in the bunk. Pardoe lay unconscious, a slight snore escaping his slack lips.

  ‘Sleepin’ beauty,’ commented Sudden. ‘One day yore prince will ride up on his charger. I’m bettin’ he don’t kiss yu.’

  So saying, he hurried out into the yard to the gory task of removing the huddled bodies lying there. Having dragged the bodies into the bam, he returned to the cabin and settled by one of the windows. Cradling the Remington across his knees, he settled down to watch the trail.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Burley Linkham was in a foul mood. just over three hours previously, he had been in Jasper de Witt’s office, and once more that jaggedly sarcastic voice had played his ego.

  ‘So, you gave Parr a pistol-whipping and let him go, Burley?’ de Witt had said. ‘Is that what you’re telling me?’

  Linkham had nodded. He realized from the banker’s tone that he had made a mistake. Exactly how, he did not know; but de Witt’s anger was unmistakable.

  ‘It seems I cannot rely on you to do anything right, Burley,’ the banker said silkily. ‘First, you kill Tate instead of Green. Then, to compound your stupidity, you set Parr free with in formation which could hang you. You oaf! You lumbering, brainless dolt! Do I have to think of everything for you? Don’t you know that Parr will tell what he knows to any fool who asks him a question? Do you think I have spent all these years perfecting this scheme to have it ruined by some liver-mouthed fool who wouldn’t know which way was ahead if he wasn’t pointed?’ De Witt jumped to his feet, waving aside Linkham’s stammering excuses and denials. ‘Be quiet, you fool! Let me think for a moment.’

  Linkham lapsed into a surly silence, scowling malevolently at the pacing banker, who, if he noticed his underling’s looks, remained oblivious of their import.

  ‘Where would Parr have gone?’ the banker asked suddenly.

  ‘I—I dunno, I—uh −’ faltered Linkham. ‘I just told him to start ridin’ an’ not to stop. The way he looked, I never figgered he’d d
o anything else.’ Then, in a surge of self-justification, ‘I don’t think he would have dared to, neither. I scared the livin’ daylights outa him.’

  ‘He knows about the Hideout, of course? Linkham nodded dumbly.

  ‘And he knows you and the others?’ It was a statement, not a question. Without giving Linkham time to reply, even had the man wanted to, de Witt went on, ‘Yu’d better find him, Burley. If he’s walking around free, you’re in jeopardy. If you are the slightest danger to me I shall jettison you. Your life is in Parr’s hands, Burley. You had better find him. Quickly, do you hear? And do not come back here unless you can—without proof that Parr is dead I shall have no further use for you. Do you understand me?’

  His baleful eyes fixed Linkham with a glare so evil that the roughneck, case-hardened to violence as he was, recoiled in alarm. Hastily mumbling that he would find Parr, Linkham lurched to his feet.

  ‘What about—everythin’ else?’ he ventured.

  ‘Everything else, as you put it, is under control, Burley. I can go ahead now with you or without you. It is a matter of supreme indifference to me one way or the other. Tomorrow Brady will auction the Slash 8. The girl will not be able to raise the money, and Barclay will buy the ranch from the bank. The girl will probably return East. You will then take your men and ensure that the other employees of the Slash 8 are—taken care of. If, however, you are unable, for one reason or another, to take care of it, I am sure I shall be able to find someone to replace you.’

  ‘Yu wouldn’t,’ breathed Linkham.

  ‘I would, my dear Burley, and I shall—unless you find Parr in twenty-four hours and bring me proof that he is dead. If you do that, our deal will be consummated. You shall have the Box B to run; we shall own the valley. So go, you have no time to waste. Afterwards, we shall settle our score.’

  Linkham nodded, and settling his sweat-stained hat more firmly upon his bullet head, left the office. De Witt leaned back in his chair, making a steeple of his fingers, and reflecting upon his last words with Linkham. Beautifully phrased, he told himself. You and I shall certainly settle our score, Burley. It will be a pleasure. He smiled.

