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

by Oliver Strange

  “Stamp the fire out and come ahead,” Sudden called. “It’s Jim.”

  Frosty obeyed, a grin on his face. “Knowed that a’ready nobody else’d be idjut enough to try that trick,” he said. “S’pose it had been Steve who happened along?”

  “He’d never have seen me,” was the reply. “I had to take the risk; got a li’l job for yu tonight.”

  “If I thank yu, don’t believe me,” Frosty said. “What is it this time—a nice easy murder?”

  “Nothin’ that’ll soil yore lily-white reputation,” Sudden grinned. “Slant them long listeners o’ yores this way.” He told of the unknown prisoner, and then, “Soon as it’s dark yu’ll ride over to play poker at the Twin Diamond.”

  “I ain’t got no invite,” Frosty objected.

  “There’s somethin’ else yo’re lackin’, too,” Sudden said severely. “Come alive, yu chump, this is serious. Go to Merry, borrow a couple o’ saddled hosses, an’ fetch ‘em to that place I told yu about. We’ll need two more ropes as well. I’ll be waitin’ for yu there.”

  “Seems a lot o’ trouble to turn loose a hombre yu don’t know an’ who may deserve to be where he is,” Frosty grumbled.

  “Yo’re missin’ the mark by about a million miles, ills friend retorted. “I don’t care if he’s committed every crime there is; Satan wants him an’ that’s a good argument for takin’ him away. Are yu sittin’ in?”

  “Shore I am; what d’yu take me for?” was the indignant reply.

  “I’d just hate to tell yu,” Sudden smiled, and then his expression sobered. “We gotta keep our eyes skinned; if that devil catches us, a quick finish is the best we could hope for.”

  Frosty nodded, a speculative look in his eyes. “Just why are yu doin’ this, Jim?” he asked. “Oh, I know the fella framed yu, but … What’s back o’ yore mind?”

  “If I told yu, ol’-timer, yu’d think me loco,” the puncher said whimsically. “Mebbe we’ll learn somethin’ tonight. Now, I gotta get busy coverin’ my tracks.”

  “What yu goin’ to do?”

  “Get drunk. Adios.”

  Before the Double K man could conjure up an adequate answer to this staggering statement, the maker of it had swung into his saddle and shot off up the ravine. Frosty flung up his hands.

  “Ain’t he the aggravatin’ cuss?” he asked the world. “Yu never know when he’s joshin’, an’ yet, he gets yu. Here’s me, happy an’ comfortable, ‘cept that I’m mostly broke, an’ when he sez `Come an’ risk yore silly neck,’ I not on’y does but I’m glad to. He’s so damned—convincin’. I reckon he meant it all but that drunk notion, which was just his way o’ tellin’ me to shut up.”

  In which conclusion Frosty was wrong, for Sudden had meant that also. He had to be absent from Hell City and yet have evidence he had not left it. So the company at Dink’s that evening saw him in a different guise, that of an angry, complaining man sitting at a table alone, who swore savagelywhen invited to take part in a game, and applied himself steadily to the bottle before him. As the liquor took effect, his maudlin voice rose and those present gathered that he was grumbling at the way he had been treated. The bottle emptied, he banged on the table with it and demanded another. In the poor light, no one noticed that most of the spirit had been spilled on the sanded floor. Dirk himself brought the further supply, and with it, a caution; his customer had been entlrely too outspoken. Sudden stood up, grabbed the bottle and drank, regarding the saloon-keeper owlishly.

  “No fella in this town c’n talk down to me,” he said. “I’ll fight an’body in the bar.” He dropped into his seat. “I’d fight the lot of ‘em if I c’d stand.”

  “O’ course you would,” Dirk said placatingly. “All you want is another little drink, an’ a nice long sleep; then you can show ‘em.”

  He winked at the men standing round and held out a glass. The puncher seized and drained it. “Thass ri’,” he mumbled thickly. “Gotta sleep.” His effort to rise was a failure. “Losh my legs. Helluva note.” His head fell forward in a drunken stupor.

  “That last shot has fixed him—he’ll be out for the night,” the saloon-keeper remarked. “I ain’t sorry neither; when these quiet ones do break loose they’re wuss’n the reg’lars. Help me carry him to his bed.”

