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

by Oliver Strange

  “So that’s why Steve stole it? Yeah, it’s me all right. D’yu figure any fella would borrow a reputation like that?”

  “If he wanted to work for me and win my confidence, yes,” was the reply.

  Sudden saw that the man’s keen mind was leading him perilously near the facts and made an effort to head him off.

  “I drifted here in search of a job, an’ if yu an’ that houn’ Lagley hadn’t framed me I’d still be ridin’ for the Double K,” he pointed out. “An’ I basted four o’ yore bullies the day I come.”

  “Which might be a good way of attracting my attention,” the other countered. He studied the paper again. “The description agrees—you must be this Sudden—”

  “Gimme back my guns an’ I’ll prove it,” the puncher offered.

  Satan appeared not to hear. “No, he couldn’t use a man like you,” he muttered, and then, through his set teeth, “By God! I’ll know the truth if I have to cut your heart out. Tell Muley to get ready.”

  Scar shot a vindictive glance at his prisoner. “Muley has done with whippin’,” he said, and went on to explain.

  Satan heard him in silence and then came the inevitable gibe: “Only four of you against one? Roden, your courage astounds me; you may yet live to be a man.” He looked darkly at the puncher. “Killing Muley won’t save you; we must think of something else.” He bent his head. When he raised it again a fiendish grin distorted his lips; so might the King of Hell have smiled at the writhings of a tortured soul. “You robbed me of a target once,” he said. “You shall replace him.”

  At his call, Silver appeared, received instructions, and went out. Sudden was remembering Dolver, to whom he had dealt a merciful death. Was he to be immured in that living tomb, to endure the agony of dying daily? Often enough in his adventurous life he had faced eternity undismayed but the prospect of such an end brought a black moment. One leap, and the guns at his back would speak, with swift oblivion. But the puncher was not one to throw his hand in; he would play the game out, win or lose. The big bell began to ring, slow, measured strokes, like a death-knell.

  His tanned face rigid as that of a redskin, he was herded into the street, where a crowd was waiting. The murmur of voices died away as the culprit, his guards, and the masked man came out.

  “Where’s Muley?” a blowzy woman asked.

  “In hell, I reckon,” a man at her elbow replied. “This is the hombre what sent him there. It ain’t goin’ to be a thrashin’; see the way they’s fixin’ him?”

  Silver was busy. Having placed the condemned man with his back to the post, he bound him tightly to it with rawhide thongs so that only his head was movable. The big hat he flung down.

  “You won’t need it no more,” he said.

  “The Chief’s goin’ to shoot him hisself, like he did that dago, Ramon,” the fellow who had spoken before informed his neighbour.

  “It’ll be quick then,” she answered, her tone tinged with disappointment.

  “Mebbe not. That time he shot all round him without drawin’ blood an’ then turns away as if that’s all. I see Ramon’s eyes light up an’ phut! there’s a bullet in his brain.”

  “He’s a good-looker,” the woman commented. “Seems a’most a pity …”

  “Hell, men is common enough.”

  The dwarf completed his work, and Satan, standing about a dozen paces in front of the puncher, raised a hand dramatically for silence.

  “This man is a traitor, therefore a danger to all of us,” he announced.

  “I am about to punish him.”

  He drew one of the ivory-butted revolvers from his belt and, scarcely taking aim, fired. Sudden felt the thud of the missile as it embedded itself in the post just above his head. A gasp from the crowd broke the tense silence which followed the crack of the report.

  “He’s missed,” the woman whispered.

  “He’s playin’ with him, like he did the other. Gawd, he’s a cruel devil. Look, if he ain’t laughin’.”

  In fact, it seemed so, for beneath the mask the lips were curled back like those of a snarling dog, as the man bent forward to mark the result of his shot. The face of the target might have been cut out of stone, the eyes staring steadily into the sunlight which in a moment might change to everlasting darkness.

  “A shade too high, Sudden. I am out of practice—you know why,” the taunting voice said. “That must be mended.” Again he pulled the trigger and the shot struck a little below the first. “Better,” he smiled complacently, and waited nerve-shattering moments before making a third attempt. This time Sudden felt the cold breath of the bullet as it stirred his hair, and steeled himself for the fourth, which … It came, bringing a streak of fire, as though a red-hot iron had been laid across his scalp. Satan was speaking.

