Sudden--Troubleshooter (A Sudden Western) #5

by Frederick H. Christian

  Cameron’s hand relaxed and the revolver slid back into its ornate scabbard, while every breath in the saloon was expelled in a gusty sigh.

  ‘My Gawd! did yu see that?’ gasped the man who had earlier identified Green.

  ‘Damned if I did,’ his table companion told him. ‘I never even seen him move!’

  Sudden stepped back, covering Cameron. He surveyed the gunman coldly.

  ‘Killin’s too good for a polecat like yu,’ he grated. ‘Shuck yore belt.’

  A faint gleam, half puzzlement, half triumph, appeared in Cameron’s eyes. He unbuckled the heavy, stitched belt, which fell to the sanded floor with a thump. At Sudden’s command he stepped away from it. Still keeping Cameron covered, Sudden kicked the gun belt across the floor away from the gunman. He then took two steps backwards, holstering the gun he had drawn so unbelievably swiftly. His hands reached for the buckle of his own gun belt.

  ‘Killin’ yu’d be too easy,’ he said. ‘I reckon yu got to be shown the hard way that all farmers ain’t such easy marks.’

  He handed the gun belt to the bartender, who accepted it open-mouthed, then faced Cameron once more.

  ‘Yu reckon we’re even matched now, Cameron? Or is hittin’ defenseless young girls more in yore line o’ country?’

  Cameron had watched his opponent’s actions with disbelief, hardly able to comprehend his good fortune. He was well versed in the dirtier forms of saloon brawling, and the murderous tactics employed to maim, blind, or cripple an opponent in a fist fight. This fool with the incredible draw had played right into his hands! Instead of his reputation being destroyed, the gunman could recoup his ascendancy with no real loss of face. He had weighed the build of the nester, and knew that he had the advantage of weight and reach, although Green was taller. These thoughts flashed through his head as the dark-haired cowboy turned to face him, and with a cry of inarticulate rage Cameron threw himself upon his enemy.

  Sudden, however, had seen the move coming and moved lightly aside, allowing Cameron’s blundering body to pass him between the bar and his left side. As the gunman’s head dropped, Green laced his hands together and dealt Cameron a sickening blow over the ear which chopped the man to the floor, splitting his lips open. Cameron rose, spitting sand and blood from his mouth, and from the crouch leaped once more at Sudden. Once again the cowboy moved back and to the side, and once more the brutal chopping blow stretched Cameron face down on the floor.

  Everyone in the saloon was on his feet now and forming a close-packed, jostling ring about the two fighting men. Yells of encouragement, criticism, and advice spewed from the men as Cameron got to his feet, more slowly this time, and eyed Sudden more warily. He shook his head, pulled his body upright, and once more charged at the slim form before him, ready this time for the evasive movement he expected Sudden to make. The puncher made no such move, but instead his left arm came out as straight as a ramrod, with all the force of his supple body behind it. Cameron ran right into the punch and reeled sideways into the arms of the crowd.

  ‘Give ’em more room!’ somebody yelled.

  ‘Yeah, Cameron’s got nowhere to fall down!’ was the rejoinder, one which brought the blood to Cameron’s face and sent him circling forward, more cautiously this time, changing the form of his attack. This time it was Sudden who stepped forward, almost into the enveloping bear-hug that Cameron tried to use. Faster than the eye could follow, Sudden’s fists thudded into the gunman’s face, drawing a gout of blood from the man’s nose.

  ‘Stan’ still an’ fight, damn yore eyes!’ Cameron cursed, but his unmarked opponent merely grinned coldly and then, light on his feet, buried a further flurry of blows in the gunman’s middle. Cameron folded slightly, his breath heavier.

  ‘Hell,’ cried one disgusted spectator, ‘this ain’t a fight, it’s a massacree.’

  ‘Yu want to step in here an’ try?’ ground out Cameron, hearing the insult.

  ‘Couldn’t do much worse,’ was the contemptuous reply.

  Cameron shook his head to clear it. Although Green’s blows had been punishing, they had not hurt him as much as he was trying to make it appear. If he could get this smiling devil to drop his guard for a moment … Without warning he dived forward at Sudden, landing a heavy blow on the puncher’s temple. Sudden, momentarily stunned by the blow, was unable to evade the groping grip of the gunman, whose knee came up wickedly, dropping Sudden gasping to the floor. Sudden managed to roll desperately aside as Cameron’s spurred boot came stamping down upon the ground where a second before his head had been. A cold rage flooded into Sudden’s body, and in a smooth movement he rolled over and up on to his feet. Gone now was any pretense of avoiding Cameron’s rushes. He disregarded the gunman’s attempts at self-defense and attack and went after the man, trading blow for sickening blow, taking whatever Cameron threw at him and hurling his own blood-spattered fists at the leering visage.