  Two acted as bearers and Dirk showed the way. When they arrived at the room, the apparently intoxicated man opened his eyes and demanded to be set down. Staggering in, he slammed the door and slid the bolt into its slot.

  “Goin’ to sleep,” he called out. “If an’body rouses me—I’ll kill ‘em. Goo’-night.”

  The heard a tumble and a curse, followed by the creak of the pallet-bed, and silence. One of them furtively tried the door and jumped back as a bullet crashed through it above his head.

  “Wake me, would yu?” the drunkard’s voice snarled. Their rapidly retreating footsteps brought a smile to the face of the man sitting on the side of the bed.

  “Reckon that’ll hold ‘em for the night,” he murmured.

  Stepping lightly on the balls of his feet, he jammed the one chair under the handle so that the door could not be easily forced, crossed the window, and raised the sash. With his coiled lariat round his neck, he slipped over the sill and, hanging by his hands, let go, landing as softly as a cat. Hat pulled down over his eyes, he slunk through the murky gloom of the town until he reached the secret exit. Here, as he knew, there was always a guard.

  Noiselessly he felt his way through the cavern entrance and smothered a whoop when he saw that he had only one man to deal with. The fellow was squatting on a stool in front of a fire, his back to the intruder, a rifle propped against the wall. Clearly he was not expecting to be disturbed. Treading with the stealth of a stalking savage, the cowboy crept nearer. He was within a couple of yards when fortune failed him; a dry stick—invisible in the darkness—cracked beneath his step, bringing the guard instantly to his feet.

  “Who th’ hell—?”

  He got no farther: Sudden’s fist, propelled with all the power of his advancing body behind it, flashed upwards to his chin and hurled him, a senseless mass, to the ground. Remembering that he must return that way, Sudden tied and gagged his victim before proceeding. Then he climbed the ladder to the cave overhead, and repeating the process twice more, found himself in the open air, and looking into the muzzle of a pistol.

  “Li’l boys shouldn’t play with firearms,” he said.

  “Couldn’t afford to take chances,” Frosty explained. ”’ Sides, I was lookin’ for a fella disguised in drink.”

  “Yu see him,” Sudden grinned. “An hour back I had to be carried to bed. Got them horses?”

  “Shore,” Frosty replied, adding thoughtlessly, “Why didn’t yu bring yore own?”

  “Nigger is an intelligent animal but I never could learn him to climb ladders; dunno why, no ambition thatway, mebbe. Also—”

  “Yu can go plumb to perdition.”

  “While he’s in Hell City they’ll figure I am, too,” Sudden continued. “Fetch them ropes along?”

  Being assured on this point, he mounted one of the Twin Diamond ponies and led the way eastwards. After several miles, they crossed the trail to Dugout, and turned again in the direction of the bandit town, traversing the valley which it overlooked. The night was dark and chilly, and the task of forcing a path through the undergrowth proved both laborious and painful.

  “Every damn bush seems to ‘a’ got its claws out,” Frosty complained. “C’mon, yu chunk o’ crowbait, yore hide is thicker’n mine.” He tugged at the lead-rope of the third horse. “Wish we had some o’ that whisky yu wasted.”

  Sudden chuckled; he had told of the ruse employed to cover his absence. “Yo’re readin’ my thoughts,” he said. “We oughts be gettin’ near now.”

  They were: presently the black bulk of the cliff which was Hell City loomed up on their left. They went slowly on, the horses stumbling over the stony debris from the weather-worn height above. Sudden’s eyes were busy, so
on they caught a gleaming white mark on a tree-trunk where a sliver of bark had been sliced away. He pointed to it.

  “There’s my blaze; this must be the place.”

  They got down, secured the animals, and Frosty’s gaze travelled over the apparently perpendicular wall; about halfway up he could discern a spot of diffused light. He turned to his companion, who was winding the extra ropes round his body.

  “If yo’re expectin’ to climb up there yu’ll need four hands, the same number o’ feet, an’ hooks on yore eyebrows,” he said. “Give it up, Jim; it ain’t possible, an’ mebbe the hombre would ruther stay where he is anyways.”

  “Likely, but I’m goin’ up an’ he’s comin’ down,” Sudden said, and with a grim smile, “If yu hear a yelp, stand from under—I shall be movin’ fast.”

