Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938)

by Oliver Strange

  It was outside one of these that Scar and his two companions halted their tired mounts at the end of the ignominious retreat from the scene of the rustling. All wore a look of unease.

  “Gotta report, I s’pose,” the leader said.

  “You bet,” one of them retorted. “He’ll find out, mebbe knows a’ready, like’ he did that Dugout doin’.”

  “Who’s to tell him?” Scar argued. “The blasted cowboys won’t, the Greasers is cashed, an’ Squint must be, or he’d ‘a’ showed up.”

  “He’ll git wise, I tell you,” the other persisted, “an’ then what? We’ve lost out an’ there’s no sense in makin’ it wuss.”

  “Daggs is right,” the third man put in. “We gotta take our medicine.”

  “You said it, Coger,” Scar replied. “Git ready for a stiff dose.”

  They followed along a short tunnel in the rock and reached a door on which the leader rapped. It was thrown back by a creature who, in the half-light, appeared to be a mixture of man and beast. Not more than five feet in height, it possessed a barrel of a body set on stunted, inadequate legs, enormous shoulders, and abnormally long arms. The animal resemblance was increased by a face almost covered with shaggy hair from which a large nose protruded.

  “Hello, Silver,” Scar greeted. “We wanta see the Chief.”

  The freak’s mouth opened in a malicious grin, showing teeth like yellow fangs. “He’s wantin’ to see you,” he said.

  Apprehension was on their faces as they filed in. It was a spacious room, and despite the bare walls only partly concealed by gaudy Navajo blankets, and the two unglazed holes which served as windows, to them it represented luxury. Rich rugs in which the feet sank dotted the rock floor, costly articles of furniture were spread about, and on a chair covered with a great bearskin sat the owner of all this magnificence.

  That he was young—well under thirty—was evident, notwithstanding the slitted, crimson velvet mask which veiled his face down to the supercilious, almost bloodless lips. Though wearing cowboy attire, his silken shirt, goatskin chaps, and high-heeled boots were of the finest quality. A pair of ivory-handled, silver-mounted Colts hung in a cartridge-studded belt round his middle. The men had entered with hats on, but one glance from the cold, washed-out blue eyes led to their furtive removal.

  “So you failed again?” The voice was low, devoid of passion, yet menacing. Scar began a mumbling explanation but was not allowed to finish. “Don’t trouble to lie—I know the details. The first time there were four of you; on this occasion, six. How strong do you have to be to beat one man?”

  The gibe made them squirm. “There were two of ‘em,” Daggs corrected.

  The Chief shrugged disdainfully. “You were three to one,” he said. “Where’s Squint?”

  “Thought you knowed,” Scar said hardily, and got a look which made him regret he had spoken.

  “I do know, but I wanted to see what lying excuse you could find for scuttling away like scared cottontails,” was the scathing retort. “Now listen: this fellow Green is not to be touched till I give permission—I have plans regarding him. You have blundered twice; a third time will be—the last. Silver, the door.”

  Like whipped curs they slunk out and repaired to the hovel they shared in common. Here, sitting on his pallet-bed, they found Squint, who cursed them heartily for a set of cowards.

  “What th’ hell could we do?” Scar excused. “We was aimin’ to swing round an’ git behind ‘em, but a chipmunk couldn’t climb out’n that gully. Why didn’t you keep under cover?”

  “I did, you fool, but they started bouncin’ bullets off’n a rock an’ one got me in the thigh,” Squint retorted irritably. “How d’you git here?” Coger asked.

  “Ran into Silver—he toted me on his back. Gawd, he’s strong that fella, an’ can run an’ climb like the bear-cat he is.”

  “So that’s how the Chief knew,” Scar remarked.

  Squint bristled.

  “If yo’re meanin’ I told him—”

  “I ain’t—you wouldn’t be so dumb. Satan don’t trust nobody, damn him, an’ Silver was watchin’.”

  “Good for him—I’d never ‘a’ made it,” Squint said. “All I want now is a peek at that Green hombre over the hind-sight of a gun.”

  “An’ all you’ll want arter that will be a wooden box to rot in,” Scar told him. “The Chief has put the bars up on the gent.”

