Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930)

by Oliver Strange

  The others were silent for a moment; this was a new side to the man they had always regarded as a ruthless slayer of his fellows—one who took a delight in putting his art to its deadliest use. They sensed that he was telling his own story. It was Rattler who broke the spell; matters were not going as he wished.

  ‘Well, Sudden may be all yu say, Snap; but some fellers sport two guns an’ are afeared to use one.’

  “Meanin’?’ Lunt said quietly.

  “Oh, I ain’t referrin’ to yu, Snap,’ replied the foreman quickly. “We all know yo’re game; yu have the right to wear a couple o’ guns.’

  “So has any other feller who cares to tote the weight,’ came the reply. “Yu can rope yore own hoss, Rattler.’

  Some of the men who knew what was toward looked at Lunt in surprise. Green watched the scene with a glint of a smile on his lips. He was well aware that the foreman was trying to engineer a quarrel between himself and Lunt, and that the latter had now definitely declined to be made use of. He began to have a feeling of respect for the little gunman.

  The foreman glared; he had been plainly told to do his own dirty work, and though not lacking in animal courage, the task did not appeal to him. He was considered good with a forty-five himself, but the other man was an unknown quantity, and he could not understand why Lunt had “ducked.’ It was Green himself who came to his rescue.

  “There won’t be any shootin’, Blaynes,’ he said, and there was an acid touch to his voice. “When there’s any necessity, I can use my guns well enough. If yu don’t choose to believe that, well’—he leaned forward, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his eyes narrowed and alert—”pull yore own.’

  For a moment there was tense silence. Blaynes, challenged in his turn, was obviously undecided. His right hand moved a fraction towards his holster, and then—he rasped out a laugh.

  “Yu shore are a touchy feller, Green—can’t stand a bit o’ joshin’,’ he said. “Roundin’ up rustlers ‘pears to have got yu all jumpy.’

  Green laughed too, and it was an unpleasant one for the foreman to swallow, but the conversation became general again, and the incident ended. Later on, Blaynes had a word with Lunt.

  “Never knew yu to duck before, Snap,’ he said. “What got into yu?’

  “Duck nothin’,’ came the retort. “I ain’t got no quarrel with the feller. Why didn’t yu pull on him?’

  “I’m foreman, an’ I got my reasons,’ Blaynes said sulkily. “Huh! Self-preservation don’t happen to be one o’ them, does it?’ asked the other sarcastically.

  The foreman ground out an oath. “I wait my time,’ he said. “Sorry to find I can’t depend on yu, that’s all.’

  “Yu can depend on me to do my work, but dry-nursin’ yu ain’t part of it,’ the little gunman said bluntly, and walked away.

  As he approached the bunkhouse, he met Green and Larry coming away, and stopped for a moment to say, “Green, however slick a man may be with a gun, he can be got—from behind.’

  “Now what the blazes does he mean by that?’ asked Larry, as the gunman, without waiting for a reply, went into the bunkhouse.

  “He means a whole lot, I reckon,’ answered his friend. “I fancy that’s not such a bad hombre, Larry.’

  “Well, he told Rattler straight out in meetin’, anyways,’ Larry said. “It’s a point to remember.’

  “Shore is. Yu got anythin’ to tell me?’

  “Not a durn thing,’ was the disgusted rejoinder. “On’y that yu can count on Dirty, Ginger, an’ Simple to back my play, whatever it is.’

  “Well, that’s somethin’, anyhow. Trouble is, we ain’t got no play to make yet. How long ago was the Double X started?’

  “Two-three years, I guess. Dex ain’t got much of a herd.’

  “What’s the size of his outfit?’

  “Seven or eight, including the cook.’

  “All of them men to handle a small herd, huh?’

  “Well, now yu mention it, they shore didn’t oughtta be overworked—never struck me that way before. Yu got anythin’ else against ‘em?’

  Green shook his head. “We gotta wait, boy,’ he said. “How’s the Pretty Lady been treatin’ yu lately?’

  This was his name for Noreen, and it never failed to produce an embarrassed flush on the face of her young admirer. Larry countered quickly.

  “I’m beginnin’ to think she’s more interested in a handsome mysterious stranger,’ he retorted. “She was shore askin’ me a lot o’ questions.’

  “An’ yu told her?’

  “All I knew.’

