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

by Frederick H. Christian

  ‘Sets there while Marco rots in jail!’ slurred Yancey, uncorking another whiskey bottle. ‘Lets his own kin rot inna shtinkin’ shweatbox in Shan Jaime!’ He took a long pull at the bottle. ‘Hold off, he sez,’ he mumbled. ‘Not yet. Damn’ ol’ fool!’ he screeched in the general direction of the big house. ‘Stupid of goat!’

  The men in the bunkhouse eyed each other knowingly. When Yancey was drinking like this, trouble always followed. The best place a man could be was elsewhere. Slowly, not making any more sound than they absolutely had to, the riders sifted out into the open.

  ‘By God, he’s far gone tonight,’ remarked one.

  ‘He’s allus far gone,’ another pointed out. Yancey’s half-crazy even when he ain’t had a snort!’

  ‘Yo’re shoutin’,’ agreed a third.

  ‘Yu reckon we ought to tell the Old Man?’ inquired the first speaker.

  ‘Not me, Mary Ann,’ grinned the dark-haired fellow who had commented on Yancey Cullane’s mental state. ‘I ain’t lost no Cullanes, drunk or sober.’

  ‘Yo’re right,’ agreed his companion. ‘Let’s drift over to the other bunkhouse an’ see if we can scare up a decent game o’ poker.’

  They walked off in the direction of the second bunkhouse, leaving Yancey Cullane to his own devices. The red-haired little renegade had not even marked their departure. He was fully occupied lowering the level of his second bottle, and by the time he was through with it, Yancey Cullane had come up with what seemed to him to be a very good idea. The Old Man had forbidden any attack upon San Jaime, sure. But he had not expressly forbidden a rescue attempt. If he, Yancey, were to ride into San Jaime alone, spring Marco and the boys, and bring them back to the Stronghold in triumph, then the Old Man could hardly complain. And one good man alone could certainly achieve far more than a heavily-armed band of men whose arrival in the plaza would waken the dead, let alone the defenders.

  ‘Good idea, Yance, m’boy,’ the redhead congratulated himself. He lurched to his feet, strapping on his gun belts, and pushed out into the coolness of the night.

  ‘Gotta be allasame Injun,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Sneak out afore anyone notices.’

  Reeling drunkenly, he managed to saddle a pony without too much commotion, and led the beast out of the corral. Within ten minutes he was at the narrow gulch which so effectively prevented unexpected attack upon the canyon. The guard on the bluff overlooking the gulch called down.

  ‘That yu, Yance?’

  ‘S’me all right,’ grunted Cullane. ‘I’m headin’ over to San Jose for a leetle fun. Got me a purty li’l Mex gal over there.’ He manufactured a leering laugh, and the guard on the bluff laughed as well.

  ‘Lucky so-an’ so,’ he said. ‘I got to guard this yere canyon all damned night.’

  ‘Showin’ true fortitude, Hank,’ called Yancey. ‘Lissen, don’t crack on yu seen me, less’n the Old Man hisself is askin’, will yu?’

  ‘Shore thing, Yance,’ agreed the guard. ‘Have one fer me!’ Waving a hand to acknowledge the ribald salutation, Yancey Cullane mounted his horse and moved on out on to the open prairie. As soon as he was clear of the canyon, and out of sight of the guard, he put the horse into a gallop, pointing it north and east, eating up the miles to San Jaime. It was about nine o’clock, and as he thundered through the night, Yancey wished he had eaten something before he had left. He thought of the people of San Jaime just finishing supper, and a small groan left his lips. But he reached back into his saddlebags, bringing out a pint bottle of whiskey. Two long pulls and the pangs of hunger vanished, to be replaced by lovingly-fashioned dreams of the welcome he would receive when he brought his brother back home.

  When he got within a quarter of a mile of the plaza, he stopped the horse, and led him on foot for the rest of the way. Tethering the animal to a clump of yucca not far from the rear of the church, he moved in the shadows down the row of ramadas on the eastern side of the square, head down and hat tipped forward. There were only a few strollers on the boardwalks, and nobody remarked on his passing. It was about ten o’clock when he came to the house he was seeking. He glanced over his shoulder; right and then left. No one was watching. The house was dark; no light showed at any of the windows. Moving close to the door so that he was all but invisible in the darkness of the shadowed porch he knocked a certain way: once, then twice, then once again. Inside the house a glow of lamplight kindled, and then the door opened a crack. His face down to avoid being seen, Yancey Cullane pushed inside the house, and closed the door, leaning on it with his back.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ The question was asked with astonishment and more than a little venom in the voice. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘No,’ grinned Yancey, thickly. ‘I shore ain’t.’