  With the jest on his lips, he began the ascent. The stars were brighter and afforded a little more light, enabling him to find hand and toe-holds marked down on his previous inspection. Flattened against the rock he worked his way upward almost inch by inch, while his companion watched and muttered things which might have passed for prayers to a careless listener. At the end of ten minutes, the climber had accomplished as many feet, and paused to rest. It was going to be even more difficult than he had looked for. An idea came.

  “Frosty, I’m a bonehead,” he said in a low tone. “Yo’re tellin’ me,” was the sarcastic reply.

  “There’s a knob, ‘bout twelve feet above me. Think yu could rope her?”

  The first throw proved abortive, the falling noose slapping Sudden sharply across the face, nearly causing him to lose hold.

  “I’ll bet the Double K cows get a lot o’ fun outa yu,” was his chaffing comment.

  The second attempt was successful, the loop settling over the protuberance. Frosty threw his weight upon it, to make sure. Hand over hand, Sudden hauled himself up to the knob, and let the rope fall; it could be of no further use to him. A brief rest and he continued the climb. As he had hoped, the worst was over, but the task was still superhuman. Already his arms were aching under the terrific strain of supporting almost the whole weight of his body. Once or twice a foot slipped and only a desperate and lucky clutch at some slight inequality saved him from dropping to death on the boulders below.

  Foot by foot he struggled up, digging his fingers into crevices, trusting his life to clinging roots which, only too frequently, came away in his grasp. More than once he fell afoul of clumps of choya cactus and cursed as the vicious spines tore his flesh. But he set his teeth and battled on, fighting the inanimate rock as though it were a sentient being. To the watcher below, straining his sight to follow the dark patch spread-eagled against the cliff-face, time seemed endless, but at length he saw the faint glow blotted out and realized that Sudden had succeeded. A fervent oath testified his relief.

  “He’s made it,” he muttered. “Sufferin’ snakes, he’ll go to Paradise all right, when his time comes—they’ll never be able to keep him out.”

  Frosty’s sense of satisfaction was but a shadow to that of the climber as he gripped the lower edge of the hole whence the light came and lifted himself to a tiny ledge beneath it. Here, panting for breath and with pain in every protesting muscle, he rested. The view was wonderful. He seemed to be sitting on the rim of a gigantic bowl of blackness, canopied by a velvet dome sprinkled with twinkling pin-pricks of light. But he had not come there to admire scenery, and after a few moments, he raised himself and peered through the opening. It was the outlet of a short tunnel, sufficiently large for a man to crawl along, and widening out into a sort of window-seat when it reached the room within.

  For an instant he feared he had made the mistake of climbing to the Chief’s own abode, for this place too was comfortably furnished; a carpet, a bed in one corner, chairs and a table. Then he saw that it was smaller, and had a flight of rude steps cut out of the wall on one side. Seated at the table, smoking, and reading by the light of a kerosene lamp, was the man he had risked so much to reach. Apart from the pallor of his skin, due to confinement, he had not the appearance of a prisoner. To the puncher he seemed oddly familiar; height and build were those of the bandit leader, and the dandified cowboy clothes increased the resemblance, but he was some years younger, and wore no mask. Presently he turned his head and Sudden stifled a cry of satisfaction; he had guessed right.

  “Howdy, stranger.”

  The man at the table sprang to his feet, whirled, and stared in blank amazement at the intruder leaning carelessly with his back to the window opening.

  “Who are you, and how on earth did you get here?” he gasped.

  “A friend, an’ I just dumb up,” the visitor explained. “you—climbed—up?” the other repeated, and there was fear in his pale blue eyes. “Impossible.”

  Sudden smiled. “Yu see me, an’ I ain’t wearin’ wings,” he pointed out.

  “Why have you come?”

  “I’m takin’ yu outa this.”

  “I’ve no desire to leave; in fact, I refuse.” The metallic clang of a bolt being withdrawn over their heads made him start. “Someone is coming; get away while you can.”

  Sudden drew a gun. “I’m stayin’,” he said. “I shall be at the window, behind the blanket. If I’m discovered,, yu an’ the other fella will take the last leap together.”

  He disappeared just as a trapdoor in the roof opened and a man came down the steps. Sudden had expected to see Silver, but it was the Chief himself, and he was alone.

  “Well, my friend,” he greeted. “Was I dreaming, or did I hear voices?”

