Sudden--At Bay (A Sudden Western #2)

by Frederick H. Christian

  Green surveyed the scene from a vantage point in cool shadow, beneath the trestles of the wooden bridge spanning the Bonito. ‘An’ only man is vile,’ he quoted. ‘Shore ain’t no oil paintin’. His horse nickered and he clamped a firm hand across its nostrils.

  ‘Easy, Night,’ he scolded. ‘They’ll know soon enough that we’re here. Now where did the kid say that doctor lived?’ Scanning the scene before him, his keen eyes presently espied a small frame house on the southern side of the town. Its general air of neatness, and the white picket fence set it apart from most of the other dwellings. A horse stood hipshot at the hitching rail, beneath the shadow of a young cottonwood planted in the front garden of the house.

  ‘That’ll be her,’ Green told himself.

  Tying Midnight firmly to one of the stanchions of the bridge, he waded up the bank of the river, and moved down a gully which looked as if it might at one time have been a small tributary of the Bonito. It led northward towards the doctor’s house, and within a few minutes, Green found himself within four or five yards from it. A quick sprint across the open ground brought him noiselessly to the rear door. He knocked quietly, breathing a prayer that Hight would be alone. His hand hovered close to the gun at his side.

  After a moment he heard a movement within, and the door opened. Green found himself face to face with a youngish man of medium height, about thirty years of age. The dark hair was already touched with gray, and the eyes behind the steel-rimmed spectacles were older and wiser than their owner’s age might have indicated.

  ‘Yes?’ There was no more than mild curiosity in the doctor’s voice.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Doc, my name’s Green. Does that mean anything to yu?’

  Hight’s face was puzzled for a moment, then light suddenly came into his eyes and he threw the door open wide. ‘The one who helped Billy! My God, you’d better come in —-and quick,’ he gasped. He scanned the area behind the house as he closed the door, and then moved to a window to survey the deserted street.

  ‘Did anyone see you coming here?’ he asked, then without waiting for an answer, ‘Are you out of your mind, coming back? What are you doing here?’

  ‘No to the first, no to the second,’ was the smiling reply. ‘As to the third, I’ve come to get the boy.’

  ‘My God, Green, are you mad? The town is full of Cotton’s men. How do you know I don’t belong to them as well?’

  ‘I’m bettin’ my life on it was the quiet answer.’ And Hight was silent for a moment.

  ‘The boy told you about me, did he?’ At Green’s nod, Hight went on, ‘It’s true I’ve got my reasons for hating their guts, Mr Green, but—’

  ‘My friends call me Jim, Doc.’

  ‘Alright, Gr … Jim.’ He smiled briefly, then put another question.

  ‘How did you get away from those two thugs of deputies?’

  ‘They was unavoidably detained,’ was the terse reply. Hight’s face took on a new, almost hopeful look.

  ‘That … Dan Rodgers. Is he?’

  ‘Dead, Doc. He’s beaten up his last medico.’

  Hight started visibly at these words. ‘How did you know that?’ he asked nervously. ‘I’ve never told a soul about…’

  ‘Dan mentioned it … afore he was took bad,’ Green told him, then changed the subject. ‘Is Billy still in the jail?’

  ‘Yes, as far as I know.’

  ‘How many men guardin’ him?’

  Hight shook his head. ‘I’ve got no idea, Jim.’

  ‘Don’t want to go in blind,’ muttered Green. ‘Might be worse’n useless.’ He sat silently for a moment, pondering his next move, while Hight looked at him as if he had announced his decision to fly to Santa Fe.

  ‘Jim —-you’re not serious! You don’t think one man alone could go into that jail and get out of Cottontown alive, do you?’

  Green didn’t answer, but shrugged. ‘I can’t leave the kid in there,’ was his only comment.

  ‘It’s madness!’ snapped Hight. ‘You can’t do it!’

  ‘Who’d yu reckon can, then?’ asked the puncher flatly, and Hight fell silent. ‘I’m sorry, Doc,’ apologized Green. ‘That wasn’t intended personal.’

  ‘Hell, I know that, Jim,’ Hight told him. ‘But one man, even if he was backed up by six others, wouldn’t have much chance against Cotton’s gunfighters.’

  ‘He hires guns, then?’ Green was interested in this news.