  ‘Does the Old Man know you are here?’

  ‘Nope,’ grinned Yancey, recalcitrantly, ‘but he will soon.’

  ‘What are you doing here, I asked you!’ There was anger now behind the questioning, and Yancey, through his alcoholic stupor, noticed it.

  ‘Doin’ what the Old Man oughta be doin’!’ he snapped. ‘I come in to bust Marco out o’ jail, ‘stead o’ sittin’ on my aspidistra up at the Stronghold. The Old Man’s gettin’ soft in his old age, an’ I’m—’

  ‘—a stupid, drunken, half-witted fool!’ The lashing scorn of the words brought a flush of rage to Yancey’s face, and he whirled to face the speaker.

  ‘Damn yore eyes, yu better not talk to me like that!’ he raged.

  ‘I will talk to you any way that I please!’ came the biting retort. The handling of things in town has been left in my hands, and so far the Old Man has had no reason to complain of the intelligence I have been providing him. I will not be jeopardized by your stupidity!’

  ‘Yore spyin’ for the Ol’ Man don’t make yu no tin God!’ snarled Yancey Cullane. ‘Yu ain’t come up with no way o’ handlin’ this Sudden jasper, I notice!’

  ‘There has not been an opportunity yet,’ was the soft reply. ‘But I have made my plans. And when the time comes, Mr. Sudden will know it...’

  The cold viciousness of the other’s voice placed a chill hand on even the case-hardened soul of Yancey Cullane. An evil, weak and shiftless man himself, one who had killed as cold-bloodedly and callously as any of his renegade breed, he found himself nonetheless awed by the depths of hatred and evil he now saw lighting the eyes which held his own.

  ‘Wha — why—?’

  ‘Why do I hate Sudden, or Severn, as he calls himself? I don’t. Not particularly. I am here to pay back a much older score, Yancey; one of which Severn has no knowledge, and in which he only plays a supporting part. Somewhere there is a man who loves this Severn like a son. It is that man whom I hate. It is he whom I will destroy, using Severn as the instrument of that destruction. It will be better than killing him. I will know that he is going to spend the rest of his days tortured by the knowledge that he sent the man he loved like a son to his death. And when he knows that, I will tell him that it was I who brought it about, and I will tell him why!’

  ‘Who — who is this man?’ gasped Yancey.

  ‘His name is Bleke!’ came the hissed reply.

  ‘Bleke of Arizona? The jasper what sent Severn down here?’

  ‘The same. And once ... but never mind that! You listen to me, Yancey! Do nothing against Severn yet. Marco is being well looked after. When the time comes, there will be a way. Severn will be taken care of. I do not care who kills him — I only want him dead!’

  ‘Then let me take him now!’ burst out Yancey. ‘Let me get over to the jail, an’—’

  That was as far as he got. A slashing blow across the face tore the words from his lips, sending him reeling back against the door, his head, spinning from the force of the slap.

  ‘You mindless fool! Haven’t you heard a word I said? Get out of here! Take your drunken mouth and your halfwit away from me and away from San Jaime! If you so much as let anyone see you in this town, I will kill you myself
. Now — get out!’

  Stunned, bewildered, seething with mortification and hatred, Yancey Cullane blundered out into the open, and along the alley between the houses. Mumbling curses to himself, he lurched along, his head pounding with suppressed rage and the lust to kill. His hands closed and unclosed, aching to smash something, to inflict hurt. Almost weeping with rage, he reeled around the corner of the houses on the northeastern edge of the plaza, and blundered into someone. A grimace of pain crossed the man’s face at the impact on his left shoulder, and his face went white and drawn. Yancey Cullane reeled backwards, his eyes wide and unbelieving, as if the very gods had delivered unto him the answer to his prayers.

  ‘Severn!’ he screeched. ‘Severn!’

  Severn, off balance from the unexpected collision, his entire body stiffened by what felt like a white hot branding iron searing his left side, reacted instinctively to the sound of his name being screamed. He saw the glint of Yancey’s red hair, and the flickering movement of the man’s gun coming up as he rolled aside, flicking his right hand downwards for his gun, freezing in an instant’s disbelief as his fingers met only space. The gun had jarred loose from its holster as he fell! Yancey’s first shot crashed out and the bullet smashed a geyser of dust upwards only a few inches from Severn’s head as the Marshal desperately reversed the direction of his scrambling roll, grabbing across his body for the gun on his left, Yancey’s second shot blasting out. Severn expecting to feel the stunning impact of the lead, only to hear the slug smash into the adobe wall above him, splattering, showering dust and bits of clay on him.

