Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933)

by Oliver Strange

  “I was figurin’ to hold the inquiry on Mart to-morrow mornin’; that suit yu?”

  “Inquiry? What in hell for? He was hit in the back o’ the head with a .45 slug, an’ there ain’t nothin’ to show who fired it. Yu, like a half-wit, say it was Green, an’ it suits me to have it thought so. Hold yore fool inquiry when yu please—I shan’t be there.”

  He took no notice when they went out, sitting there chewing savagely at an unlighted cigar. Though his hard, self-centred soul was incapable of affection, his brother’s end had roused a demon of rage within him; he regarded it as a blow at himself; and besides, Mart would have been useful.

  “Damn them all! I’ll make this town smell hell,” he swore.

  Outside the ranchhouse, Slype looked at his deputy and jerked a meaning thumb at the room they had just left.

  “Fightin’ drunk,” he said. “Yu’d better stick around, Riley. See yu later.”

  Slumped in his saddle, the marshal rode slowly back to town. There was an expression of malicious content on his ferrety face despite the tongue-lashing he had been twice subjected to.

  But his muttered monologue showed that they still rankled :

  “Purdie’ll ride me on a rail, an’ King’ll cram my star down my throat if I don’t come to heel, huh?” He laughed disdainfully, a hoarse cackle which had no mirth in it. “Go on thinkin’ that, yu clever fellas, till yu wake up an’ find yu’ve played my game for me. Wipe each other out an’ leave the field clear—for me; I won’t interfere, Mister King Burdette, not any.” He pondered for a moment over the prospect his mind had pictured. “Gotta find Cal, though —he’s the trump card. Wonder where King has him cached?”

  For Riley, in a burst of confidence, had told of the old prospector’s abduction, though he did not know where he had been taken. King Burdette trusted no man overmuch, and once the captive was clear of the town, he had himself conducted him to the hiding-place, sending his men back to the ranch. Riley had searched, but so far without avail. He was beginning to regret that he had confided in the Circle B autocrat, and that was why he had told Slype. Possessed of a certain low cunning, he had guessed that the marshal—given the opportunity and a sufficient inducement—would not hesitate to double-cross Burdette, and he argued that Slype would be the easier of the two men to handle. In which, had he but known it, he was entirely mistaken.

  The inquiry into the death of Mart Burdette provided no sensation. It took place in “The Lucky Chance” and was conducted by Slype, who combined the duties of coroner with those of marshal. He stated the facts baldly to a hastily-empanelled jury, adding that it was a plain case of murder, but that there. was no evidence pointing to any particular person, at which the foreman of the C P, lounging in the doorway, smiled satirically; Slippery was playing his cards close. The Burdettes were not present, but at the burial—which took place an hour later—King and Sim rode behind the body.

  Their set, scowling faces showed no sign of grief; the Black Burdettes were not given to affection. They had followed their father to his last resting-place with the same dark indifference, and if they had sworn vengeance upon the slayer it was only to serve their own ends. When the ceremony was over they rode back to town and entered the hotel. With a word to the landlord, King led the way to an empty room and closed the door carefully behind them.

  “Mart bein’ in the discard it follows yu an’ me gotta talk things over an’ settle what we’re goin’ to do,” was his opening remark. “Yu got any ideas?”

  The face of the younger man was gloomy and vindictive; he had less command over his emotions and possibly some trace of feeling for his dead brother.

  “First thing, I reckon, is to search out Green an’ abolish him,” he replied. “I’ve half a mind…”

  “Yu ain’t, or yu wouldn’t talk like a fool,” King cut in. “Mart figured thataway, an’ where is he? ‘Sides, Green didn’t do it, though if folks choose to think he did I ain’t objectin’. What I want to play for is a show-down.” He dropped his voice, and spoke earnestly for some moments; Sim listened with growing unease.

  “But that’ll turn the whole town agin us,” he expostulated.

  “To hell with the town,” his brother responded roughly. “It’ll set the C P a-bilin’, they’ll attack us, an’ we’ll have a good excuse for wipin’ ‘em out. If, in the ruckus, Green an’ Purdie get rubbed out, well, it ain’t nobody’s fault, an’ we get the ranch.”

  “What about the girl—it’ll belong to her, won’t it?” Sim suggested.