  The sweat-stained, battered principles, encircled by the brutal faces of the onlookers eager to see every moment, every blow struck; the flat sound of bone on flesh, the wounded grunts when body blows went home; these, under the flaring lights grayed by the fog of smoke, dulled by the curses of the crowd, created a picture which would have defied the descriptive powers of a Dante.

  Sudden knew that it was madness to fight like this, but the primitive urge to destroy this man with his bare fists had, for once, overcome his patience. Dominated by his intention to beat this killer into the dust he took blow upon blow that might have been avoided, for the satisfaction of once more battering his own fists into the torn face of his opponent.

  It had to end. No two men could go on with such brutal punishment and stand. A chance blow from Cameron sent Sudden reeling backwards against the bar, and before he could straighten, Cameron was upon him, twisting, thrashing, trying desperately to hold the puncher there. Sudden was conscious of the hand clawing his face, the seeking thumb searching to blind him. A surge of fury possessed him and he smashed his fist blindly forward. It caught Cameron just below the chin, in his corded neck. Gasping, clawing at his throat, trying desperately to breathe, Cameron fell backwards, momentarily paralyzed.

  ‘Yu got him, mister!’ yelled one of the onlookers. ‘Whale the hell out’n him!’

  Sudden shook his head; weak and dizzy, he stood waiting for Cameron to regain his feet. He knew that the shouted advice had been eminently sensible, and fully in accord with what Cameron would have done had the situation been reversed. But he did not fight that way. Cameron was recovering. His breath rasped in his throat as he climbed once more to his feet.

  ‘That was a sucker play,’ he croaked. ‘Now I’m gonna kill yu!’

  His head dropped, and he rushed in, all science gone, his arm shooting forward to deliver a blow, which, had it landed, would have ended the contest then and there. But Sudden had been ready for just such a move, and acting too swiftly for those watching to follow, he grasped the descending wrist and, using Cameron’s own force and weight, twisted around like a pivot. Pulled forward by Sudden’s unexpected move, Cameron hit the puncher’s thigh and went up into the air. Sudden released his grip and Cameron shot forward to land with a crash full length at the end of the bar where he had originally stood. For some moments he lay there, supine, senseless, only the heaving chest showing that he still lived. Slowly, one eye opened, then the other. The realization that he had been bested by the slim, battered man who stood watching him warily flooded into him, and in that same moment a flash of recognition came to him.

  ‘My Gawd!’ he gasped. ‘Now I know yu! Yo’re that Texas outlaw! Yo’re – Sudden!’

  Sudden! This stunning revelation brought a gasp from the onlookers, and the unbelievable wizardry they had witnessed was in one word fully explained to them. So this was Sudden, the daredevil whose name was legend throughout the Southwest! No wonder he had outdrawn Wes Cameron! Probably no other man could have!

  Cameron levered himself up on to one elbow. A fury of hatred shook him, and he sho
t a glance sideways. His gun and belt lay within arm’s length.

  ‘Yu lose, Sudden!’ he screamed.

  In one rolling movement Cameron had reached his gun, and his hand was clawing at the butt when a shot roared out and Sudden, who stood unarmed and helpless, his own guns behind Tyler’s bar, whirled to see Tom Appleby standing just inside the batwing doors, smoke dribbling from the muzzle of his forty-five.

  Cameron fell backwards, a look of shock and malevolence upon his face. He half rose again upon his elbow, a quivering hand trying to line the gun-barrel on Appleby.

  ‘Yu … double … cr—’ Appleby’s gun blazed again, and Cameron was slammed backwards, his face still fixed in a scowl of hatred. One of the watchers bent over the prostrate form, then straightened, shaking his head.

  ‘Cashed,’ he announced to all and sundry. ‘An’ good riddance!’

  ‘Amen to that!’ seconded Tyler. ‘Tom, yu arrove just in time.’

  ‘Ain’t so shore,’ said Appleby coldly. ‘How did it start?’