  There was an eternity of time as he came to the end of his movement and looked up and saw the insane eyes of Yancey Cullane glaring at him over the leveled six gun, saw the knuckle of the trigger finger whiten on the trigger. The sound of the shot boomed out and he flinched, but realized in the same instant that it had not been Yancey’s gun which had spoken.

  He saw the red-haired renegade’s eyes widen in shock and disbelief, saw the gun-hand droop and the reflex action of death’s rictus tighten the trigger finger. Yancey’s bullet blazed into the dust as he toppled forward, and Severn half-turned to see Jenny Winn, a Derringer held in front of her with both hands, smoke issuing wispily from its barrel, watching Yancey slide dead to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, kicking Yancey’s gun aside, but the precaution was unnecessary. The man was dead. He went quickly to Jenny’s side. She was wearing a dressing gown over her nightdress, and her whole body trembled like a leaf, ‘Jenny!’ he exclaimed. ‘In God’s name ...!’

  ‘I —I heard the shots. It — I just ran out. He — he would have — killed you!’ She shivered as if gripped by some terrible fever and her eyes were dark and angry. ‘Don - Don, he would have killed you!’ And suddenly she was weeping, and there was a crowd all around them. He motioned to one of the women standing in the doorway nearby to take her back to her home, and turned as Ray Poynton and Rick Main came running across the square.

  ‘Don — yu all right?’ asked Poynton gruffly.

  ‘All right,’ Severn said grimly. ‘But damned lucky! I figgered I was a goner, shore.’

  Poynton knelt down by the prostrate form on the ground, then looked up in astonishment.

  ‘Damn me to Hellanbeyond - it’s Yance Cullane!’ he gasped.

  ‘Cullane!’ exclaimed Main. ‘What the Hell was he doin’ in town? An’ how did he get here without bein’ seen?’

  ‘Both good questions,’ Severn said grimly, ‘but they’ll keep! As to the second one, I’ll tell yu this. From now on, we’re keepin’ this town locked up tight. Nobody goes in or out without we know about it. Night or day.’

  ‘Well, yo’re damned tootin’!’ grufled old Poynton. ‘Not afore time, yu ask me.’

  After checking quickly that Jenny Winn was being looked after, and thanking her for the intervention which had saved his life, Severn went back to the jailhouse, his face grim. The two men watched him as he came in, and Poynton broke the silence.

  ‘Yu look like an hombre with a load on his mind, Don,’ he remarked. ‘Yu wanta palaver?’

  ‘I can’t figger it,’ Severn said, with puzzlement in his voice. ‘Yancey Cullane in town on his own? It just don’t make sense!’

  ‘He’s — he was as crazy as a bedbug, Don,’ Poynton pointed out. ‘Odds on, the Old Man didn’t even know he was here.’

  ‘Allus possible,’ Severn agreed. ‘But he couldn’t jest hang around town, waitin’ to bump into me. He musta been someplace.’

  ‘Visitin’ someone, yu mean?’ queried Main.

  Severn nodded. ‘Unless yu can offer an alternative, I’d say it was pretty likely.’

  ‘Yu sayin’ the Cullanes have got a spy right here in San Jaime, Don?’ Poynton’s voice was harsh and disbelieving. ‘It ain’t possible. There ain’t much over fifty people here, an’ every man an’ woman jack of ’em hates the old bastard’s soul!’

  Severn shook his head. ‘I know, I know,’ he admitted. But what else could he have been doin’?’ He paced up and down for a few moments, his brow knitted. ‘Ray, yu know the town better’n anyone. Just run through who lives in each o’ the houses on the eastern side o’ the Plaza for me.’

  Poynton shrugged. ‘Easy enough, Don, there’s on’y nine, ten all told. Let’s see, now. Startin’ on the southern end, there’s Pete Yope, he what runs the livery stable. Next door to his place is Shearer, the alcalde. Mex family named Gonzales comes alongside that, then there’s an alleyway, then Martin Chavez an’ his brood - that jasper’s got eight little ’uns an’ a big fat wife livin’ in that pokey li’l adobe, yu know it? — then next to Chavez there’s Father Malcolm’s house. Lemme see now ... oh, yeah, next there’s another alley. Then five houses all to once. Jose Montano, Emiliano Rodriguez, then Miz Winn’s place, then Diego Puerta an’ his brood. The last one in the row belongs to Carlos Montoya. That’s the lot.’