  ‘Yes,’ answered the Doctor. ‘Three or four of his riders are paid killers, like the two who —-what happened out there, Jim?’

  ‘They aimed to cut me down an’ bury me. I changed their plans a mite,’ was all Green would tell him. ‘That tall jasper I seen at the trial. What’s his name again?’

  ‘Helm, you mean? Big man, wearing two guns?’

  Green nodded. ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Name’s Chris Helm. He’s foreman of the Cottonwood ranch.’

  ‘He’s wanted in El Paso for murder,’ Green informed the Doctor.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ replied Hight flatly.

  Green took another tack. ‘Billy told me somethin’ about the way things are here. How long has this town been under Cotton’s heel?’

  ‘It must be ten years altogether, if you count Zeke Cotton’s days as well. They own everything. Nobody can come into this valley to trade. Nobody can take anything out to sell —-it all has to go through the Cottons or one of their tools. The bank, the saloon, the general store —-they’re all owned by the Cottons. They rent the saloon to Blass. He has to pay them a percentage of what he takes over the counter. It’s their money in the bank, and they set the interest on loans.’

  ‘An’ if anyone kicks, the muscle moves in, is that it?’

  ‘That’s it. I’ve had experience of it, in fact, you might say I was a walking example to the rest of the town. If you call the way I get around walking.’ His voice was harsh and bitter, and the memory of old pain was in the doctor’s eyes.

  ‘There are settlers to the south who have been hoping for years to come and farm in this valley. The one or two who’ve ventured north of the Bonito have been bullied and harassed to such an extent that they’ve pulled out. There used to be a sign at the fork of the road, about ten miles south of town: “This is Zeke Cotton’s road — take the other one.” They aren’t quite that obvious now, but the result’s the same. Newcomers aren’t encouraged to stay.’

  ‘I know that,’ murmured Green, a frosty smile playing around his lips.

  ‘Why are you involving yourself in all this?’ asked Hight suddenly. ‘What does it matter to you what happens to Billy Hornby, or me, or Cottontown?’

  ‘It’s a long story. Doc. I doubt we’ve got time for it.’

  Hight sat himself down in a chair facing Green. His face was earnest and something deeper than curiosity was in his eyes.

  ‘Make it short, then,’ he bid the puncher. ‘Tell me what your interest is, and maybe I’ll help you. If they’re the right reasons, that is.’

  ‘Help me? How can yu help me?’ Green looked puzzled.

  Hight leaned forward eagerly.

  ‘I’ll go over to the jail on some excuse, and find out how many men are in there.’

  Green looked at him in amazement, then shook his head, smiling. An’ I thought this town was spineless he murmured. ‘Yu’d do it?’

  ‘If you tell me what I want to know.’

  Green hesitated for a moment, then came to a decision.

  ‘I’m lookin’ for two men. Mebbe yu’ve heard o’ them. Their names are Webb an’ Peterson.’

  Hight pondered for a moment. ‘Can’t say the names are familiar, but names don’t mean much in these parts. What do you want them for?’

  ‘I want to settle a debt.’

  Somehow, the way in which these words were spoken put a chill in the medical man’s veins. Green’s eyes were cold and ruthless, and Hight did not envy the two men, whoever they were.r />
  ‘Who are you, Green?’ he asked bluntly.

  ‘My name’s shore ’nough Jim Green,’ the puncher told him. ‘But in Texas, they’ve given me another: there, men call me “Sudden”.

  Sudden! Remote though this corner of the West was, it was not so cut off from the world outside that Hight had not heard of the outlaw and gunfighter who bore the name of Sudden. So this quiet-spoken man with the level gaze, watching him now unperturbed, was the fantastic wizard whose genius with the six-gun had already earned him a place among the famous —-or the infamous —-of the frontier! Sudden, the man who had cleaned out Lawless, the man who…

  Green had been watching his host carefully and saw the dawning hesitation in the Doctor’s eyes.

  ‘Yo’re wonderin’ if mebbe I ain’t tarred with the same brush as them jaspers Cotton hires, ain’t yu?’ he said harshly. ‘Yu reckon anyone with a reputation like Sudden’s couldn’t possibly be anythin’ but what they say about him. Well, yo’re goin’ to hear the whole story. Doc. After that, I’m in yore han’s.’ Without ado, Green proceeded to recount the circumstances which had led to his infamous notoriety. The medico listened in amazement to the story of a promise made to a man on his death-bed, of the blind search for two murderers that the promise bound him to, and the false accusation of murder that had sent a boy alone into the wild frontier country with a price on his head, a target for every bounty hunter and reputation-builder who crossed his track.’