  Eager voices supplied him with the details of what had passed, losing nothing in the telling. While the patrons of the bar clamored around the lawman to add to his knowledge their own story, their own opinions, Appleby’s cold eyes never left Sudden. Nodding, he shouldered his way through the knot of men surrounding him and came across to the bar, where Sudden was buckling on his gun belt once more.

  ‘So yo’re Sudden,’ he said. ‘Mebbe I’d a’ done this town a service if I’d let Cameron kill yu. Then I could o’ hung him an’ rid the world o’ two o’ yu.’

  Sudden faced the lawman calmly, his face unreadable.

  ‘Yu just saved my life, Appleby,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m overlookin’ what yu said.’

  ‘Don’t,’ Appleby said shortly. ‘Yo’re one o’ the lawless breed an’ yu ain’t wanted in Yavapai!’

  He turned and faced the crowd in the saloon. Holding up his arms for silence, he addressed them in grave tones.

  ‘Afore yu all start tellin’ me I’ve gone loco, lissen to me: there’s worse news tonight than one rat killin’ another.’ He glanced malevolently over his shoulder at Sudden. ‘Mebbe this jasper knows about it, too. I just come in from the Saber. Randy Gunnison’s old man’s hoss came in this afternoon with blood on the saddle.’

  A roar of excited speculation greeted this announcement. One man stepped forward with a question.

  ‘Yu got any idee where Gunnison was headin’ when he left Saber, Tom?’

  ‘Randy sez he was ridin’ up into the Mesquites,’ the lawman told him.

  ‘He rode up thar alone?’ asked a puzzled bystander.

  ‘So I’m told,’ Appleby said. ‘He told Randy that he aimed to have a man-to-man talk with Jake Harris afore things got too far out o’ hand in the valley. Knowed if he rode up there with his crew the nesters’d reckon it was a war party an’ commence firin’. So he went in alone.’

  ‘Yu reckon someone’s bushwhacked ol’ Lafe?’ asked Tyler, his eyes wide.

  ‘I’m hopin’ not,’ Appleby said coldly. ‘Or this jasper an’ his friends up in the Mesquites is goin’ to have some explainin’ to do.’

  All eyes swung to fix upon Sudden, who had listened to this news with as much surprise as any man in the place. Sudden fixed Appleby with a flat stare.

  ‘Yu aimin’ to make arrests or preside at a lynchin’?’ he snapped.

  ‘Neither – yet!’ was the sneering reply. ‘Tomorrow mornin’, however, I’m goin’ to comb the Mesquites with a posse. If we find out that anythin’ has happened to Lafe Gunnison we’ll be asking yu an’ yore friends a few leadin’ questions, an’ yu can bet yore last cent on that!’

  An ugly murmur among the crowd convinced Green that the lawman had the sentiment of the townspeople behind him. Gunnison was a big man to these people, more important to their lives than any of the homesteaders or, indeed, all of them.

  ‘I aim to collect Johnstone an’ Newley’s bodies,’ he told the men who, instinct with menace, half circled about him. His voice was mild and devoid of emphasis. ‘Then I’m takin’ them out to the Mesquites. That’s where I’ll be if anyone wants me.’ He said this last looking directly at Appleby, whose eyes fell before Sudden’s. The onlookers watched this silent exchange, and when the puncher moved towards the door, fell back. Their faces were sullen, but they had no stomach for any trouble with this hard-eyed, acid-tongued individual who had already proven his mettle before their astonished eyes.

  As the batwing doors flapped behind him a hubbub of speculation began. The onlookers bellied up to Tyler’s bar, and the comments flew thick and fast.

  ‘Sudden, huh? He’s a killer, shore enough,’ said one man.

  ‘Shore he is,’ scoffed Tyler. ‘That’s why he beefed Cameron when he had ’im dead to rights. If that boy’s a killer I’m a Dutchman.’

  ‘Yeah, well give us some drinks here, Dutchy,’ roared a man at the far end of the bar, raising a long laugh from the others. The humor was rough, for they were mostly men who lived hard, whose life was harsh. Easily swayed, they had been Cameron’s while he had held the town in his hand, and Sudden’s when he toppled the gunman. Now, as the arguments about the legendary career of the Southwestern gunfighter and what they had seen him do that night raged, so did the balance of opinion shift forward and back.

  Listening to them, his lips curled in contempt, the Marshal of Yavapai laughed to himself; they could be swayed again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘YU COMPLETE, utter, damn’ fool! Yu stupid idjut! I orta beat yu to a pulp!’