  ‘Thanks,’ muttered Severn. His voice was completely preoccupied, and Poynton looked at the gambler sitting behind the old desk and raised his eyebrows as high as they would go, lifting his shoulders slightly at the same time.

  ‘Search me, Ray,’ Main said with a grin. ‘Mebbe he’s takin’ a census.’

  ‘What yu circlin’ around, anyways, Don?’ Poynton asked, finally, exasperation overcoming his usual grumbling disinterest.

  ‘Just doin’ a mite o’ supposin’,’ Severn replied. ‘An’ not likin’ it overmuch.’

  ‘Reminds me of that feller as went to the medico,’ Main interjected. ‘Doc asks him what’s wrong, and this feller replies, “Doc, it’s Hell. Ever’ time I lift my arm above my head I gets this awful pain.” “Shucks,” says the doc, “that’s easy to fix. Quit liftin’ yore arm above yore head”.’

  Severn ignored his companion’s badinage, and sat down on the edge of the bunk by the wall.

  ‘Let’s suppose out loud,’ he remarked. ‘Yu boys let fly if I say somethin’ that don’t sound jake.’

  ‘Shoot,’ invited Poynton. ‘Jokes is so bad around here—’ he cast a meaningful glance at Main ‘—we might as well lissen to somethin’ else.’

  ‘Well supposin’ Old Man Cullane has had a spy in San Jaime all this time.’

  ‘Suppose away, pardner,’ Main said. ‘So what?’

  ‘He’d know all about what was goin’ on in town.’

  ‘Right so far,’ agreed Poynton. ‘Mind yu, I figger he’d prob’ly know most o’ that, anyways.’

  ‘He’d know our routine for watchin’ our friends in there,’ continued Severn. ‘An’ when we’re all here, an’ when there’s one or two.’

  ‘Agreed, Don, again,’ Poynton said. ‘But yu know two men -even one at a pinch, could hold this place against a small army.’

  Severn nodded. ‘True enough,’ he muttered. ‘So it can’t be that. Which means—’ he smacked his thigh. ‘Which means that whoever the spy is, he’s been here all along, right from the beginning, keeping an eye on people, any strangers driftin’ in, any wild talk on
the part o’ people in town, any plans to give the Cullanes trouble - why he’d know about it as soon as it started, an’ nip it in the bud quick and final!’

  Poynton pursed his lips. ‘He had this town pretty well tamed afore yu arrove, Don,’ he pointed out. ‘Shorely Cullane didn’t need anyone here that bad?’

  ‘No ... not that badly,’ agreed Severn. ‘But someone who was here anyways? It makes some sense, at least. The Old Man is sittin’ up there in the mountains bein’ fed information from San Jaime. So far, although we’ve give him plenty o’ reason, he ain’t come in after me, after us. Why?’

  Main looked at Poynton and Poynton looked right back at Main.

  ‘I give up,’ Rick Main said.

  ‘Hell’s bells, Don,’ Poynton growled. ‘Quit playin’ guessin’ games an’ get to the point.’

  ‘Shore, Ray,’ Severn said, and leaned back on his bunk with a smile. The point is, we ain’t decided how we’re goin’ to defend the town when the Cullanes ride in.’

  ‘Wal, not in detail, as yu might say,’ Poynton remonstrated. ‘But in principle — heeeeyy!’ His eyebrows rose again as the import of what Severn had just said dawned upon him. ‘Yu mean he’s waitin’—’

  ‘—Right first time,’ Severn said with a grim smile.

  ‘Yu mean, he’s settin’ up there until he knows just exackly—’ Main burst in.

  ‘Exactly!’ Severn interrupted. Exactly where to hit us, when to hit us, an’ how hard to hit us. Where the weak points will be, an’ where the heaviest defensive positions are. Now if yu was Ol’ Billy, wouldn’t yu sit tight until yu knowed that?’

  ‘Well damn me to Hellanbeyond, Don!’ ejaculated Poynton. ‘If yu ain’t — if that ain’t—’

  ‘Ain’t no explanation of why Yancey Cullane come trouble-huntin’ in San Jaime,’ remarked Main, softly. ‘Yu come up with the answer to that one yet, master-mind?’

  ‘Nope.’ Severn shook his head. ‘That little play shore has me hogtied, Rick. It don’t make any kind o’ sense.’