  “Sufferin’ serpents ! why?”

  “He didn’t say—must ‘a’ forgot to, mebbe,” was the ironical reply.

  “Bars or no bars, I’m gettin’ even for this,” the wounded man growled, tapping his bandaged thigh.

  Scar laughed harshly. “We shall shorely miss you, Squint.”

  When the two punchers returned to the Double K they found its owner in conversation with his foreman. Sudden fancied that the latter’s brow darkened a little when they rode up, but he could not be sure. Frosty told the tale of the day’s doings, merely giving the facts.

  “They were putting Merry’s brand on my cows?” Keith asked, when the cowboy concluded. “Why should they do that?”

  “Jim figured it was to get yu in bad with the Twin Diamond.”

  “Pretty far-fetched reason, that,” the foreman commented.

  “Can you think of a better one?” his employer snapped. “What was Merry’s view?”

  “He agreed it was like enough, an’ said for me to tell yu he’s buyin’ the cows,” Frosty replied. “The brandin’ was mighty careless.”

  “Did you know the men?”

  “The two at the fire was Greasers, three more was in the ruckus at Sam’s, Jim sez; we didn’t see the other.”

  The rancher pondered for a moment. “If it didn’t seem impossible, one might think they were waiting for you.”

  “Shore looked thataway,” Frosty said bluntly. “The fire was bound to be seen if anybody rode within miles.”

  Lagley’s laugh was scornful. “They claim Satan is a wizard, but I reckon he can’t guess as good as that,” he said. “Ain’t but once in a while we ride that line.”

  He regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. Keith whirled on him. “Is—that—so?” he said slowly. “No wonder I’m losing stock when you leave the door wide open for rustlers. Why don’t you put up a board with `Welcome’ on it?”

  The foreman’s hard face flushed beneath the tan at this savage sarcasm. “We ain’t strong enough to fight Hell City,” he said sullenly. “Though I’m bettin’ we’ll have to now.” This with a baleful glare at the two punchers.

  “If you are blaming these two men for to-day’s work you can forget it,” the Colonel said brusquely. “I am only sorry they couldn’t exterminate them all. Green, I’ve something to say to you.” He waited until the others had gone, and then, “What’s your opinion of Lagley?”

  “Ain’t got one—yet,” was the non-committal reply. “Some of the men don’t like him.”

  “A popular foreman is either mighty good or mighty poor,” Sudden stated, and changed the subject. “How many men does this Hell City jasper have?”

  “Rumour says anything from thirty to fifty.”

  “Split the difference an’ call it two score. Ain’t it odd that out of all them, three at least should be the ones I tangled with?”

  “True,” Keith agreed. “I think you were expected. Well, probably Lagley is right, it means war.” His face became set with a swift resolve. “Have you been told that this masked miscreant is my—son?”

  “Yeah, by folk who don’t believe it.”

  “The evidence leaves little doubt,” the rancher replied, with icy calmness. “Even if it be so, the welfare of the community demands that he be brought to justice.” The stern voice did not falter, but the gaunt, white face told what an effort the word had cost. It was some moments before he spoke again. “What do you propose to do?”

  “It’s his turn to move,” the puncher pointed out. “Me an’ Frosty will scout around like we did to-day; I want to ge
t wise to the country.”

  When he returned to the bunkhouse, he found it in a state of excitement over the defeat of the rustlers.

  “Sorta levels up for poor ol’ Tim,” one said.

  “Huh!” Lanky snorted. “A dozen Greasers wouldn’t do that.”

  The jubilation was not quite universal, several of the older men taking a pessimistic view of the matter. Turvey spoke plainly.

  “Askin’ for trouble, I’d say,” was how he put it. “What’s a few steers compared with a man’s life?”

  “How about that time yu shot a fella for tryin’ to cheat yu out’n a measly ten dollars?” Frosty asked, recalling a story Turvey was fond of telling.

  “That was different,” the other defended.

  “Yeah, the dollars was yourn, the steers is the 01’ Man’s,” was the pointed reply.

  “Yu kids think yu know it all, an’ then some. When yu git yore growth …”

  Lazy headed off the impending quarrel. “What d’yu reckon Mister Satan will do?” he enquired of the company at large.

