He looked at Green, lounging easily against the wall, gun dangling from his right hand.
Certainly he appeared the least concerned of any; but for all this seeming indifference he was on the alert—not a movement escaping him. He knew perfectly well that most of those present were still hostile, that in their eyes he was an outlaw; only the production of the real criminal would exonerate him, and he was taking no chances of another treacherous attempt to shoot him down.
What secret the dead banker had left behind he did not know, but he was gambling that it referred to Raven. If it did not, he lost, and—
The return of the doctor stilled all tongues. Green took the envelope the little man handed to him and held it up.
“A while ago,” he said, “Potter asked me to take charge o’ this, makin’ me promise that nobody should see or hear of it till the breath was out of his body. That’s all I know about it. I’m askin’ the doc. to open it.”
Utter silence reigned as Pills tore off the outer cover, disclosing another. “It says, ‘Not to be opened until I am dead,’ and is signed and dated,” he informed them. “Come here, Inky.”
The bank-clerk, whose baptismal name of Binks had thus been corrupted, shuffled forward. “That’s old Potter’s fist shore ‘miff,” he pronounced. “An’ that’s his private seal.”
Pills nodded his satisfaction. “Having proved the authenticity of the document, is it the wish of the meeting that I make known the contents?” he enquired.
Cries of “Let her rip, doc,” and “Spill the beans,” came from all parts of the room; curiosity had the men by the ears. Raven alone appeared not to share it, a sneer of indifference masking his real feelings. Carefully Pills split the second envelope, drew out a folded paper, and began to read:
“‘I, Lemuel Potter, write this statement in order that, should I die, the designs of a scoundrel may be frustrated. I have deposited it with Marshal Green, believing him to be an honest man.’”
Several of the audience laughed at this, and even Green himself could not repress a clipped smile. A sharp word from the doctor restored the quiet.
“‘Years ago I was head cashier in an Eastern city bank. Bitten with the get-rich-quick mania, I speculated and got into difficulties. To meet my losses I forged cheques—I was always clever with my pen—hoping, as many a poor fool has done, that the luck would change. I got deeper in the mire. When discovery became imminent I determined to rob the bank and fly. The night watchman caught me rifling the safe; I struck harder than I intended and—killed him. For many months I dodged from place to place, a hunted fugitive, and eventually I came to Lawless and began my life anew. I thought I had escaped punishment, but alas! it was only about to commence. An old news-sheet, containing an account of the crime and a portrait, put one man here in possession of my secret, and from that moment existence became a hell. This soulless devil forced me to participate in the crimes prompted by his lust for power. To commit these with impunity, he hit upon the idea of masquerading as a notorious outlaw and made me obtain a description of this fellow’s horse. In the hope of tripping him I altered one detail. He did the deeds of violence attributed to Sudden, and shot Anthony Sarel. Secure in his knowledge that I dare not betray him, he boasted to me of his acts. His manner lately has been sinister, threatening, and I know that he will kill me when I have served my purpose. The mortgage on the Double S ranch is a forgery he compelled me to fabricate. The name of this fiend is Seth Raven, and may the curse of a wretch he has driven to despair follow him to hell—and after.
“‘Lemuel Potter.’ ”
A long, breathless pause followed as the doctor’s voice died out, and all eyes turned to the man sitting on the platform. Hunched in his seat, Raven had listened to the terrible indictment with the face of a stone image, cold, impassive. Now he stood up and—laughed.
“Well, boys, afore yu string me up let me give yu a word of advice—never do another fella a good turn,” he said, and his voice was easy, confident. “What yu’ve heard is a pretty good specimen o’ gratitude—white man’s gratitude—an Injun wouldn’t V done it.” He paused for a moment on the sneer. “I never knew Potter was a murderer, but when he come here he told me a hard luck story, an’ feelin’ sorry for him, I gave him a hand. Without it, he’d ‘a’ been—nothin’. Of late he’s been puttin’ on frills, dunno why, but I can guess.” He looked meaningly at Green. “I had to call him down once or twice. He took it bad an’ here’s the result—that pack o’ damn lies.”