  Had any of the respected citizens of Yavapai seen their Marshal at this moment, as he paced the floor of the Saber ranch house living-room like a caged panther, their jaws would have dropped with astonishment. If it had then been possible for them to see the object of the Marshal’s vitriolic scorn their confusion would have been complete. Randy Gunnison cowered before the terrible wrath of the slit-eyed lawman, occasionally letting his frightened gaze wander towards Jim Dancy, who was sitting in the big leather armchair watching Randy Gunnison’s discomfiture with savage enjoyment.

  ‘I couldn’t do anything else,’ whimpered Randy. ‘He’d cottoned on, I’m telling you.’

  ‘Tell me what he said.’

  ‘I told you once.’

  ‘Tell me again. Every detail. An’ by God, yu’d better not leave anythin’ out!’

  Once again the scion of the Gunnison family related the details which had led to his shooting the old man. As he spoke, his eyes wandered as if drawn by magnets to the window, through which he could see the wagon outside the ranch. A tarpaulin loosely covered the huddled heap which was his father’s body; Appleby had wasted no time after his arrival.

  ‘He damn’ well bluffed yu, Randy,’ grated Appleby. ‘He couldn’t have known anything! If yu hadn’t been so spineless, this – ah! It ain’t no use frettin’ on that. The question is, what do we do now?’

  ‘Looks like we try to pin it on Harris, far as I see it,’ put in Dancy.

  Appleby nodded, preoccupied. ‘Yo’re right, I was thinkin’ the same thing. The question is: how?’

  ‘Well, the answer better come quick,’ Dancy retorted. ‘The hands’ll be in off the range in an hour or two.’

  Appleby nodded again. His evil mind was working furiously, and he paced restlessly backwards and forwards as he thought, a scowl of concentration upon his face. After a few more minutes he stopped.

  ‘I think I’ve got it!’ he exulted. ‘Listen, Jim. If yu see any holes in it, pull me up sharp. I think I’ve got a way to pin it on that bunch an’ make it stick. It’ll need some quick work. Here’s how I see it: Jim, yu get the old man’s hoss saddled up an’ take it with yu an’ the wagon. Kill somethin’ – coyote, some varmint, anythin’ll do – an’ smear blood on the saddle. When yu get to the Yavapai, turn him loose. Make shore he’s got plenty o’ marks on him to show he’s been across the river. Then take the old man’s body up into the Mesquites, near as yu can get to the
Harris place. Don’t be seen, yu hear? That could be – fatal.’

  He paused to let the words sink in, and Dancy nodded. Randy sat forward, his eyes gleaming with interest.

  ‘Tip the body into a canyon – somewhere nobody’ll find it without a real hard search. Then spill some blood where it can be seen. Yu, Randy – what’d the old man carry no matter where he was goin’?’

  ‘Yu mean … oh … his watch. Gun. Wallet. Things like that.’

  Appleby turned to Dancy. ‘Use his gun. Fire a shot out of it. Leave it where it can be found, near the bloodstains. Scuff the ground up, but keep on hard ground when yo’re leavin’ – I don’t want no tracks up there anyone can foller back here.’

  Dancy nodded. ‘Easy so far,’ he growled. ‘What was the old man doin’ up in the Mesquites?’

  ‘I already thought of that,’ interjected Randy eagerly. ‘I can say he told me he wanted to go up an’ talk to Harris, man to man.’

  ‘Wouldn’t’ve gone alone, though,’ said Appleby thoughtfully.

  ‘That’s easy, too, Tom,’ Randy told him. ‘He said he figgered if he rode up there with some o’ the crew they’d expect he’d come for war, and act accordingly. He said he was going to go alone to make sure there was no trouble … how does that sound?’

  ‘Sounds fair,’ admitted Dancy. ‘I can’t see no holes in it.’

  ‘What do we do next?’ pursued Randy.

  ‘We sit an’ wait until the hoss gets back. Then I go into town an’ raise a posse. We ride into the Mesquites tomorrow, find the sign, an’ pay Harris a visit.’ He fingered his chin thoughtfully. ‘I got a score to settle there, anyway.’

  ‘So we pin it on the nesters,’ Dancy said. ‘We still got to prove one o’ them did it. They might all have alibis.’

  ‘For a whole day?’ scoffed Appleby. ‘One o’ them at least has had to be out o’ the house long enough to have done it. An’ anyway,’ – he leered – ‘who else would’a’ done it?’