  Linkham saddled his horse and rode slowly out of town. His mind was seething with hatred for the cold, calculating way in which de Witt had threatened to discard him. But a far more immediate worry was the whereabouts of Curt Parr. Where would the man have gone? It had been very early when Parr had appeared at the Barclay ranch; it had been mere luck that Zack had been in bed when Parr appeared, for Barclay knew nothing about Parr’s spying activities. His lip curled when he thought of the way that Barclay patronized him, called him his right-hand man, when all the time de Witt was playing the rancher for a fool. I’m de Witt’s right-hand man, thought Linkham, and when the tally is made, I’ll be in the saddle. De Witt had already hinted many times that as soon as the deal was finished, he would have no further use for the blustering Barclay. And Linkham, grinning evilly, told himself that he knew what that meant. As it had been many. times before, his mind was awed by the immensity and thoroughness of de Witt’s planning. There was Zack Barclay fronting for him in the land purchases; Linkham himself, put on the Box B ostensibly to help Barclay, but in fact to keep Barclay under watch, and at the same time to provide him with a cover for Linkham’s leadership of the Shadows. Barclay was fool enough to think that it was his own reputation that kept the Shadows away from the Box B. In fact, on de Witt’s orders, Pardoe and the boys had been stealing Box B cattle in small quantities for many months. And if Zack ever stepped out of line, a lot of incriminating evidence would turn up: brands like the Diamond 8 and the Box B were registered in Barclay’s name and the cattle were in the canyon, ready to be revealed if necessary. If not, they would become part of the holdings of de Witt’s range company afterwards. Linkham shook his head; de Witt was fantastically thorough. That bank robbery: a stroke of genius. To rob your own bank so that you could force a foreclosure on the only mortgage outstanding in the valley. That was clever all right. Perhaps too clever, for de Witt had given strict instructions about where the loot from the robbery was to be hidden. Linkham had hidden the money somewhere else: that was his ace in the hole in case de Witt got just that little bit too clever. If he ever did, Burley Linkham was going to take great pleasure in blowing a very large hole in Mr. Jasper de Witt; that money would provide a man with a real life down in Mexico someplace.

  But first of all, Parr. He could not have gone back to the Slash 8. He would not have dared to go to the Hideout, not knowing whether Burley would have sent word to Pardoe to kill him if he showed up. That meant one of two things: either Parr had headed north into the Badlands, a likelihood he dismissed almost as soon as he thought of it, remembering Parr’s shattered face; or South Bend, and on to Las Cruces and then Texas, Arizona, California. He pressed his horse forward into a gallop.

  Burley Linkham did not find Curt Parr. Curt Parr found Linkham. He was camped off the trail, waiting for darkness before he ventured on the open trail again. He saw the horseman coming, recognized Linkham’s paint pony immediately, and made a snap decision. If he told Linkham Green’s real identity, added that Green had gone to the Hideout, that the Slash 8 man had divined the secret of the Shadows, Burley would have a chance to clear out before the John Laws arrived. He would be grateful. He would rescind his order to have Parr killed on sight. He might even review his decision about giving Parr a grubstake. So Curt Parr stood up and flagged with his arms and called ‘Burley! Burley Linkham! I got to talk to yu! For God’s sake, Burley, I got to talk to yu.’

  Linkham reined in. His astonishment could not have been more complete if he had rubbed a silver dollar and made a wish, and immediately seen it granted. There was Parr, waving, yelling something incomprehensible, outlined clearly against the bright yellow of the sun. Linkham shot him down without a qualm and rode off, leaving the huddled form of the former Slash 8 rider where it had fallen. He turned his horse’s head towards the Hideout.

  He rode the distance to the Hideout in high good humor, still almost unable to believe his luck. Just to be sure, he took out of his pocket the ring he had wrenched from his victim’s finger, and saw the initials CP engraved on it. He smiled, and jogged into the canyon mouth. His smile disappeared as he reached the middle of the canyon without being hailed.