“Yu suggestin’ Potter got hisself killed a-purpose to spite yu?” Renton asked sarcastically.
“No, Renton, I ain’t,” was the quiet reply. “Here’s how I figure it: Potter an’ Green put their heads together an’ dope out that precious confession. Then, one fine night, Potter slides out with the bank funds. When he’s clear away, the marshal produces this paper, which ruins me an’ clears him. Later, they meet somewheres an’ divvy up. It’s a good scheme, but the banker overlooks a bet; he don’t see that with him dead it’s twice as safe an’ profitable for his pardner.
Think it over; why, it’s ‘money from home’ for—Mister Sudden.”
Thus, with devilish cleverness, he twisted the weapon from his own breast and directed it at that of his enemy. The explanation, plausible enough, made an impression which his sharp eyes were quick to note. He knew he had surprised them, that they had looked for a furious storm of repudiation, and he had spoken quietly, holding down with iron control the rage that threatened to choke him.
“Most o’ yu have known me some time,” he went on. “Am I the kind to put myself in the power of a man like Potter, or to rob a bank which was practically mine to hand yu back the money?”
“Less my thirty thousand,” Andy reminded him.
Raven refused to be ruffled. “Is it likely I’d go stravagin’ about the country holdin’ folks up? Why, I never carry a gun,” he said. “That’s all I gotta say, boys. There’s Sudden, an admitted outlaw an’ a stranger, an’ here’s Seth Raven, who ain’t a stranger. Which are yu goin’ to believe?”
It was a superb piece of acting and brought its reward. A big, black-bearded man from the Tepee Mountain country jumped up.
“Gents, I reckon Raven has the straight of it,” he called out. “I’m backin’ him.”
Shouts of “Good for yu, Darky” and “Here’s another” followed this pronouncement, and a number of the men got to their feet, stamping, yelling, and directing threatening looks at the little group near the door. Amid all the hubbub Green stood alone, cynically surveying the noisy scene. His stem voice rang out above the din, and the very audacity of his request quelled it.
“Raven, I want the gun yo’re wearin’—it’s under yore left armpit. Hand it to yore friend yonder”—he indicated the black-bearded man—“or I’ll drop yu right now.”
The half-breed looked surprised, hesitated, but one glance at the speaker’s granite face told him that the levelled gun was no mere bluff. With a scornful smile he pulled out the weapon and pitched it to Darky.
“Yo’re a gun guesser, Sudden,” he jeered. “Gettin’ scared, huh? Yu needn’t be; yo’re slated for a rope. Take care o’ that shootin’-iron; she’s an old favourite I wouldn’t like to lose, though I ain’t carried one for years.”
“Oh, yeah,” Green said, and to the man holding the revolver, “Fetch it out here, friend, where we can all see.” From the pocket of his chaps he produced two slender brass tubes and held them up. “The bullets from these killed Bordene an’ Potter; I found ‘em near the bodies,” he went on. “Both have the same distinctive mark.” He turned to Darky. “Take the ca’tridges outa that gun an’ have a look at ‘em.”
Curiosity again rampant, the spectators clustered round and stood on the benches to watch the operation; the singular duel was not yet over. Raven alone betrayed no interest. He did not know what this new move portended, but confident in his regained supremacy, he believed he could circumvent it. One by one the black-bearded man drew o
ut the shells, scanning each carefully. Not until he came to the last did he speak.
“Thisyer is scratched along the side—a straight line,” he said, and looked at the gun. “The chamber is nicked.”
Green handed him the empty shells. “Would yu say they were fired outa that gun?” he asked.
Darky gave them one glance. “Hell! There ain’t a shadder o’ doubt,” he said. “Them marks is eedentical.” He looked at Raven and spat disgustedly. “An’ I was for him,” he added.
“Stranger, I’m right ashamed.”
A tense silence followed the black-bearded man’s verdict and instant condemnation.