  “Tuck his tail into his rump an’ punch the breeze, pronto, o’ course,” Turvey sneered. “Me, I’d be scared to death to know Frosty was after my scalp.”

  That young man shared in the laugh. “Yu ain’t got no scalp, yu bald-headed ol’ buzzard,” he said genially.

  Lagley had listened to the discussion in frowning silence. Now he spoke. “Green, yu’ll ride the north line for a spell. I figure, after the fright yu’ve given ‘em”—the sarcasm was pronounced—”one man’ll be enough.”

  Frosty started to open his mouth, but closed it again when he caught his friend’s warning glance. Later, Sudden contrived to find the foreman alone.

  “Oh, Lagley, I didn’t say nothin’ before the others, but the Colonel said for me an’ Frosty to double-team it,” he explained.

  The foreman’s eyes flashed. “O’ course, if yo’re afeard to go it alone—” he began.

  Sudden laughed. “I’m shakin’ in my shoes, but when the owner—Keith is that, I s’pose?—gives orders …”

  “They gotta be obeyed, huh, even if the foreman don’t agree?”

  “I wasn’t sayin’ that, but the hand the orders is given to has to carry ‘em out. The foreman can argue—”

  “Me argue with that bull-headed ol’ fool?” Lagley savagely interrupted. “I got somethin’ better to do. If he wants to run his damned ranch to hellangone …”

  He stalked angrily away, leaving the cowboy in a thoughtful mood.

  Chapter VIII

  The following morning found the friends on the scene of the previous day’s encounter, which, Sudden now learned, was known as Coyote Canyon. The bodies had gone, but not far, as two newly made mounds of stones testified. The ashes of the fire had been covered with sand.

  “Someone has tidied up,” was Sudden’s comment. “How far to Hell City from here?”

  ” ‘Bout eight mile, straight along the canyon,” Frosty told him. “Thinkin’ o’ payin’ a visit?”

  “Not till I get an invite,” was the smiling reply, and the other grinned too, never dreaming that the remark was meant.

  Since their task was ostensibly the driving of strays from the stretches of scrub which clothed the foothills, they decided to separate. Two quick shots would be the signal for rejoining with the utmost speed. Frosty having departed eastwards, Sudden turned his horse’s head in the opposite direction. For a mile or so, he threaded a way through clumps of thorny brush, forcing the few cattle he unearthed out on to the plain, and then turned abruptly to the north. A steady, devious climb along rocky, cactus-strewn defiles brought him at length to a lofty ledge of level ground, bare save for patches of grass, a sprinkling of gay flowers, and scattered groups of spruce and pine trees. On the far side of this expanse were more hills, with a break in the middle of them masked by forest growth. He was making towards this when the scream of a frightened horse dissipated the silence, and a moment later the animal came into view, galloping furiously hrough the boulders and brush which littered the approach o the pass.

  “A woman!” the puncher ejaculated. “What the hell …?” His question was soon answered; little more than a hundred paces behind, a long, lithe tawny form flashed in the sunlight as it leapt over an obstacle in pursuit of its prey. The dangling reins told that the rider had lost control of her mount; clinging desperately to the saddle-horn, she could only urge it on in the vain hope of outrunning the peril. But the spectator saw another danger of which she evidently knew nothing : crazed by terror, the pony was racing blindly for the edge of the plateau and a sheer drop of a thousand feet on to the jagged rocks below.

  A word, and Nigger shot away to the right in an endeavour to intercept the fugitives, the mighty muscles bunching under the silken skin and transforming the animal into a black thunderbolt. A few tense moments at full speed and Sudden, standing in his stirrups, whirled his rope.

  “Steady, boy,” he warned, as the loop settled over the head of the runaway, and Nigger slowed down sufficiently to check the captive pony without throwing it. For a few more yards the maddened beast fought onwards, but the increasing drag of the rope and the choking effect of the tightening noose prevailed; it pulled up, spent and trembling, almost on the brink of the abyss.

  One peril was past, but another still threatened. The mountain lion—doubtless made bold by hunger—was not content to be baulked of its booty and was preparing to spring when Sudden’s bullet smashed into its brain. With a word to his horse, the puncher got down, stepped swiftly to the woman and lifted her limp form from the saddle.

