He gave an account of his escape, and the change in the masked man's expression was amazing.
"I told him you were not to be harmed," he rapped out. "Damn his soul, he's getting " He stopped, conscious of betraying himself, and then, "Well, it doesn't matter, no hurt was done. Still, it's a pity you stole those cows."
"So I did take 'em?"
"Certainly, so far as the country round is concerned, and my men believe the same," came the cool reply. "You see, I wanted to make sure of you, Sudden, and as this is now the only place where you will be safe, I think I've done it. Do you follow me?"
"I'm treadin' close on yore heels."
"I credit you with courage and intelligence. I need such a man to be my
"Pardner?"
"Right hand, I was about to say, but it may lead to the other. Those animals outside can execute but are incapable of thinking, for me or for themselves. You will take orders from me, and they from you."
"I'm a stranger; mebbe they won't stand for that."
"Are those guns of yours ornaments?" was the cynical query. "There is only one man who may prove really awkward, since you will be succeeding him."
"Ain't meanin' Steve, are yu?"
"That clod?" Satan sneered. "No, this is a fellow called `Butch'--short for butcher, I imagine, he being a slayer of some note. Have you heard of him?"
Despite the indifferent tone, the puncher was aware of the other's scrutiny.
"Not any," he replied nonchalantly.
"I shall leave you to deal with him, as you choose," the bandit said meaningly. "He is in the town now. You understand?"
"Why don't yu tell him to pull his freight?" Sudden asked bluntly.
"Knowing what he does, he would be a menace. Also, I need someone to take his place, and that someone must be the better man. Now do you see?"
Sudden did, all too clearly; he had again been jockeyed into false position. Butch, a dangerous tool who had transgressed, must be got rid of, and he--probably regarded in the same light, was to do the work. He could see no way out, save to abandon his mission.
"I get yu," he said.
"Right. How about quarters?"
"The saloon ain't so bad. Don't cotton much to these holes in the ground; make me feel like a gopher."
"One gets used to them."
Sudden glanced round. "Yu oughta be middlin' comfortable," he said. "That's a han'some picture."
Standing on the floor, where the light was poorest, he hadnot noticed it on his previous visits. A large canvas, depicted the life-size figure of a gunman. The half-crouch pointing pistol, and malignant expression on the face, produced an amazing effect of reality.
"The subject should appeal to you."
"Yeah," Sudden agreed. "The gun is wrong--he'd be dead afore he got it that high. Allasame, it's mighty clever---I could 'a' sworn I saw the eyes move."
Satan laughed. "That's a common illusion," he returned. "Well, I wish you luck."
"The fella who depends on luck has a poor pardner," the cowboy said, and went out.
A few moments passed and then the masked man said quietly, "You can come out, Butch."
In response to the invitation, a man emerged from behind the picture. His appearance was not formidable. Untended, greying hair showed beneath his slouched hat, a black coat hung loosely from his rounded shoulders, giving him a pronounced stoop. But his lined, dissipated face, with its bloodless lips and heavy-lidded eyes, told a different tale. Here was one to whom cruelty was a commonplace, who would slay without compunction.
"So that's the pilgrim?" he asked. "Why didn't you let me salivate him right away; it would 'a' bin easy."
"Yes, too easy--for him," the Chief retorted. "I could have done that myself, but I want him shamed before others, beaten at his own game. Let him see death coming, and wait for it, suffering those few seconds of agony which turn a man into a white-livered cur and make him sweat blood. Do you understand?"
His voice trembled with the virulence of his passion, and it made Butch think a little. "Yeah," he said slowly. "You mean you don't like him--much, but has it occurred to you that he might get me?"
Satan's expression was an insult. "You don't expect to pick up five hundred dollars without some risk, I suppose?" he said coldly. "Of course, if he's quicker than you ..."
The gunman leered. "I guess not, but you hadn't mentioned the dinero," he replied. "Well, that's fixed; I'll be on my way." He had a word as he went, "Hell, t'o're a good hater, ain't you?"
Had he heard the valediction which followed him he would have been less satisfied with the vile bargain he had made.
"Yes, I'm a good hater," Satan repeated. "Go, you dog, and kill or be killed; either way, I gain."