  His friend grinned. “That musta taken yu quite a while,’ he commented, with gentle sarcasm.

  “Shore did,’. said Larry. “I explained how yore wife had left yu, takin’ the kids, owin’ to yu treatin’ her so badly, drinkin’ an’ hellin’ round generally, an’ that two sheriffs were anxious to meet yu on account of a bank robbery, to say nothin’ of the feller whose brother yu shot from behind— Hi ! leggo my ear, yu two-gun mockery : it’s long enough as it is.’

  “It certainly is, an’ the other’s a match for it,’ agreed the libelled one. “Get down on yore hunkers in the long grass an’ no one could tell yu from a jack-rabbit. Yu’d be a lovely liar, Larry —on’y yu ain’t always lovely.’

  Larry caressed the injured member, feeling to discover if it really had started to come out by the roots.

  “I wish I’d told her yu were a cannibal an’ a hoss-thief,’ he said regretfully. ‘When’re yu goin’ to come alive an’ catch the rustlers, huh?’

  “Well, I got ‘em scared, ain’t I?’ expostulated Green. “They ain’t done nothin’ for a week.’

  Early on the following morning the inmates of the bunkhouse were aroused by a shout, and tumbling out half-dressed, they saw Durran drop wearily from a staggering pony. He had come in from the furthermost of the cabins used by the line-riders on the frontiers of the ranch. Rattler pushed to the front.

  “What’s up, Durran?’ he asked.

  “Rustlers, an’ hell to pay,’ was the gasped answer. “Few hours after dark las’ night, ‘bout seven or eight of ‘em rushed me an’ Bud, firm’ as they come. They got Bud, shot my hoss, an’ helped theirselves. Think. I perforated one, but I was afoot. Took me near an hour to catch Bud’s pony, an’ I been ridin’ since.’

  “Couldn’t see who they were, I s’pose,’ said the foreman.

  “Blasted war-paints, every mother’s son,’ replied Durran emphatically, and Blaynes turned a triumphant eye on Green. A chorus of forceful curses greeted the news.

  No more time was wasted. Breakfast was despatched in gulps, and in less than half an hour a dozen men, well-mounted and armed, were galloping at breakneck speed for the scene of the outrage. Green and Larry were of the number, and remembering the conversation of the previous night, the boy could not resist the opportunity.

  “Yeah, yu got ‘em scared, shore enough,’ he murmured.

  “Shut yore face, yu—yu jackass!’ admonished his friend. “I’ve been expectin’ this. Would yu have said that Bud and the foreman was bosom pals, so to speak?’

  Barton shook his head. “No, nothin’ like that, though I don’t know of any trouble between ‘em. Ginger was Bud’s bunkie; look at him.’

  The redheaded puncher was riding only a few yards from them, his young tanned face like stone, his jaws clamped and his eyes blazing. Suddenly he spoke :

  “By God! if they’ve rubbed out Bud, I’ll have a scalp for every one of his fingers if I have to go to the Reservation to get ‘em.’

  The savage threat of vengeance was shouted, as though the speaker had to give vent to his pent-up emotion. Several of the younger men gave grunts of approval, but only the foreman spoke, after a curious look at Ginger which Green did not fail to notice.

  “Aw, save yore breath, Ginger,’ Blaynes said. “Yu’ll want it all before we’re through; mebbe he ain’t plugged bad.’

  The wild burst of speed with which the party had starte
d now slackened, and the riders pulled their mounts down to a steady lope which ate up the miles without unduly tiring the animals. The trail wound about, avoiding the rough country, and keeping to the open prairie where the going was good. Now and then they passed herds of feeding cattle. This was a part of the range Green had not yet explored. It was, he noticed, much nearer to the Big Chief mountains, and the grazing land was shut in by country of the wildest nature.

  “When the cattle first began to vanish, Old Simon reckoned they just naturally strayed an’ lost themselves,’ Larry said. “So they built the cabins, and started line-ridin’, but it ain’t stopped the leak.’

  Green was watching Durran, who, despite his exhaustion, had insisted on accompanying the party. He was now riding beside the foreman, and the pair were deep in conversation. Green frankly confessed himself puzzled. If these men were acting a part, they were doing it well. The unexpected incident was the slaying of Bud, for he felt sure that the puncher was dead. Utterly unnecessary, he could not believe that it was originally intended. Was it an accident, or did it become necessary? For the remainder of the long ride his companion got little out of him, and after one or two attempts at conversation, the boy gave up and rode in silence until they sighted their destination.