  ‘Most o’ what yu’ll have heard about me is lies,’ Sudden told the doctor. ‘But some of it ain’t. Yu’ll jest have to make yore own mind up which is which.’

  Hight did not hesitate. He thrust out his hand and grasped the other’s. ‘Jim, if you’re Sudden, then I’m guessing most of what’s said about you is lies. And —–’ he grinned, ‘since half the world are liars, anyway, it isn’t really surprising.’ He limped into his study and returned with a stout walking stick. ‘I think I’ll just go over and see that the boy is in good health. Tell him his sister is doing fine.’ He turned at the door to face Sudden. ‘Stay here, Don’t show yourself. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  Sudden nodded, saying nothing, and Hight limped out into the street. So that was Sudden! The quiet, drawling voice and the casual air hardly jibed with the lurid tales he had heard about the famous outlaw. He tried to recall some of them in detail, but found he could not. Something about the Hell City business down in Arizona. ‘But on which side: right or wrong? Good or evil? Hight squared his shoulders.

  ‘I know where my bet’s going,’ he announced to nobody in particular. The gray dog in the shadow of the livery stable looked up at the sound of Hight’s voice, and watched disinterestedly as the Doctor limped across the street and knocked on the door of the jailhouse.

  Hight was gone about fifteen minutes. Watching through the window of the medico’s house, Green saw him emerge from the jail and limp across the street. Hight’s progress was maddeningly casual and Green, on tenterhooks, swore and then laughed at himself.

  ‘Gettin’ all steamed up ain’t goin’ to help,’ he muttered, and moved to meet Hight as he came in. There was a smile on the doctor’s face, for his tidings were good.

  ‘The boy’s in his cell, Jim,’ he announced. ‘It looks as if there’s only one guard.’

  ‘Which one? Helm?’

  ‘No, one of the others,’ Hight replied. ‘I think he’s called Jackson. The Sheriff must be having his usual siesta.’

  ‘Let’s hope we don’t disturb him, then,’ smiled Sudden. They shook hands warmly again. ‘Thanks, Doc,’ the puncher said. ‘I’m hopin’ there won’t be no gunplay, but if yu hear shootin’ keep yore head down. Act surprised if anyone asks yu about me. Yu ain’t never seen me afore: sabe?’

  Hight nodded. ‘How about a horse for the boy?’

  Green’s smile was impish. ‘I was plannin’ on stealin’ yores, Doc,’ he said mischievously. ‘I figgered yu’d trade for one o’ Billy’s. I’m shore his sister’d take yore word on it.’

  He feigned not to notice the color which rose in Hight’s cheeks, but told himself that Billy’s observations about the medico’s feelings towards Jenny Hornby were accurate enough.

  Just as well, he thought. ‘She’ll have someone to look after her if Billy has to lie low an’ can’t take care o’ things.’

  ‘Take the horse and welcome,’ Hight was saying. ‘And —-good luck, Jim.’

  Sudden nodded. ‘I’ll be needin’ some,’ he remarked. Without further talk he edged out of the back door of the house and moved cautiously around the side of the house into the deep shadow which lay between it and the livery stable next door. He sidled up to the corner of the stable and peered around it, keen eyes raking every inch of the curving street and its buildings. No movement caught his attention: even the gray dog had gone. The street yawned wide and empty before him.

  ‘Hell, the longer I look at her, the wider she’ll seem,’ he muttered. Tipping his Stetson forward over his eyes, and sticking his hands casually into his hip pockets, Sudden sauntered into the street. Every nerve was tense, keyed for instant action at the first sight of danger, but outwardly his air was one of complete unconcern. He looked like a man who had every right to be where he was, doing what he was doing. They’d spot a fella runnin’ in a couple o’ seconds was his reasoning. ‘But someone walkin’ natural attracts no attention — I hope!’ A few more moments and he was across. With something like a sigh of relief he stepped up on to the porch of the jailhouse and knocked on the door.