Swiftly the tell-tale tubes passed from hand to hand, but in every case the scrutiny was of the briefest. Familiar with weapons as all present were the evidence was conclusive, even to the dullest intellect. Had further proof been needed, Raven’s ashen face supplied it. The blow, coming in the moment of triumph, had shattered his self-control. He knew that he was beaten, that nothing he could say or do would save him. Not only had the fatal weapon been on him, but he had admitted that he prized it; Green, too, had been astute enough to have the cartridges examined by one of his, Raven’s, supporters; there was no loophole. A cold fear clutched at his heart and he cursed himself for having kept and worn the gun. Furtively he glanced about, reading his doom in the set, lowering faces of those who, but a few moments before, had been his friends. At the thought of all he had so nearly gained a madness came upon him, a fierce desire to taunt these men, to vent his spleen upon them for the last time. He rose and faced them, a sinister, evil figure.
“Yo’re a clever lot, ain’t yu?” he sneered. “Superior race, salt o’ the earth—scum would fit yu better. Me, I’m what yu called me. The Vulture, that damned Injun, the unwanted brat of a pore white an’ his copper-coloured squaw, yet I’ve beaten an’ fooled yu all—killed, robbed, an’ had yu pattin’ me on the back for a good fella. Bite on that! Why, if it hadn’t bin for a stranger”—his gaze rested viciously on Green—“yu’d be eatin’ outa my hand this minit like the dawgs yu are. Which of yu has the pluck an’ savvy to plan an’ do as I did? Not one o’ yu.”
The stinging, scornful voice lashed them like a whip and he had his moment. Silent, spellbound, they stared at the extraordinary spectacle of a criminal glorying in his evil, baiting the men at whose hands he must shortly die. Only Strade spoke:
“Yu admittin’ Potter was right, Raven?” he asked.
The half-breed grinned hideously. “Yu pore pin-head, ain’t I said so?” he retorted. “Potter knowed all, an’ I killed him, for that, an’ so’s I could buy the town with its own coin.” The mad laugh came again. “Oh, I played big, an’ damn near got away with it.”
“Yu—robbed—the stage?”
He turned on the speaker. “Yeah, Pardoe, I stole yore roll an’ flung a bit of it back to yu in charity,” he gibed. “Ah, would yu?”
For Pardoe, with the growl of a savage beast, was reaching for his hip. Raven’s hand flashed to his breast, a shot crashed, and the gambler went writhing to the floor, and was still.
The killer faced round, crouching, the smoking weapon poised.
“Fooled yu too, Sudden,” he jeered. “Yu guessed at one gun, but yu didn’t figure on two, did yu? Now”—the muzzle was directed point-blank at Green’s breast—“if anybody makes a move, yu die.” His beady eyes gloated over the man whose life he held in the crook of a finger, for Green’s guns were back in their holsters. Raven broke the tense silence. “Sudden the Second is goin’ to hell presently,” he rasped. “Sudden the First is goin’ now, damn him.”
As the last words left his lips Green’s right hand swept to his side. To the onlookers the reports seemed simultaneous. They saw the younger man stagger back as a bullet seared his left temple, and then Raven reeled, his knees hinged under him, and he collapsed like a house of cards. For a long moment there was no sound—men were breathing again—and then Rusty voiced the thoughts of all:
“My Gawd!” he said in awed admiration, “Raven had him covered an’ he beat him to it! Sudden, huh? Well, I believe yu.”
Green sheathed his gun and mustered up a grin as Pills came to bandage his hurt. “On’y a scratch, doc,” he said.
“H’m, another inch to the left and yu’d have been travelling together,” the little man said grimly. “I’d given you up.”
“He figured wrong—reckoned I’d raise the gun, but I fired from the hip,” the patient explained. “If he hadn’t been so keen on cussin’ me—”
At the far end of the room a crowd gathered round the fallen men; both were dead.
Raven’s thin lips were drawn back in an ugly snarl and between the staring eyes was the mark where the bullet had entered.