  “An’ she’ll belong to me—if she’s lucky,” King said coolly. “Ownin’ both the ranches—to say nothin’ o’ the mine—I’m sayin’ Windy will take notice when a Burdette talks.”

  Sim’s eyes shone at the prospect; he had all the other’s greed, if less of his courage. The audacity of the scheme dazzled him, and he had unbounded faith in the clever, unscrupulous man who had evolved it.

  “Shore listens good, if we can swing it,” he agreed. “Has Cal opened up yet?”

  “No, damn him, but he can’t hold out much longer,” King replied, adding with sinister intensity, “I ain’t begun to persuade him yet.”

  “Yu think he really has somethin’ to say?”

  “Shore, he has the goods this time.”

  “How yu figurin’ to deal with Lu?”

  The elder man laughed. “She’ll do what she’s told, like the rest of ‘em round here,” he said arrogantly. “I aim to be King in somethin’ more than name, boy, an’ don’t yu forget it.”

  “Yu ain’t no piker, an’ that’s a fact,” Sim rejoined. “I’m with yu all the way, but I wish them skirts warn’t mixed up in it; I’ve a hunch we’ll trip over ‘em.”

  King clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Yu needn’t to worry ‘bout that,” he said. “Leave me to handle ‘em; I know the trick of it.”

  They went downstairs, and the man who had been sitting with an ear glued to the wooden partition of the adjoining room straightened up and rolled a cigarette. It was Luce Burdette, and his face was a picture of perplexity. Though he had not been able to hear all the conversation, he had gathered that some sinister plot was projected which, unless frustrated, would bring dire misfortune upon Nan Purdie. How could he prevent it? He was himself a Burdette, an outcast from them, it was true, but shamed, suspected; no one would listen to him; even those who hated his family would doubt his story. To visit the C P was to invite a bullet. His only hope was in one man. Having watched his brothers ride down the street, he went in search of Green. He met him coming out of the store.

  “‘Lo, Luce, where yu been hidin’ lately?” the foreman smiled.

  “Don’t have to hide,” came the bitter reply. “Nobody sees me anyway. There’s somethin’ I guess yu oughta hear.”

  He told his tale, and Sudden’s face grew grave. “I’ve knowed all along King’s game was to make us jump first,” he said. `But how’s he goin’ to do it? Ain’t yu got a guess?”

  The boy shook his head. “He lowered his voice when he told Sim that, but it’s somethin’ the town won’t like.”

  “Don’t tell us much—easy for a Burdette to do that,” the foreman retorted. “So, like I reckoned, they have got Cal?”

  Luce nodded. “I’m goin’ to find out where he’s hidden. I s’pose half the fellas here think I’ve murdered him.”

  “Mebbe, an’ the other half are believin’ Riley’s yarn that I pushed the ol’ chap in the river,” Sudden grinned. “Shucks, what do we care? Me, I never did hanker for a halo anyway.”

  He sobered again. “If yu can find Cal before he talks, get him some place where they can’t grab him; that’s goin’ to put a crimp in their plans.”

  “I’m startin’ right now,” Luce told him, and as he turned away, added, “Take care o’ Nan.”

  The foreman nodded, got into his saddle, and rode back to the C P. He had plenty to occupy his thoughts. King Burdette was about to strike, and he had no knowledge which would enable him to anticipate the blow
. All he knew was that it would be directed at the ranch for which he was now virtually responsible. And the C P could look for little help from the citizens of Windy, few of whom would care to stand out openly against the gang of ruthless, quick-shooting ruffians who made up the Circle B outfit.

  “Right or wrong, there’s allus fellas who wanta be on the winnin’ side,” he cogitated.

  “Nig, ol’ hoss, we’re shorely goin’ to be shy some sleep for a spell.”

  Chapter XVIII

  LUCE, headed for the Circle B ranch, selected a route which took him towards the northern wall of the valley. His progress was slow, owing to the necessity for keeping under cover—he had no wish to be seen by any of the Burdette riders. So that the shadows were lengthening when he slipped over the rim-rock and plunged into the pines which masked the outer slope. The cool, quiet and aromatic tang of the trees, brought relief to both body and mind.

  It was almost dark in the wood, the sun’s rays being powerless to penetrate the dense roof of foliage, and on the thick carpet of pine-needles the horse paced noiselessly.