  ‘That damned Pardoe!’ he muttered. ‘How many times has he got to be told about keepin’ a guard posted? Damned if I don’t bust his beak again for him.’ So saying he dug his spurs into the paint’s Hank and rocketed along the trail towards the cabin. He came around the bend fast and wide and into Sudden’s view. The Slash8 man stretched himself warily, and moved away from the window to behind the door. A quick glance at Pardoe showed that the man was still unconscious.

  The slowing thunder of Linkham’s angry arrival ceased in the yard, and Sudden heard the heavy tread of the man’s boots on the steps of the porch. The door burst open and Linkham pushed into the room. ‘Pardoe!—what the hell—’ was as far as he got before Sudden stepped out from behind the door and slashed the barrel of his six-gun downwards. Fast as his movement was, however, Linkham’s reaction was faster. He was incredibly quick for such a big man, and Sudden’s blow, intended for Linkham’s head, bounced relatively harmlessly off the Box B man’s shoulder. With a bear-like growl, Linkham snatched at his gun, but this time Green’s aim was unerring, and a chop with the gun barrel across Linkham’s wrist broke the man’s hold. Linkham’s gun skittered across the bare board floor. Even as Sudden struck, however, Linkham was moving. His left arm came over in a lopping, sweeping blow which caught Sudden on the side of the head and lifted him off his feet, slamming him against the wall. He slid backwards, scrabbling for balance, as Linkham came boring in for the kill.

  ‘Mister Snooper Green, eh?’ grunted Linkham. ‘We’ll fix yore wagon good this time!’ His long arms reached for Sudden’s throat, but the Slash 8 man regained his balance in the same instant and brought the .45 up to cover the oncoming Linkham. />
  The Box B foreman stopped, his piggy eyes gleaming. He looked from the bore of the gun up into Green’s narrowed eyes, and then shrugged.

  ‘Yu goin’ to kill me, Green? he asked.

  ‘On’y if I got to,’ Sudden replied.

  ‘What I thought,’ nodded Linkham, and without a second’s hesitation, threw himself bodily at Sudden. Only a short, vicious punch from the Slash 8 man’s left hand, which threw Linkham off balance, prevented him from finishing the fight then and there. He landed sprawling, then raised himself on one knee. He glared at Sudden.

  ‘Yu better kill me, Green,’ he growled. ‘Elsewise I’m goin’ to come after yu until I whup yu or yu shoot me. Are yu goin’ to fight like a man?’

  For a long moment, Sudden regarded this huge bear of a man. The contest would be uneven, for Linkham outweighed and outreached him. Nevertheless, since he did not want to kill the man, and it was obvious that Linkham would only fear a man who was his physical master, there was little choice. In a strange way, he found the man’s courage admirable.

  ‘Yo’re quite a man, Link,’ he said. Linkham saluted him mockingly as Sudden unbuckled his gun belt. This he threw to one side, and it was fortunate for him that he did not make the reflex action of watching where they landed, for the moment the belt had left his hand, Linkham surged to his feet and rushed in again, his huge arms swinging. A nailing blow glanced Sudden’s cheek, while another set bells ringing in his ears. He retaliated with a flurry of hard, punishing blows to Linkham’s paunchy middle, then skipped warily out of range of the huge ham fists. Balanced on the balls of his feet, Sudden awaited Linkham’s next onslaught which was only seconds in coming. With a bull-like roar, Linkham dived at Sudden’s legs and flung his arms wide in an attempt to sweep the lighter man off his feet by sheer weight. Sudden had seen Linkham’s try coming, however, and was ready for it. He moved, just enough to the right, and clubbing his fists together, brought them smashing down on Linkham’s neck as the huge body neared horizontal at Sudden’s waist level. Linkham hit the floor with a resounding crash that set tin plates rattling on the crude shelves along the wall. He lay there for a moment, prone, gathering himself for the next onslaught. ’