“An’ we thought he never packed no artillery,” Durley said.
“I knew different,” Green told him. “Twice he nearly went for it; when he shot Jevons, and again when I throwed him off the Double S, but I didn’t suspect he carred a brace.”
“Good thing he was totin’ the one he did his dirty work with,” Strade commented.
“I figured he would be,” the marshal explained. “Yu know how it is with a gun; they has differences, an’ a fella gets fond of his own, an’ wise to its little ways. When he told us it was a favourite, I felt pretty shore.”
“Well, he’s saved thisyer town the cost of a rope,” Loder put in.
Which was the best that anyone could find to say of the late owner of the Red Ace.
Lawless was itself again when, two weeks later, Green emerged from the Red Ace and went in search of his deputy. He found him in the office, sitting with his feet on the ramshackle desk, moodily smoking.
“Howdy, marshal,” the newcomer greeted.
Pete looked up. “Yo’re a-goin’ then?” he asked, and regret was plain in his voice. “How’d they take it?”
“One an’ all they wept copious,” Green grinned. “But I guess that was just to spare my feelin’s. Yu see, they know yu wouldn’t accept unless I pull my freight, an’ they’re pinin’ for yu.”
“Yo’re seven sorts of a liar, includin’ the damn kind,” the little man smiled. “Dunno as I wanta be marshal anyways. I’m goin’ to miss yu a whole lot, Jim.” And then, with the cowboy’s natural aversion to showing emotion, he added, “I’ll have no one to talk to.”
“Too bad we couldn’t persuade Black Feather to stay put,” the other suggested slyly. For the Indian, astride his Spanish horse and gripping his cherished carbine, had departed a few days earlier, refusing all offers save cartridges and a small supply of food. After solemnly shaking hands with his “white brothers” he had delivered a long harangue in his own tongue, and then, with a dignified gesture of farewell, had ridden into the wilderness. His address had left Pete gasping.
“Now whoever would ‘a’ guessed he had all that conversation concealed in him?” was his comment. “Would yu say he was blessin’ or cussin’ us?”
“I gather he was askin’ the Great Spirit to make our trails pleasant, to confound our foes, an’ give us plenty cattle, bosses, an’ wives,” was the marshal’s free translation.
“I hope the Great Spirit don’t hear that last bit. I don’t want no wives—none whatever,”
Pete had said.
A recollection of this remark reminded Green of something else. “The bride an’ bridegroom is due back from Tucson,” he said. “Yu’ll have Andy to chatter with, an’ there’s allus Durley.”
Pete grunted. “Andy’s slid back into his early childhood agin: can on’y speak one word—Tonia,” he complained. “Oh, I know she’s wonderful—he told me so hisself, ‘bout a million times. Durley’s as bad, though he can say two words—Red Ace. Holy cats! yu’d think he’d took over the White House at Washin’ton. No, I’ll have to win me a parrot, if yu must go, an’ won’t let me trail along.”
“I have it to do,” Green said gravely. “An’ it’s a one-man job, ol’-timer.”
So the day came when Andy and T
onia stood on the veranda of the Double S ranch-house to take farewell of the man to whom they owed their happiness. Reuben Sarel, Strade, and Pete were there, and all were loth that he should leave. But he had met every protest with a slow shake of the head, and now, as from the saddle of the big black, he looked at these good friends, there was a suspicion of sadness behind the smiling eyes.
“I don’t see why you have to go,” Tonia told him for perhaps the twentieth time that morning.
“I got a rovin’ disposition,” he evaded. “Allus did wanta find out what was the other side o’ the hill.”
The girl gave a gesture of despair. “But you will come to see us again?” she pleaded.
At once she was reminded of that first time she had met him, sprawling outside the Red Ace. Little creases came in the corners of his eyes, and the firm lips softened under the disarming grin which made a boy of him again, as he replied:
“I’ll shore be back—for the christenin’.”
The End
Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 03 - The Marshal of Lawless(1933) Page 21
