Sudden--Dead or Alive (A Sudden Western #4)

by Frederick H. Christian

  ‘Hell, Pa, Glenn’s gone off of his chump!’ he sneered. ‘I mean, everybody knows that Sudden’s dead. He disappeared about four, five years ago. I heard someplace he’d been killed up Arizona way.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard that,’ put in Flatman, who stood near the door. ‘Some one-hoss jerk town. Hatchett’s Folly, was it?’

  There was a chorus of agreement from the other men in the room, and Yancey Cullane got up from his chair and made for the door.

  ‘If that’s yore big news, brother Glenn, yu shore have half-kilt that nag outside for nothin!’

  ‘Sit down, Yance!’ The old man’s voice was like a thunderclap, and the startled Yancey found himself back in his chair before he realized he had moved.

  ‘Well, Hell, Pa, I got things to do—’ he remonstrated.

  ‘—Yu got nothin’ to do less’n I say yu have!’ raged Old Billy Cullane. ‘Now muzzle yore lip an’ hear the rest of it! Yu, Glenn: Get on with it. Stop pickin’ daisies!’

  ‘Shore, Pa, shore,’ agreed Glenn, hastily. ‘Yu see, boys, it was like this ’ere. Pa figgered there was somethin’ funny about this jasper Severn an’ so he reckoned it wouldn’t be a bad idea to backtrack him to whar he come from. Figgered there might be more to his bein’ in San Jaime than meets the eye.’

  ‘Allus figgered it. Got a nose for niggers in woodpiles,’ muttered the old man. ‘Go on, boy, get on with it!’

  ‘Well, I tracked him back to San Jose. Shore ’nough, he was in a ruckus there with Black Billy Morrison, an’ when the smoke cleared, Billy was deader’n a mackerel, and Severn had lit out with some gamblin’ man name o’ Main.’

  ‘Who’s now in San Jaime,’ observed young Billy.

  ‘Backin’ Severn’s play,’ added Flatman.

  ‘Right,’ confirmed Glenn. ‘Well, sir, I pushed on up into Arizona, an’ poked around some in Tucson. Give his description at hotels, told ’em he’d come into some money, an’ I was a lawyer lookin’ for him.’

  ‘He’s comin’ into something’,’ growled Yancey darkly, ‘but money is what it ain’t.’

  ‘Wait, now, listen,’ Glenn told him. ‘Finally tracked down he’d stayed at the Shoo Fly a couple o’ nights, an’ the next thing I hear is he’s been a-visitin’ the Governor.’

  ‘Bleke?’ Flatman’s voice was incredulous. ‘Yu sayin’ this Sudden jasper’s been sent here by Bleke of Arizona?’

  ‘I’m sayin’ just that,’ smirked Glenn Cullane, ‘an’ more besides. Bleke’s got a secretary, nice lookin’ gal. I spent some time gettin’ to know her. Lavinia, her name was. Real Sunday-go-to-meetin’ type of lady. I brung her flowers, and talked up a real storm. Got her talkin’ about her work. Finally it comes out: this Severn has been sent for by Bleke. An’ most interestin’ of all: he was there at the same time as another hombre named Coffey.’

  ‘So who’s Coffey when he’s havin’ his dinner?’ sneered Yancey. ‘My Gawd, yu take a year to tell a tale, boy.’

  ‘Coffey. Big Eddie Coffey. Used to run a saloon in a town called Fronteras,’ Glenn told him meaningfully.

  ‘We didn’t leave nobody alive in Fronteras!’ burst out Yancey.

  ‘That’s what yu told us, Yancey,’ growled the old man. ‘Seems like yu was half-doin’ yore work like always.’

  ‘I swear it, Pa — we put half a dozen slugs into every man in that goddamned town!’ expostulated Yancey Cullane.

  ‘Oh, shut yore whinin’ face!’ snapped the old man. ‘If yu was half as good at doin’ what yo’re told to do as yu are at makin’ excuses, we wouldn’t be settin’ here now lissenin’ to all this. Coffey would never’ve gotten to Bleke, an’ Bleke would never’ve sent this goddamn Severn hombre down here to stir things up.’

  ‘Well, it still comes down to the same thing,’ Yancey said, stubbornly. ‘Wipe out Severn an’ that’s the end o’ that. Even Sudden ain’t proof agin a forty five slug in the back o’ the head. Allus supposin’ he really is Sudden.’