  “You have begun to die, Sudden. Unless you supply the information I want in the morning, you will continue to die, slowly, as Dolver did. Think it over.” He looked round at the spectators. “Anyone who approaches or speaks to this man will take his place.”

  He thrust the revolver back into his belt, and followed by his henchman, went to his quarters. The crowd dispersed quickly, the show was over, and—curiosity could be very costly in Hell City.

  “Ain’t you goin’ to have him watched?” Silver ventured. “Don’t you trust your knots?” his master said sharply. “He’ll have to be a wizard to undo ‘em.”

  “Well, do you imagine any person will dare to interfere with him?” was the arrogant answer.

  Meanwhile, the reprieved man was wondering whether he ought to be glad or sorry. Tough as he was, the strain of the ordeal had tried him to the utmost. His head smarted but he knew it was, as yet, the merest graze. Tomorrow, unless he gave in—and he had no intention of doing so—the lead would bite a little more shrewdly, and the next day … But it was no use thinking that way. He tried to move his stiffened limbs, but Silver had done a good job, and he soon realized that there was no hope in that direction. So he watched the shadows deepen, the stars come out, and the denizens of this criminal community slinking from hole to hole like a colony of predatory vermin. From the saloon came the jingle of a piano and the shouted chorus of a song.

  All the passers-by, he noticed, gave the whipping-post a wide berth, but presently, a stumble and muffled curse from just behind him announced an exception. Unable to turn, he could only wait. Then came a whispered word.

  “Jim!”

  “Frosty? What th’—?”

  “That’ll keep. Wait till I cut these blame’ hobbles, an’ we’ll flit. I guess this ain’t a healthy place for us.”

  “Yu’ll never guess better. How’d yu get in?”

  “Down the hole yu showed me. There was a jigger on guard at the bottom, but I rapped him on the head with my gun an’ he let me pass.”

  “He let—say, will he let yu go back?”

  There was a subdued chuckle in Frosty’s whisper. He won’t care—a rap.”

  By this time the captive was free. Fortunately the post was near the cliff and in darkness. Sudden stretched his cramped limbs and drew a long breath.

  “Beat it,” he said. “I’ll join yu at the Twin Diamond. I gotta get Nigger.”

  “Risk yore life for a hoss?”

  “Just that; there’s been times when but for him I wouldn’t have one to risk. Don’t worry, I got it all planned.” Frosty knew it was useless to argue. “Well, it’s yore life,” he grumbled, “but a fella can push his luck too hard.”

  The gloom swallowed him and Sudden turned in the direction of the saloon. He had almost reached it when the door was flung back and a man wearing two gun-belts staggered out; it was Roden—alone. The fugitive crouched behind a corner of the building and as the half-tipsy ruffian passed, struck upwards, rising with the blow. The granite fist, moving like a released spring, landed full on the point of the jaw and Scar dropped as though hit by a thunderbolt. Sudden dragged the inert form back from the road, and with a sigh of content, buckled on his own belt and guns. Cli
mbing to his bedroom window, he got his saddle, and ran to the corral. The familiar whistle brought the black, and soon the pair were heading for the west gate. As they approached, Sudden quickened pace, and they arrived with a rush. The man in charge was new to him.

  “Got a pass?” he queried. ” ‘Less you have “

  “Pass be damned!” Sudden said angrily. “Open up, yu idjut. Scar Roden had a run in with the Chief an’ creased him —pretty bad. I’m for the Red Rock doctor.”

  The fellow stared. “Scar, huh?” he said. “Must ‘a’ found some sand. What happened to him?”

  “The Chief got him—good, an’ he’s liable to get yu if…”

  But the bars were already being removed, and ten seconds later, Nigger was through and racing down the trail. His rider indulged in a mild whoop and leaned over to pat the satiny neck of the friend he had dared so much to recover.

  “Yu come mighty near to changin’ owners, of hoss,” he said. “Lyin’ is like drink, it gets a hold on a fella, but I gotta admit there’s a heap o’ satisfaction in puttin’ over a good one. I gambled on that gate-man bein’, like me, tied to his post this afternoon, an’ my luck was shorely in.”