  A chair shifted inside the jail, and footsteps approached the door, stopping behind it.

  ‘Who’s there?’ called a man’s voice.

  ‘Helm, Jackson Sudden said gruffly. ‘Open up!’

  He heard the bolts being withdrawn behind the door, which opened about three inches to reveal a whiskery face peering around the edge. The bulging eyes crossed along the barrel of Green’s .45, cocked and deadly, which he had whipped upwards to almost touch the man’s nose.

  ‘One sound an’ yo’re the late Mr. Jackson,’ Sudden grated. ‘Open up an’ back in!’

  Jackson complied, his eyes still bugging at the appearance of this man he thought long since murdered.

  ‘Yo’re thinkin’ I’m mebbe a ghost?’ jibed Sudden. Indeed, Jackson’s hands were trembling as if Green were a real apparition.

  ‘Turn around!’ snapped Sudden, and the man complied hastily. A merciless blow with the barrel of the .45 dropped Jackson like a sack of flour on the floor. Rummaging around, Sudden found some rawhide thongs in a drawer of the Sheriff’s desk, and efficiently bound Jackson’s hands and feet. A tight gag completed the work, leaving Sudden free to spend another two or three minutes finding his own guns and gun belts. Strapping them on, he moved cat-footed into the corridor which led to the cells. Memory guided him to the door, and he slammed the bolts back, swinging the door wide to reveal Billy Hornby sitting with his head in his hands, gazing morosely at the floor.

  ‘Yu’ll never win my heart with a face like that,’ Sudden said, and almost burst out laughing at Billy’s exaggerated reaction to seeing him in the doorway.

  ‘Jim!’ gasped the boy. ‘How in the name o’—’

  ‘All done by mirrors,’ Green told him. ‘Less questions an’ more action. On yore feet —-here, catch!’ he tossed the boy his spare gun belts and guns, the ones he had stripped from the scar-faced Norris. ‘Time to get out o’ here, afore Sleepin’ Beauty wakes up,’ he told Billy.

  ‘Jim, I never thought I’d see yu again,’ Billy said as he strapped on the gun belt. ‘How in tarnation did yu get loose?’

  He slapped the holsters into a comfortable position and looked up as Green said ‘Later. First of all we got to get clear o’ here. Listen to me: across the street a hoss is tethered. It’s Doc Hight’s. Walk across there. Don’t run, don’t even move fast. Act as natural as yu can. I’m goin’ around the back to get my hoss down at the bridge. When yu get on the hoss outside the Doc’s walk him down
to the bridge. By that time I’ll be mounted up. As soon as yu see me, turn him loose an’ head after me. Yu got it straight?’

  He looked keenly at the boy, who seemed preoccupied with other thoughts.

  Billy looked up blankly. ‘Oh: shore, Jim. Don’t worry none.’

  ‘Yu alright, Billy?’ the puncher asked.

  Billy looked surprised. He slapped the guns at his side. ‘Shore, Jim. I’m fine, now. Go on, we better git movin’.’

  Frowning slightly. Sudden opened the rear door of the jail house and after checking that the coast was clear, edged along the back of the building and across the open land towards the declivity which bordered the river. He slid down it, watching from the corner of his eye for Billy to appear by the horse outside the doctor’s house. The boy was not yet in sight, perhaps blocked from Sudden’s view by the bulk of the jail. He sloshed through the shallows of the river to where Midnight stood patiently awaiting his master. He was just about to untie the reins when he heard Billy Hornby’s clear young voice yelling:

  ‘Buck Cotton! Come out here!’

  The boy had gone back to the saloon.

  Chapter Seven

  Buck Cotton was not in the Oasis. He had left town for the ranch with his two brothers perhaps half an hour before Sudden had released Billy Hornby from the jail, immediately after Sim Cotton had given some special instructions to the Sheriff.

  The conference had taken place in Mott’s house, the banker sitting quietly in a corner of his own parlor, his eyes huge as he listened to what Sim Cotton was saying. Harry Parris stood, threading the brim of his hat through nervous fingers, around and around, licking his lips occasionally but otherwise silent.

  ‘I want that kid out o’ my hair,’ rumbled Sim Cotton. ‘Yu savvy, Harry? I want him gone —-no more problems, no more wild talk, no gossip, just gone. I’m leaving Helm to help yu.’