  ‘Oh, he is, all right,’ Glenn told him triumphantly. ‘I rode up around Hatchett’s Folly way, an’ poked around there as well. This Severn has a ranch up there, which same is bein’ run now by some jasper named Lunt. Folks around there like to talk about what happened up around them parts a few years back, when they had some big troubles, and this Sudden feller rode in an’ cleaned the place up. Then he disappeared.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘An’ suddenly, out o’ nowhere, there’s a new owner o’ the YZ brand — jasper name o’ Donald Severn!’

  ‘That clinches it for me,’ breathed Flatman. ‘Severn must be Sudden!’

  ‘An’ what’s more interestin’ than all that, he’s workin’ for Bleke of Arizona,’ interjected another rider.

  ‘That double-dyed old sonofabitch!’ rasped old Billy Cullane.

  ‘He’s brought grief enough to me in his time: He hung one o’ my boys in San Carlos. Then Jimmy was killed in Fronteras by one o’ his damned lawmen. Now he’s sent this black-haired bastard Sudden to make war on me! He’s locked up my boy in that stinkin’ little town. But he’s makin’ a mistake if he thinks he’ll get away with it. I know about Bleke. I know all about him and his precious Sudden. That’s the big thing, an’ I’ll make him cry blood for what he’s done to me an’ mine!’

  The old man shook his fist at the ceiling, like some ancient god challenging the skies. His sons watched him in awed silence; they had seen the old man like this before, and were far too well schooled in his rages to dare to speak while this mood was upon him.

  After a moment, the rage subsided, and the old man’s eyes focused normally once more.

  ‘Bleke — so Glenn’s discovered — has been usin’ this Severn jasper, or Sudden, or whatever he’s called, for years. Some kind of special deppity. Troubleshooter. Sent him to clean up Hell City. Brought that Davis girl back out of Apacheria. He was Marshal in Lawless. An’ all Bleke’s doin’! From what we hear, this Severn is like a son to Bleke, on’y bein’ a flinty-hearted old sonofabitch, he don’t like people to know it. Well, I know it, an’ I’m goin’ to make him regret the day he ever thought to send his pet gunman after me!’

  ‘What yu aimin’ to do, Pa? asked Glenn, hesitantly.

  ‘Do, boy? Yu think I’ve been settin’ here petrified while yu was gallivantin ‘around in Tucson with some secretary? What I’ve done I’ve done. Yu’ll know when the time comes. In the meanwhile, I don’t want no slip-ups. Stay away from San Jaime. Especially yu, Yancey!’

  ‘Aw, Pa, I could ride in there an’ take Severn alone,’ Yancey said, sulkily. ‘Last time he was just lucky.’

  ‘If anyone was lucky yu was,’ snarled Cullane. ‘Now hear me! My plans is laid. In a couple more days we’ll hear what I want to know, and then we’ll be ridin’. We’re goin’ to take San Jaime an’ tear it to pieces. I’m goin’ to lay that town to waste; take yore brother out o’ there, an’ then burn every stick and stone to the ground. An’ then I’m goin’ to take what’s left o’ Mister Sudden-Severn, an’ deliver him personal to Bleke in a sack, and watch while that old tyrant breaks his Goddamned tightwadded heart!’

  He threw back his head and roared with mad, cackling, throat-jerking laughter, startling the men in the room into astonishment by the unexpectedness of it. They stole out of the room into the daylight, one or two shaking their heads, pursued by the unearthly insane noise of Billy Cullane’s uncontrollable, incomprehensible mirth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Severn leaned back in his chair on the porch outside Jenny Winn’s house and let a thin stream of smoke drift from his mouth. He took another puff at the long panatela and repeated the operation, sighing contentedly as he did so.

  ‘Padre,’ he announced, ‘I don’t reckon I’ve et that well in some considerable time.’

  Father Malcolm smiled. ‘Jenny does roast a rather fine chicken,’ he observed. ‘Your friend seems to agree.’ He nodded towards Ray Poynton, who was dozing off in the wicker armchair they could see through the open window.

&nbs
p; It was a beautiful warm summer night. Up in the velvet heavens the stars glistened and winked in their untold millions, seeming so close as to be almost within reach. From somewhere across the plaza came the soft chording of a Spanish guitar, and Severn identified the plaintive melody, saying the words as if to himself:

  ‘Eyes like the mornin’ star, cheeks like a rose,

  Annie was a purty gal, Gawd-awmighty knows

  Weep all yu little rains,

  Wail winds, wail

  All along, along, along the Colorado Trail...’