  There’s the cabin!’ Larry cried.

  It was small, but strongly-built of untrimmed logs chinked with clay, and looked peaceful enough in the bright sunshine. But tragedy was there. It was Ginger who, spurring ahead, first saw the body of his friend. Flinging himself from his horse, he snatched off his hat and stood looking down at the form outstretched on the grass but a bare fifty yards from the hut. One glance told him the worst.

  One by one the men dismounted and bareheaded, grouped themselves around their fallen comrade. The foreman knelt to examine the body. A bullet had grazed the temple, and there was an ominous stain high in the chest. Rattler, who had not touched the dead man, stood up.

  “He’s cashed,’ he said. “They got him twice. Two of yu carry him to the cabin; we’ll send the wagon when we get back. Scatter now an’ pick up the trail.’

  Green interposed. “One minit, boys.’ He stooped and gently opened the dead man’s shirt at the neck, disclosing a gaping wound just below the collar-bone. “That crease on the head ain’t nothin’, though it likely fetched him off his hoss,’ he continued. “This is what killed him, an’ that’s knife-work.’

  He picked up Bud’s revolver, which was lying near the body, No shots had been fired from it. The spot showed signs of a struggle : the grass was trampled, and there were deep marks of the cowboy’s high heels, as though he had made desperate efforts to stand on his feet.

  “What’s it matter how it happened, anyway?’ said the foreman contemptuously. “He’s passed out, an’ we gotta get on the track o’ them that did it.’

  Green did not reply, but remained looking at the spot after the poor clay had been taken to the hut and the others were searching for the raiders’ trail. Suddenly a bright glint in the grass caught his eye; he stooped and slipped something into a pocket.

  He walked over to the cabin. It consisted of one room only, furnished with two bunks, a table, a couple of chairs, and a stove. On a shelf were supplies of ammunition, tobacco, and food. These appeared to be untouched. The body had been deposited in one of the bunks, and Ginger was covering it with a blanket. His grief-stricken face was grim and hard : death he had seen before, but this time the fell Monarch had touched him nearly. Green put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Ginger,’ he said, “don’t be in too big a hurry to start for the Reservation.’

  The cowboy whirled, his narrowed, filmed eyes boring into the other. “Green,’ he said hoarsely, “if you know anythin’—’

  “I don’t, but I got an idea,’ was the quiet reply. “When I find out, I’ll turn him over to yu, whoever he may be. That’s a promise.’

  Ginger held out his hand and they gripped. Then, turning to the blanketed form, he muttered thickly, ‘I’ll get him for yu, Buddy, don’t yu worry,’ and strode away.

  Green followed, mounted his horse, and joined the others.

  The trail of the riders had soon been found, and also the ‘spot where, behind a clump of cottonwoods near the cabin, they had waited in ambush for the approach of the two cowboys. Beyond the fact that the horses were all shod, the ground told them nothing, and Blaynes wasted little time over it.

  “Come on, boys, let’s get after the damn thieves,’ he cried, and spurred his mount into the broad trail left by the stolen beasts. “Pretty good gather,’ muttered Larry, scanning the hoofprints over which they were galloping. “Three to four score, I reckon.’

  “Over four,’ replied Green. “They pushed ‘em hard too.’

  This was evident from the depth of the indentations, but the pace must have decreased as the trail plunged deeper into the broken country. At the end of an hour the pursuers found themselves threading a labyrinth of gullies, brush-covered slopes, and thickets of cottonwood and spruce. The speed was not great, but they had the satisfaction of knowing that they must be travelling very much faster than the herd. Then came the danger signal: fitful puffs of wind, growing stronger and more frequent, told them what to expect. The sky grew black and the air cold.

  “Damned storm a-comin’, boys,’ Rattler growled. “Reckon we’d better hole up here.’