  “You heard mine,” the prisoner replied. “I talk aloud sometimes, just to convince myself that I am not dead, and buried in a tomb. I’d risk a lot to breathe God’s good air again—one can’t here.”

  “Of course not, when you keep it out with a curtain,” the other retorted, and moved towards the window. “It’s a lovely night.”

  “Leave the damned thing alone, I pulled it on purpose,” was the irritable response. “It’s cold, and I hate the sight of a world in which I have no part. There are days when I dream I am riding again, the wind slapping my face, the ground sliding beneath my horse’s belly, birds singing, streams gurgling down the hillsides, and I wake to find myself in this cursed stone cage. It will send me mad.”

  “I know it’s tough, boy, but what can I do?” Satan replied. “Only this morning I got news that Dealtry is still on the warpath, and offering a thousand dollars for word of the slayer of his son. He has spies all over the country, and my men—though they serve my purpose—are of the type who would sell a brother for a couple of gold pieces. This is the only place where you are safe; anyone who told you different would be no friend.”

  “The old, old story,” the prisoner sneered, and then, “Must you wear that mask when you visit me?”

  “As I have many times told you, it is my unbreakable rule. I prefer to remain a man of mystery; it gives me power over the ignorant people I have to deal with, and not one of them, in later years, will be able to say he has known me.”

  “Always the play-actor—you should have stuck to the stage,” came the scornful comment. “How is the cattle business?”

  “When we are ready to clean up and leave here there should be a big bank-roll to split,” was the reply. “Is there anything more I can get you?”

  “I have all I want, save that which means all—freedom.”

  “That may not be so long; if Dealtry should meet with an accident—”

  “No, I will not have any dirty work,” came the sharp interjection.

  “My dear fellow,” Satan remonstrated, “I am not suggesting it, but Dealtry is a good sheriff and no man can be that without making enemies. If one of these seizes an opportunity, I decline to be held responsible, or to wear mourning. Adios.”

  With a light laugh he went up the stairway. Sudden waited until he heard the bolts shoot home and then stepped out, to be met with a mocking smile.

  “Well, Mister Interloper, you have wast
ed your time, you see.”

  “If there’s anythin’ yu wanta take along, get it.”

  “But, my good man, you heard what my friend said; I have an excellent reason for staying here.”

  “I’ve a better for not lettin’ yu an’ I’m holdin’ it,” the puncher replied meaningly. “If yu’d ruther be tied …”

  The unknown looked at the levelled revolver, then at the cold eyes and athletic form of its owner, and realized that he was helpless. From a peg in the wall, he took down a hat and clapped it on his head.

  “The gun wins,” he said.

  Sudden sheathed the weapon, and began to unwind the ropes he had brought. This done, he joined them, and his gaze roved round the room in search of something to serve as a cross-bar. A stout leg wrenched from the table provided this, and with one end of the rope knotted in the middle, was placed across the window. The slack, Sudden pitched out into the night, and turned to the prisoner, who had watched these preparations with evident misgiving.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Our weight will keep that bit o’ wood in place, but don’t hurry or yu’ll be liable to bust yore brains out. I’ll be right after yu.”

  “Wouldn’t it be safer to make that rope secure at this end?”

  “Shore, but I ain’t leavin’ an easy way o’ follerin’ us; yore friend mighta forgot somethin’.”

  With a gesture of resignation, the other crawled out. On the brink of the black abyss which yawned at his feet, he hesitated, and then, gripping the frail support, lowered himself, hand over hand. It was not easy; the rope was thin, rendering a deliberate descent wellnigh impossible, and speed resulted in burned palms and a body bruised by bumps against protruding portions of the cliff. Lack of exercise, too, had softened his sinews, and the drag of his body soon numbed his arms. His mind was obsessed by the thought that the table-leg might slip, and

  then … A scrape of boots and a fragment of stone which whizzed past his ear reminded him that his captor was running the same risk.

  Spinning dizzily, slithering, holding the rope with hands which seemed to be on fire, he dropped what appeared to be an interminable depth. He heard the whicker of a horse and it gave him an idea: if he could reach the animal and ride off before the stranger completed the descent … A moment later he staggered backwards as his feet impacted on solid ground. Recovering his balance, he was about to run when a voice said: “Hold on, yu. Where’s Jim?”