  He was no longer making for his old home, for, thinking the matter over as he rode, he had come to the conclusion that his brother would not risk taking the prospector there. Searching in his mind for a likely hiding-place, he had remembered the little hut in the pine forest, some four miles from the Circle B. His father had built it, but for what purpose he had never learned.

  Constructed of untrimmed logs, it consisted of one room only; there was a small hole to admit light, and a door secured with a heavy padlock. As a boy the place had appealed to his curiosity, but for years he had not given it a thought. Conscious that he was nearing the spot, he dismounted, tied Silver in a clump of brush, and set out afoot, slipping like a shadow from trunk to trunk. The wisdom of this precaution was soon apparent. Outside the shack stood a big roan, and fumbling with the lock was the eldest Burdette. No sooner had he entered than the watcher ran lightly forward and crouched down at the back of the hut. He was in time to hear his brother’s first words.

  “Well, old fool; ready to talk yet?”

  Nearly starved, his old bones cramped by his bonds and eyes aching for light—he was still blindfolded—California, in fact, had a great deal to say, but it was not quite what his visitor had come to hear. In his high, cracked voice the old man poured a stream of vituperation upon his unknown gaolers; evidently he had not entirely wasted the long hours of his captivity. In awestruck admiration Luce listened to the spate of outlandish oaths and scarifying insults. As he said afterwards, “I never thought the ol’ fossil had that much venom in his system. It was like a stampede o’ words, a-jostlin’ an’ a-tumblin’ over one another, an’ they was bilin’ hot too.”

  King Burdette waited till the prisoner paused for breath and then said sarcastically,

  “Cussin’ won’t get yu nowhere. I want the location o’ that mine.” Getting no reply, he went on,

  “What’s the use o’ bein’ obstinate? Yu’ll get yore share.”

  California snorted. “Yeah, but my share’ll be the wrong kind o’ metal—a slug o’ lead.”

  “Shucks, I’ll play fair,” the other urged.

  “Yu can go plumb to hell; the gold’s mine an’ I’ll have it—spite o’ the Devil hisself,” the old man said stubbornly, and when the visitor let out an oath of exasperation, he added, “Cussin’ won’t get yu nowhere.”

  The gibe exhausted Burdette’s patience. “Yu damned ol’ bone-rack, so yu won’t tell, huh?” he stormed. “Well, yu don’t eat again till yu do, an’ if yu ain’t ready to come clean to-morrow mornin’ …”

  The unspoken threat only produced a hoarse chuckle.

  “Laugh yore fill now,” King went on. “Hangin’ by yore thumbs, with a slow fire under yu, mebbe won’t seem so humorsome.”

  California shook his head. “I ain’t scared a mite,” he said. “Yu dasn’t do it. I’m old; treat me rough an’, I passin my checks. Where’d yu be then? Nobody else knows where the gold is.”

  “Didn’t yu tell Green?” Burdette asked, and instantly cursed himself for a thoughtless fool.

  The prisoner straightened up suddenly. “So yu ain’t him?” he said softly. “Kinda fancied he warn’t the crooked sort too. Who may yu be?”

  The visitor made a quick decision. Stepping forward, he snatched away the bandage. The abrupt change from darkness to light made the bound man blink.

  “King Burdette, huh?” he said wonderingly, his mind busy with the problem of how the Circle B autocrat could have nosed out his secret. Green would certainly not have told him, and no one else—so far as he was aware—had even a suspicion.

  “Makes a difference, don’t it?” King asked sneeringly.

  It did. Weak for want of food and drink, the old man sat huddled on the rough bench which was all the furniture the shack contained. He knew that this was the end—he could expect no mercy from the Burdettes. Once he had told … He clamped his parched lips, and a spark of the old pioneer spirit which had enabled him to overcome the dangers of desert and wilderness flamed again in his breast. Defiance flashed from his faded eyes.

  “Go ahead with yore murderin’, King Burdette,” he croaked. “Kill the goose, like the damn fool in the storybook; yu won’t git a yap out’n me.”

  The younger man’s face became that of a fiend. He sprang forward, clutched his captive by the throat, shook him with savage ferocity and flung him to the floor.

  “That’s on’y a taste o’ what yu get to-morrow mornin’, yu earth-worm,” he grated. “I’ll make yu speak if I have to flay yu alive.”