* * * Sudden was glad to find himself in the sunlight; he had meant what he said--these dismal caverns in the rock, the homes of a dead and gone race, depressed him, and the interview had intensified this feeling. He smiled mirthlessly as he recalled the incident of the picture; there had been no illusion, the moving eyes were those of a hidden marksman, ready to shoot him down at a sign. He did not suspect it was the man he had to meet, and--subdue, but it warned him that the bandit was not taking risks regarding his own safety.
"An' two-three times I came near to puffin' on him," he reflected ruefully. "Oughta guessed that dealin' with the scum he has to he'd have a card up his sleeve. If `fools for luck' is right, I must be a prize specimen."
He spent the rest of the day loafing about the town, watching, listening, but he learned nothing until the evening when, returning to the saloon, a whisper came to him out of the gloom.
"A bad man is here. If he falls foul of you, remember that his right hand is the dangerous one."
The voice was Anita's, and he realized that he was passingthe place where she lived. But he could see no one, and with a word of thanks, he went on. The caution could only refer to Butch.
He entered the saloon from the rear, and in the seclusion of his room, examined his guns, reloading them with fresh cartridges from his belt, and spinning the cylinders; his life might depend on their being in perfect order. He did not want to kill this man, and if possible, he would avoid the encounter, but ..
The bar was well patronized, most of those present being men. The few exceptions were of the type common in the cattle-towns, brazen, loud-voiced, gaudlly attired creatures who had followed hunted men into hiding, or had been driven into it by their own misdeeds. The atmosphere was hazy with tobacco smoke and reeked of liquor and kerosene.
With his back against the bar, Sudden surveyed the scene with apparent indifference, but his eyes were alert. Most of the faces were unfamiliar, but in one corner, Scar and his cronies were playing poker. He could see no one likely to be the man he was expecting.
"Business 'pears to be boomin'," he remarked to the proprietor. "Any particular reason?"
At that moment, a half-tipsy reveller raised his glass and shouted, "Here's to the Double K."
The toast produced a burst of raucous laughter, and a cry of "Don't forget the Twin Diamond."
"There's yore answer," Dirk replied. "The Chief pays prompt."
Nevertheless, the cowboy had a conviction that this did not explain things; an air of expectancy, frequent furtive glances at the door and himself, suggested that the crowd had not come solely to spend ill-gotten gains. The saloon-keeper's wife called her husband from the exit leading to the rear of the premises. When he returned he said: "There's a fella at the back askin' for you."
Sudden went out, but not too hurriedly, for it might be a trap. He found young Holt, alone, and bursting with his news.
"Bin lookin' for you all over," he began. "They aim to git you to-night in there--a gunman named Butch has come a-purpose. Muley got drunk this arternoon an' he's bin tellin' everybody to come to yore funeral."
"I'm thankin' yu," Sudden said. "But what can I do?"
"Keep out'n his way," Holt said eagerly. "you can hide--"
The grim smile stopped him. "Neve
r look for trouble, son," the puncher replied, "but when it's lookin' for yu there's on'y one thing to do--stand up an' face it."
"But you ain't got a chance--they say he never misses," the lad urged.
"The best of 'em is liable to slip up once, an' that's aplenty. It was right kind o' yu to come."
"You stood up for me," Holt muttered, and, as he turned to go, "I hope you git him."
"I hope I don't have to," Sudden replied gravely. Returning to the saloon, he declined to have his glass replenished, contenting himself with a cigar. He had no more than lighted it when the buzz of conversation abruptly ceased as a black-coated, stooping figure flung back the swing-door and walked slowly to the bar. The effect of his entry upon the company told that this was the man for whom they were waiting.
Sudden absorbed every detail as he advanced; the poor physique and malevolent features interested him not at all, but the one gun, slung on the left hip, did. It suggested a left-handed marksman, but the woman had warned him against the right. Moreover, the butt of the weapon was turned backinstead of forward, as would have been the case had the wearer intended to use the other hand. He had seen gunmen who did that, but it was an awkward method. Then his eyes hardened and his teeth shut like a vice; he had solved the problem.