  “Everythin’s right now, ma’am,” he assured her. “How yu feelin’?”

  “Damned queer,” was the surprising answer, as she subsided on a near-by stone. “What possessed my pony to jerk the reins from my hands and bolt like a mad thing?”

  “A big cat was needin’ a meal—badly, I guess,” he told her, and, when she looked round fearfully, added, “He ain’t needin’ it no longer.”

  “So that was the shot,” she said, and for a space was silent, studying him.

  Through narrowed lids, he returned the scrutiny. She was young, about his own age, he estimated, and, in any company, would be adjudged a beautiful woman. Thick braided coils of ebon hair matched the velvety darkness of her slumbrous eyes; a straight nose, full lips, and rounded cheeks which the sun had but faintly tinted, formed a face which compelled admiration. She was tall, for a woman, and her smart riding-costume displayed her fine, well-built figure to perfection. Presently she smiled, showing white, even teeth.

  “It just comes to me that I haven’t thanked you for saving me from being devoured,” she said. “But perhaps the lion would have preferred the pony.”

  “I reckon not, if he’d any taste,” Sudden said.

  She smiled again at the compliment. “Why did you stop us before shooting the beast? Suppose you had missed …”

  “Mebbe it was a risk, but I didn’t expect to miss.”

  His gaze went involuntarily to the edge of the plateau; she rose and stepped towards it, only to come hurrying back, horror and contrition in her eyes.

  “Forgive me, my friend,” she cried. “You have saved me from a dreadful death, and I find fault. I did not know …”

  “Shucks,” he smiled. “Nothin’ to that, ma’am; yu may be able to help me one day.”

  “If that time ever comes, you may rely upon me,” she said soberly. “But for now, I should like to know to whom I am indebted.”

  He gave his name, adding that he was riding for Keith. “The Double K? Aren’t you off your range a little?”

  “I’m kind o’ new, an’ don’t know the lay-out,” he explained. “Took a notion to come up here an’ look around.”

  “Which was as well for me. Do you think my horse can be trusted to carry me home?”

  “I reckon.” He whistled, and Nigger trotted up, the other animal having perforce to follow. The woman’s eyes swept over the black approvingly.

/>   “Your own?” she asked, and when he nodded, “Take care of him, my friend; he’s a temptation.”

  “Any stranger who tried to ride him would have a real interestin’ time,” the puncher told her.

  He went to her pony, which was still wild-eyed and nervous, but when he had slipped the noose from its neck, soothed and spoken to it for a moment or two, it quietened down and allowed its mistress to mount.

  “You seem to understand horses,” she commented.

  “I was raised among ‘em,” he said. “Like dawgs, they know their friends.” He coiled his rope, and got into his own saddle. “An’ where now?”

  “I’m going to look for my hat—it fell off,” she replied, but when he offered to help she shook her head. “You have done enough, and I shall remember, but we part here.”

  “For good?” he queried.

  “Quien saber’” She smiled. “Fate, having brought us together so dramatically, must mean us to meet again.”

  He clasped the firm, gloved hand she extended and turned his horse southwards. It was only when she had vanished among the trees that he remembered she had not told him her name—the brand on the pony was his only clue to her identity. Cursing himself for a bonehead, he retraced his steps to the plain, where he soon met Frosty.

  “Thought I heard a shot,” that young man greeted.“‘Yu did—ran into a mountain lion.

  “Git him?”

  “Yeah,” Sudden replied. “Anybody own a B D iron around here?”

  “No, an’ we don’t usually brand our lions neither,” was the flippant answer.

  “Nor yore jackasses—at least, I ain’t noticed yu wearin’ one,” Sudden returned pleasantly.

  It was some time later that, without even a warning chuckle, Frosty emitted a bellow of laughter which sent both their mounts into the air, and it was some moments before they could convince the startled animals that the end of the world had not arrived. Even Nigger, who would stand like a rock when a pistol was discharged by his ear, was not proof against that explosive shriek of merriment. When quiet had been restored, Sudden looked disgustedly at the cause of the trouble.