  He got no reply. California, dazed and breathless from the rough handling, lay where he had fallen. The brute who had thrown him there gave one glance to make sure he still lived and went out, locking the door, and still muttering threats. Luce waited until he saw the roan and its rider vanish amidst the pines and then slipped round to the front of the hut. The fastening presented a difficulty, but in a pile of rubbish he found a rusty iron bar with which he contrived to wrench out the staple. The prisoner, still prone on the ground, hardly looked at him.

  “Do yore damnedest—I ain’t speakin’,” he quavered, and then, as he recognized the newcomer, “Think yu’ll have better luck than that hell-hound, yore brother, huh? Well, yu won’t; not a cent’s wuth.”

  “Yu oughta know that him an’ me ain’t likely to be workin’ together,” the boy said. “I’ve come to turn yu loose.”

  California peered at him suspiciously. “Sounds good, but what’s yore price? The Black Burdettes do nothin’ for nothin’.”

  Luce shrugged his shoulders. “Yo’re a grateful cuss, ain’t yu?” he said, as he severed the old man’s bonds. “I’m givin’ yu yore freedom, an’ there’s no strings tied to it.”

  The prospector stretched his stiffened limbs and swore at the pain the movement provoked. Then he staggered weakly to the door and peeped out.

  “Let’s beat it—that devil may come back for somethin’,” he urged. Brave enough when his position appeared hopeless, his keyed-up nerves gave way when escape became possible, and he was in a twitter to be gone. “Ain’t got a chaw o’ tobacker, I s’pose? It stays the stummick; I done forgit when I eat last.”

  “Which I’m shorely dumb—brought this a-purpose,” Luce replied.

  The old man yelped when he saw the thick bacon sandwich, and bit into it like a famished dog, and the flask of whisky which followed it made his eyes glisten. “Boy, yo’re savin’ my life a second time,” he mumbled, “but let’s git; I can tackle this on the way.”

  They went out and Luce drove the staple back into its place. “They’ll wonder how yu got clear; there ain’t but one key to that lock an’ it’s in King’s pocket right now,” he chuckled. “The next point is, where d’yu want to go? Yu’ll have to lie mighty low or they’ll nab yu again.”

  The food and drink had put new energy into Cal’s old but tough carcasse. He was stepping along spryly enough now, and his cunning bra
in was busy. When they reached the spot where Luce had left Silver, his plans were made.

  “Git me to my shack, where I can rustle some grub an’—such-like,” he requested. “I knows a place to hide out; I aim to be missin’ a spell yet.”

  Luce having no better plan, they set out, Silver making light of a double burden. The sun had dropped over the rim of the world, dusk had deepened into dark, and stars were peeping out of a velvety sky when they reached the hut on Old Stormy. The burro raised its voice in welcome from the corral but otherwise the place was deserted. The prospector lit the stump of a candle, saw the ravaged cache, and danced with rage.

  “Hell blister their lousy hides, they’ve took it, an’ the dust as well,” he raved.

  Luce stemmed the stream of profanity which followed by asking what he had lost. The old man looked at him with sudden suspicion.

  “Oh, it ain’t nothin’ much,” he replied offhandedly, “but a fella don’t like his things took.”

  He essayed a grin. “No good to nobody but me. Anyways, I’m all right now, boy, an’ I ain’t forgettin’ what yu done. Never thought to thank a Burdette for anythin’, but I’m doin’ it. S’long.”

  Riding slowly along the winding trail down the mountain-side, the roar of the river rang in the boy’s ears. He had heard it often enough, but to-night it seemed to convey an intangible menace, a threat of impending danger. To his mind, attuned to the solitude, gloom, and his own troubles, it sounded like the rolling drums of a funeral march, voicing the inevitability of death.

  For tens of thousands of years it had gone on, and for as much or more, after he, poor atom, had ceased to be, it would continue. The boy shook himself and laughed.

  “Old age must be creepin’ up on me, Silver, or else I’m goin’ loco,” he told his horse.

  “Mebbe we ain’t here long, but we gotta do the best we can. Anyways, that’s one bad mark I’ve saved the Burdette family.”

  Early morning found King and Sim Burdette dismounting outside the hut in the pine forest. There was nothing in the appearance of the place to warn them of the surprise in store.