Meanwhile Butch had reached the bar and called for drink. He poured himself a modest dose, tossed it down his throat, and turned his half-shrouded, reptilian eyes upon the lounging form of his quarry, a few yards distant.
"What you think o' this liquor?" he asked.
"Pretty good," was the quiet answer.
"I say it's damned bad," Butch snarled. "So now what?"
"Matter o' taste, I s'pose," the cowboy said. "Anyways, I ain't sellin' it."
A sinister silence ensued; gamblers ceased their games, and men forgot to drink as they watched a duel which they knew could end only in one way. The mild snub, however, had produced a snigger which died swiftly when Butch glared towards the spot from whence it came. Then he turned his rancorous gaze on the man he had undertaken to destroy.
"One o' them funny fellas, huh?" he sneered. "You carry a couple o' guns, too, I see."
"Yore sight ain't deceivin' yu."
There were professional gunmen who had to flog themselves into a fury to arrive at the point of killing; others simulated anger with the object of flurrying an opponent into a false move. Butch belonged to neither class; he slew with the cold deliberation of one pursuing his trade, and the inoffensive demeanour of his victim aroused in him merely a feeling of contempt. Sudden knew that a clash was inevitable but he would do nothing to provoke it.
"I've put ten hombres outa business an' eight of 'em toted a pair o' sixes," Butch announced loudly. "I allus call a two-gun bluff." His frowning stare fastened upon the puncher.
"Shuck yore belt an' git down on yore knees, you sonof-a--" he barked.
The insult was deadly, and every eye in the room turned on the man at whom it had been hurled, still leaning easily against the bar. Breathlessly they waited for him to speak. Tense seconds, pregnant with menace, ticked by, and then the lolling figure slowly straightened, as though to obey the shameful command.
"Gawd, he's goin' to take it," whispered a card-player.
The neighbour to whom he spoke shook his head; the narrowed, ice-cold eyes were not those of a quitter.
"Yu can go plumb to hell," the puncher said contemptuously.
Another silence, for the killer, too, had not expected defiance. Then he rasped, "I'm sendin' you on ahead."
Vicious face thrust forward, shoulders hunched, his left hand moved in the direction of his holster, but not swiftly. Sudden's right, fingers outspread, was dropping over his gun-butt when the other's right hand flashed upwards to his arm-pit, whipped a second weapon from beneath the black coat, and fired.
A woman's scream was followed by a gasp of amazement from the spectators. They had heard but one report, yet it was Butch who lurched blindly, gave at the knees, and slumped heavily to the floor. One spasmodic attempt to raise the pistol still gripped in his nerveless fingers, and that was the end. Then they noticed that blue smoke was wisping from the cowboy's left hip, and that there was a red streak along one cheek. Sudden gave a glance at the man he had been compelled to kill, sheathed his revolver, and wiped the warm smear from his smarting face.
"It ain't but a scratch," he said, when the saloon-keeper offered to tend it. "That was a cute move, goin' for the other gun; it mighty near fooled me."
Morbid curiosity brought the crowd pushing and jostling one another to get a glimpse of the dead man. Among them was Scar, who thrust a way through, took one look, and with a malicious leer at the cowboy, said: "I reckon the Chief'll want to hear o' this."
"Yu needn't to worry, Roden," Sudden said quietly. "I'll carry the news myself."
"Since when do we take orders from you?" the fellow scowled.
"From now on," the puncher retorted.
"I'll see you in--"
He was given no time to finish. Sudden took a long stride, gripped his throat, shook him till his head rocked on his shoulders, and flung him away so forcibly that a table he collided with collapsed utterly. Lying amongst the fragments, he looked up into a blood-stained face, the fierce eyes in which conveyed a plain message. Scar read it, and having no desire to die, forgot that he had a gun.
"No ideas?" the cowboy gibed. "Yo're shorely wise." He faced the evil throng. "Listen: the Chief has put me in charge--after hisself. Any one o' yu who ain't satisfied can speak up now, an' leave Hell City by sunrise."