  Hurriedly the men dismounted, donned their slickers, hobbled and tied the horses, turning them with their rumps to the wind, and sought shelter for themselves. Huddled close against rock or tree-stump, they awaited the misery they could not escape. Another moment and the storm was upon them; a terrific wind snatched at their garments, and drove millions of stinging grains of sand upon and through them. Muffled up as they were, the devilish particles penetrated, and the horses squealed, while the men swore under the torture of thousands of pricking needles. For nearly an hour they endured the agony of hell itself, and then the storm passed; the maddening patter of sand on saddle and slicker ceased, and the men arose and sought avidly for their canteens.

  “She was shore a fierce little blow,’ remarked Dirty, his throat having become usable again. “Wonder where she picked up the sand?’

  “Huh ! Not much doubt about that,’ growled the foreman. “She’s come right across Sandy Parlour, an’ if this trail leads to it—an’ I’m bettin’ it does—every blasted track’ll be wiped out.’

  Half an hour’s riding proved that Blaynes had surmised correctly. The cattle-tracks ended on the edge of a broad stretch of desert, the face of which had been swept smooth by the storm. The foreman shrugged his shoulders in disgust.

  “Don’t it beat all, the luck they has?’ he asked. “Well, boys, it ain’t no use agoin’ on. To search Sandy Parlour without a trail’d be wuss than lookin’ for a nigger on a pitch-black night, an’ we don’t know where they’re a-comin’ out.’

  The men looked at one another; it was evident that some of the younger men did not like the idea of giving up the pursuit, but the foreman’s contention was sound. Green alone spoke:

  “See here, Blaynes : I admit it looks a pretty hopeless proposition, but why not let me an’ one o’ the boys snoop around for awhile an’ see if we can pick up a trail?’

  The foremen grinned unpleasantly as he replied, “Well, it’s yore job, ain’t it? What’s the idea o’ yu wanting help? Ain’t gettin’ modest, are yu?’

  Green chose to ignore the sneer. The idea is that if we do hit on the trail, I can send for yu an’ the boys while I foller it up,’ he said quietly. “I’ll take Barton—he’s got a fast hoss.’

  Blaynes nodded sulkily. Two fellers wastin’ time ‘stead o’ one, an’ we’re short-handed,’ he growled.

  He made no further protest, however, and in a few moments Green and Larry were alone. Perhaps of all the posse, Ginger alone envied them their task. His parting words were, “Yu find that trail, boys, an’ we’ll come a-bilin’.’

  “Good Injun trick, crossing the Sandy,’ remarked L
arry. “Good Injun nothin’,’ retorted his companion. “Yu ain’t swallowin’ that redskin rubbish, are yu?’

  “But Durran said

  “An’ Durran’s christian names are George Washington, ain’t they? An’ he looks a truthful man. Come awake, feller, an’ ask yoreself if Injuns are likely to leave a couple o’ rifles, an’ all the ammunition an’ stores in the hut when they’d all the time there is to take ‘em away?’

  Larry looked thoughtful. “It certainly don’t seem to fit in,’ he admitted.

  “An’ here’s somethin’ else that don’t fit in,’ Green went on, fishing out the object he had picked up near the body. What the blazes is that?’ queried Larry.

  “She’s a pocket machine for making smokes—I seen ‘em when I was East a while ago. Here is how she works.’

  He got out his makings and in a few moments produced a cigarette, while Larry looked on in undisguised amazement. “Didn’t belong to Bud, I reckon?’ Green asked.

  “No, Bud rolled his own pills,’ Larry said, and then, “Ain’t it the lady’s pet now? If we can spot the dude that lost it…

  “We got the feller that Ginger’s wantin’ bad to meet,’ interrupted his friend. “But we got to find that trail first. Know anythin’ about this Sandy Parlour?’

  “Yeah. I’ve crossed her once. She ain’t as big as some, but there’s too much of her to search. Our best bet is to keep along the edge to the right, an’ watch for a trail comin’ out.’

  ‘An’ the quicker we start, the sooner we get there,’ said Green. “C’mon.’

  Hugging the border of the desert as closely as possible, they rode along. The elder man’s thoughts were milling round the slaying of the cowboy. Had he been shot, it might have figured as a likely enough incident of the raid, but the knife-wound told a different story. Green believed that the boy had recognised one of the marauders, and incautiously betrayed the fact. Durran’s tale was he had seen Bud fall from his horse at the first discharge, and concluding that he was done for, had shifted for himself, with the one idea of carrying the news to the ranch as soon as possible. Green could find nothing to disprove this, and yet he did not believe it.