  His voice tailed off, and he turned his head away from the old man for a moment. Father Malcolm let the silence lengthen for the space of a few heartbeats, then said quietly, ‘Who was she, my son?’

  Severn did not reply for a while. Eventually, a match flared as he relit his cigar, and he said quietly:

  ‘Her name was Noreen. She was my wife.’

  ‘She’s dead?’

  ‘Yeah,’ came the soft reply. ‘She died nearly a year back. We — we would have had a daughter, they said — after.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the priest said. ‘I ought not to have asked.’

  ‘Nothin’ to be sorry about,’ Severn said. ‘It happens.’

  ‘Were there any other children?’

  ‘A boy. He’s goin’ on three.’

  ‘Who is caring for him?’

  ‘Some good friends. They’re like his second parents. I got a place up in Arizona. Purtiest country yu ever saw, padre. Good grass, plenty o’ water. Kind o’ country a man wants to spend all his life livin’ in.’

  The old priest shook his head in the darkness. ‘Yet you left it to come here. I don’t understand, Don.’

  ‘It needed doin’,’ replied Severn, and Father Malcolm knew from the finality of his companion’s tone that Severn would not discuss it any further. That there were other reasons for Severn’s presence in San Jaime he had never doubted; the old man had lived long enough to know that men like Severn were rarely motivated by the usual venal reasons. Money, power, fame — none of these would persuade a man like Severn to leave a place he loved to plunge into danger and live with the ever-present imminence of death. It was enough that he was here, whatever his reasons.

  ‘It may be that you will want to talk about it again,’ the old man said softly. ‘If that time comes, I will be here.’

  ‘I’m thankin’ yu, padre’ Severn said, softly, ‘but it ain’t over-likely. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, an’ I’d be obliged if yu was to forget yu heard what I just said.’

  ‘It is already forgotten,’ Father Malcolm replied. ‘And now, I must go. No, don’t get up. Sit there and finish your cigar while I go and say goodnight to Jennifer. I’ll see you again tomorrow.’

  Severn nodded. Truth to tell, he was feeling rested and relaxed for the first time since he had come to San Jaime. His shoulder was knitting well, and the fine feast which Jenny Winn had cooked for them had put him nicely at peace with the world. The other sadness was with him constantly, and he lived with it.

  He heard the old man saying goodnight, and shortly afterwards nodded to the priest as Father Malcolm hurried off across the square towards the church. Jenny Winn came out on to the porch, a lacy Spanish shawl around her shoulders against the coming coolness of the night air.

  She handed her guest a glass, and sat down in the chair which the priest had just vacated.

  ‘Brandy?’ hazarded Severn, sniffing the drink.

  ‘French brandy,’ she corrected, with a smile. ‘A very special bottle, which I keep for very special guests.’

  That’s mighty kind o’ yu, ma’— sorry, Jenny,’ Severn said, sipping the golden liquid. ‘That’s prime liquor,’ he announced. ‘A man like me don’t get too many chances to drink anythin’ that good.’

  ‘Don …’ Jenny Winn’s voice was hesitant. ‘I ... I regret …I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing—’

  ‘—What I told the padre,’ finished Severn. ‘No matter, Jenny. I’d as lief not talk about it, all the same.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said softly. She leaned back in her chair, and let the night silence envelope them. Severn sensed the faint, tantalizing perfume in her hair. She was very beautiful in the starlight.

  ‘Don,’ she said, finally breaking the long silence. ‘Why do you do it?’

  ‘Live by the gun, yu mean?’ he said harshly.

  ‘Well — no, not exactly, but if you put it like that …’

  ‘That’s the way to put it, Jenny. I’m a gunfighter. It probably looks like I make my living that way to yu.’

  ‘No, no, Don’, she protested, ‘that’s not at all what I meant. I meant — what can it possibly be that makes a man with a young son, with his own ranch, with friends who respect him, with a whole life ahead of him, take up the cause of a little town in the middle of nowhere, whose fate cannot be of the slightest concern to him, one way or the other?’

  ‘I heard some wise gent once remarked that “no man is an island”, Jenny,’ the Marshal replied.