  He laughed at his little joke, and swinging off the beaten track, plunged into the brush towards the Twin Diamond. By the time he reached the ranch-house, a pale grey light behind the distant peaks told the dawn of another day. Turning his horse into the corral, he carried his saddle to the house, and finding the door unlocked, stepped into the living-room, slumped into a big armchair, and went to sleep. A little later, Frosty arrived and did precisely the same. Chang, the Chinese cook, first astir, surveyed the pair of snoring cowboys with a grih and went about his work of preparing the morning meal. The voice of the rancher awakened them.

  “Well, damn me, if some folk ain’t got a nerve,” he said. “Hello, Mart,” Frosty greeted. “We just dropped in.”

  “Off, yu mean,” Merry corrected. “I hope yu found all yu wanted.”

  “Not a spot,” the Double K rider told him. “Take the bottle to bed with yu?”

  “No, sir, on’y the contents,” his host laughed. “C’mon: eat first an’ talk after is my motto. Mornin’, Jeff.”

  Young Keith entered, greeted the guests, and sat down to the excellent breakfast provided. Not until they had done full justice to it, and lighted up, did Merry open the conversation with the customary question.

  “Well, boys, what’s the news?”

  “S’pose yu ain’t heard o’ the 01’ Man accidentally shootin’ hisself?” Frosty began.

  Sudden saw Keith’s face become paler, but no word came from his lips. It was the rancher who spoke.

  Ken hurt?” he cried. “How bad?”

  “The Red Rock pill-roller reckons he’s got a fightin’ chance.”

  “Then he’ll make it—Ken’s a fighter, shore enough,” Merry said. “But how did it happen?”

  Frosty told the story as he knew it, but the fat man shook his head.

  “It don’t sound right to me.”

  “It ain’t right,” Sudden put in quietly. “Satan rode into Dugout, with six others, yestiddy mornin’. He met the Colonel in Black Sam’s an’ shot him; claims he went for a weapon.”

  Keith sprang up, his lips working, and made for the door. But the puncher was there first and had his back to it. “Where yu goin’?” he asked.

  “Hell City, to blow that skunk to bits,” was the passionate reply.

  “Fine, yu’ll look like a million bucks to him,” Sudden said sarcastically. “Best let it ride, for now.” Sullenly the young man returned to his seat. Frosty spoke.

  “Jansen an’ them who fetched the 01’ Man home all had the same tale. Why would they lie?”

  “Mebbe he told them to,” Sudden suggested. “He’s a proud man an’ wouldn’t want it knowed that—”

  “His own son had done such a dastard deed,” the boy burst in. “Yes, that’s the sort of thing he would do. But he believed it himself,” he finished bitterly.

  “Yu can’t blame him, Jeff,” Merry pointed out. “That damned imposter has been too clever for all of us.” His eye caught something. “How long yu been an Imp, Frosty?”

  The cowboy grinned as he slipped the badge into a pocket. “Forgot that, but she was useful las’ night,” he said. “Soon as I got into Hell City I went straight to the saloon—”

  “Yu would,” his friend interrupted.

  “Knowed it was the likeliest place to find yu,” Frosty retaliated. “yu wasn’t there, but I heard how the Chief—as they call him—had soured on yu, an’

  “The rest don’t signify,” Sudden said hurriedly. “I guess it does,” the rancher decided.

  So Frosty had to tell of the battle with Roden and the subsequent ordeal, both of which had been graphically described to him by eye-witnesses. He concluded with, “An’ here he is, hoss an’ guns complete. How in hell d’yu manage it, Jim?”

  “If I’d on’y practised steady as a kid, I’d be a good liar,” Sudden smiled, and related the ruse by which he had escaped. “I was lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Frosty echoed whimsically. “Yu said it. I’ll bet if yu pitched head first into the Glue-pot yu’d come up with a bag o’ gold in each paw.”

  Merry laughed. “Yu can put a `p’ in front o’ that luck, Frosty,” he said. “What was it this brigand wanted to know, Jim?”

  “The whereabouts o’ Keith here. As I told yu, he’s the winnin’ card. Holdin’ him, Satan takes the pot; lackin’ him, he’s liable to lose out.”

  Jeff Keith had been listening with bent head. Now he looked up. “You went through that rather than betray me?”