Deliberately turning his back, he stepped to the bar. He knew that if they chose to call his bluff he could be overwhelmed in a few minutes, but he was gambling on their fear of Satan, and now, of himself. Violence was the only argument they understood, and his prompt and savage scotching of Scar's incipient mutiny would impress them more than anything else. No one spoke until that worthy arose from the debris of the table, and with a poor effort at a grin, said: "You win, Sudden; I'm stayin' put. What the Chief sez, goes, for all of us, I guess; if he's give you Butch's job, there ain't no more to say."
The others appeared to accept this decision, and the cowboy nodded to the man behind the bar.
"Good enough," he said. "The drinks are on me; we'll celebrate my promotion."
Scar drank with the rest, but Sudden had no faith in the ruffian's submission. He had remained in Hell City because he was afraid to leave it, or, more possibly, to await an opportunity of squaring his account with one who had bested him three times. The body of the gunman was removed, and the saloon soon presented its customary appearance. The puncher remained for a while, and then, having bathed the graze on his cheek, went to see Satan.
"So you--won?" was the greeting he received.
"Not much of a guess, seein' I'm here," he replied.
"Only fools guess," Satan said, his gaze dwelling on the livid mark of the killer's bullet. "He almost got you."
"I was a mite careless," Sudden admitted. "Posin' as a one-gun man an' usin' a hide-out ain't nothin' new, but it would trick some."
"Was it necessary to beat up Roden?"
"Shore, he was insolent. If I gotta handle these fellas they have to understand I can do it. Scar can figure hisself lucky not to be travellin' the one-way trail after Butch; I was in the mood."
The bullying air did not blind the bandit to the fact that this man who had beaten Butch might be a braggart, but was also dangerous, and likely to be--difficult. Yes, that was the word. Well, there were ways ... He glanced almost involuntarily at the picture behind which the dead gunman had stood only a few hours earlier. Sudden saw the look.
"Gives me the creeps, that paintin' o' yores," he remarked. "Him there with his six-shooter trained on me allatlme. D'yu mind if I put a coupla pills through his eyes, just to show him?"
"I certainly do mind," was the instant reply. "I have fondness for that canvas, it is a work of art, and bullet-holes wouldn't improve it."
Sudden
laughed; he had noted the gleam of apprehension in the dull eyes, and it told him that his suspicion was correct--the Chief was well protected.
"Shucks, I was on'y joshin'," he said. "Sold them steers I stole?"
Satan looked sharply at him, but the cowboy's expression was serious. "Not yet, the beasts must be worked on first," he replied.
"I'm pretty good at blottin' brands."
"No doubt, but that can wait--the herd is in a safe place. Are you short of money?"
"Not any," Sudden assured him, adding with a grin, "Them Double K boys don't know the first thing 'bout poker."
He came away from the interview conscious of two failures. The attack on Scar had been intended, mainly, to drive the man and his intimates from Hell City, thus weakening the bandit force. His enquiry about the cattle was inspired by the hope of a hint as to their whereabouts, but Satan was giving nothing away. Well, he must find them.
Others also were concerned about the stolen stock, though they knew where it was to be found. Roden, and his three shadows, sitting round a table in the saloon, were ostensibly playing poker, but the game was but an excuse for a conference. And, naturally, Sudden was the subject of the discussion.
"There ain't room in Hell City for him an' us," Scar said. "We gotta down the--."
"Yeah, an' make a quick getaway," Squint added. "Even if he don't know--an' there ain't much he misses--the Chief will pin it on to us, an' we ain't too popular in that quartc just now."
"For which we gotta thank that cursed cowpunch," Coger said.
"We'll thank him--our own way," Scar growled. "I'd like to see Muley take the flesh off'n him in strips. The point is, we don't wanta go empty-handed."
"You said it all," Daggs agreed. "The Chief must have a lot o' coin hid up in his place. What about us interviewin' him, strictly private, an'--"
Scar's scornful laugh cut him short. "Ever seen him play with a gun? Thought not. I'm tellin' you, he's better than Butch or Sudden. One bright fella tried yore idea an' was dead before he could pull. Besides, there's allus Silver behind you. No, gents, that flea won't jump. Also, I know a safer dodge--the cattle."
Sudden Rides Again (1938) s-4 Page 12