  ‘Oh, you are fencing with me,’ she pouted. ‘And I would so truly like to know. Don, if I were a man and had all the things you have left behind you, I would never ever leave them. What is your son’s name?’

  ‘James,’ he replied. ‘Jim.’

  ‘After one of his grandparents?’

  Severn grinned faintly in the darkness. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘After a feller I knowed once. In the past.’

  ‘Was he a good man, Don?’

  ‘I’d like to think so,’ Severn replied.

  ‘Oh, I wish I could see your son,’ she said, feelingly. ‘I always wanted children so much. But my husband - died - so young. We were both so young, so full of hope! I sometimes think ... oh, but I must be boring you with my silly talk!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do forgive me, please.’

  ‘Yu ain’t a bit borin’,’ he reassured her. ‘Go on with what yu was savin’ — yu sometimes think, what?’

  ‘That ... that I’d ... well, give anything to start again, to raise a family, to be part of a community. Somewhere, to belong to something. To someone.’

  ‘There must be plenty o’ men who’d be proud to have yu as their wife, Jenny,’ Severn said softly. ‘How come yu’ve never married again?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve had proposals,’ she said. ‘But I’ve never met anyone that I could really care for — until now.’

  ‘Jenny—’ began Severn, but she rose quickly, and placed her fingertips on his lips, stilling the words.

  ‘Forgive me, please, Don,’ she said, softly. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Perhaps it was the wine.’

  ‘Mebbe it was,’ Severn nodded. He struck another match for the cigar, and she saw that his face was set in bitter lines. ‘Leave it at that. The road I’ve taken is for a man on his own.’

  ‘Oh, Don,’ she sighed. ‘What is it about yourself that you will not tell anyone?’ She looked into his eyes, her own dark gaze level and frank. ‘You must be honest with me, Don. Especially with me.’

  Severn got up and walked over to the rail at the edge of the porch. He was surprised to find his hands trembling slightly.

  ‘I got a job to do, Jenny. That’s all yu need to know.’

  ‘And when the job is over ...?’ Her voice was as level as his, but it contained the slightest of hints that her breathing was a little faster.

  ‘Then I’ll be movin’ on,’ he said. There was absolutely no expression in his voice.

  ‘Oh, Don!’ she said, stamping her tiny foot in exasperation. ‘Men are such fools! You have no need to light this town’s battles. You have already done more for San Jaime than any ten others. You cannot fight the Cullanes alone - they are too powerful, too ruthless! You — we could — go away. Back to Arizona. Forget all this. In time you would forget. I could make you forget!’

  He turned and she was in his arms, her lips warm on his own, her dark eyes closed.

  ‘There,’ she said, quietly, pulling away. ‘Don’t say anything.’ She touched h
is lips with her fingers again. ‘Don’t speak and spoil it. Just think about it. Think about us.’ Her soft hair brushed his face as she swiftly touched her lips to his forehead and then fleet-footedly slipped into the house.

  Severn stood like stone for perhaps a minute, maybe two. Then he tossed the half-smoked cigar away, and searched in his pockets for the makin’s. He deliberately rolled a quirly and lit it, dragging the smoke down deep in one long, satisfying pull. The faint gleam of the cigarette revealed a frown of concentration upon his features. He stood there in the darkness for a long time, silent, watching the slow and endless movement of the stars.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Yancey Cullane was drinking again. Wastrel, scoundrel, half-mad when sober, drinking turned Yancey into a fiend incarnate; incapable of any thought other than the next one which popped into his half-deranged mind, Yancey was as volatile as unstable explosive with the best part of a bottle of whiskey poured down his throat. The inaction was wearing him down. His father’s brutal order to sit and wait irked him, for it was not in his nature to play a waiting game. The revelation of Severn’s identity dripped like acid in his mind, for among his other failings Yancey Cullane was inordinately vain of his reputation as a fast gun. In San Jaime was a man whom every story said was among the best who had ever walked the West, and Yancey Cullane was consumed by the desire to find out just how good this Sudden was. Yet he was under orders not to ‘call’ him.

  ‘Hell an’ damnation!’ he swore, hurling the empty bottle at the wall of the bunkhouse. The crash of the shattering glass startled three riders who were playing a desultory game of cribbage at the far end of the room; but none remonstrated. They had seen Yancey killing drunk before. None of them had any wish to provoke him while he was in this insane mood.