  “Shucks, I was allus a bad loser,” the puncher replied. “Besides, tellin’ him wouldn’t ‘a’ helped me.”

  “No wonder you stopped me just now,” the young man said. “It seems I’m just the headstrong blunderer I’ve always been. I owe you a lot, Mister Green.”

  “My friends use my first name,” Sudden told him, holding out a hand.

  Keith grasped it eagerly. “Thank you—Jim,” he replied, and then, “What are we going to do?”

  “Smash up Hell City. Will yore fellas take a hand, Merry?”

  “Will they?” the rancher cried. “All I’m worth wouldn’t keep ‘em out of it, an’ that goes for yore crowd, eh, Frosty?” The Double K man hesitated a moment and Sudden answered for him. “Shore, an’ I’m bettin’ we can count on help from Dugout, ‘specially when it’s knowed who downed the Colonel. I’m wonderin’ whether the sheriff o’ Red Rock would sit in?”

  He was watching Keith’s face as he spoke, but if the boy felt alarm at the suggestion he did not show it. On the contrary, he was the first to approve.

  “Dealtry’s a good man to have at your back,” he said, adding with a ghost of a smile, “that is, unless he’s wanting you.”

  “He struck me as square,” the puncher went on. “I’ll ride over an’ have a talk with him. Meantime, we gotta keep mighty silent, an’ Jeff, yu must stay holed-up—they won’t look for yu here.”

  The young man’s face fell; he had been hoping to meet Joan again, but he made no demur. The others sensed a change in him; the bitter, rebellious attitude had disappeared, leaving a quiet determination. They put it down to the infamous attempt upon his father’s life, never guessing at a still more potent factor.

  “We’re takin’ on a man-sized job an’ can’t afford to overlook bets,” was Sudden’s final warning.

  Chapter XXIII

  Satan’s fury, when he learned that his victim had escaped sent Silver, who brought the news, cowering to a corner, whence he watched, terrified. Never before had he seen his dreaded master so completely lose control of himself. Striding to and fro, uttering fearful blasphemies, he poured vitriolic curses upon the unknown person who had robbed him of revenge, and promised punishment which turned the timorous listener’s blood to ice.

  Presently, at the end of another wild tirade, he snatched out his revolvers and Silver
thought his last moment had come. But the madman fired at the picture of the gunman, bullet after bullet, until the face was no more than tattered fragments of canvas. Only when the weapons were empty did he fling them to the floor and sink, panting with passion, into a seat. Silence ensued, and this, to the solitary spectator of the weird scene, seemed even more dreadful. Fascinated, he could not look away from the blood-red mask, out of which the rage-glazed eyes stared into space. Suddenly bandit stood up; the paroxysm had passed.

  “What are you doing there, you coward?” he growled. “Go, make enquiries, find out something, blast you. And send me a boy—one who can ride.”

  When the fellow had scuttled out, he sat down and wrote a note, slowly, carefully. The result appeared to satisfy him, for after studying it critically, he nodded.

  “That will bring her, and she will bring him,” he reflected aloud. “With the old man dead, I shall hold all the cards.”

  At the Double K ranch-house, Joan had just relinquished her duties in the sick-room, leaving the patient in the capable hands of Mandy, who had hurried to the bedside of her old master as soon as she heard the news.

  “Go foh a ride, honey,” the negress said. “Yo is all tuckered out. We-all suah hab yo on our han’s mighty soon, an’ 01’ Massa tak’ de hide off’n mah back when he git well.” So the girl got her horse and had just mounted when the foreman approached. He was not in a happy frame of mind these days; the “accident” to his employer had jarred him. Recalling Satan’s enquiries as to the Colonel’s visits to Dugout, he could not credit the current story. On the other hand, he found it just as difficult to believe that a son, however unjustly treated, could deliberately endeavour to slay his father, and coarse-natured as he was, the possibility sickened him. If Jeff had indeed sunk to that level … The unfinished thought prompted him to give the girl a warning.

  “Shouldn’t go far, Miss Joan. Queer things is happenin’ an’ the country is a heap unsettled.”

  “Thank you, Steve,” she smiled. “I’ll be careful.”

  His gaze followed her as she shot away, trim figure swaying easily with the movement of the beast beneath her, a picture to take and hold the eye of any horseman.