“Yu can stand up.”
Navajo rose slowly to his feet, his devious mind searching for a way out.
“These hombres ‘pear to have bumped each other off,” he said. “I was just seein’ if they was cashed.”
Still keeping the man covered, Sudden picked up Rogue’s gun; it was fully loaded; the butt of Baudry’s weapon could be seen protruding from its shoulder-holster. He looked at the half-breed.
“Rogue reloaded an’ Baudry put his gun back after they were killed,” he said sarcastically.
“I was guessin’—on’y bin here a few minutes an’ found ‘em like this,” the man replied sullenly.
“So it wasn’t yu who carried Miss Eden out?”
“Yeah, I was meanin’ to take her back.”
“Tied to the saddle?”
“Couldn’t do no other way—she’d fainted.”
“An’ the herd-money. Takin’ that back too?”
“Dunno nothin’ about it.”
Sudden laughed scornfully. “Yo’re a pore liar, Navajo,” he said. “Hand over yore gun.”
The ruffian stiffened. He remembered now that he had fired twice and had not replaced the charges. An examination of the weapon would produce apparently conclusive evidence and
… During the conversation he had been edging backwards an inch at a time. Now, with a quick sweep of one arm, he knocked the candle from the table and dropped prone to escape the expected bullet. None came, only a taunting voice:
“Fine! Figured yu’d play it that way when I saw yu sneakin’ back. Don’t waste no shots, Navajo; yu on’y got four.”
Sudden was surmising, but correctly, and the outlaw gritted his teeth at the reminder. He must be sure, and how could he be in that blinding blackness? For there was no light; even the tiny unglazed window could hardly be located, so dark was the night outside. Flat on his belly the half-breed lay motionless, waiting for some movement which might betray his enemy’s whereabouts.
An idea came to him—Baudry’s gun. If he could obtain that and fire four shots, Sudden would deem him defenceless, and … He knew the direction in which the body lay and began to make his way towards it. Hardly daring to breathe, he crawled on inch by inch, feeling cautiously for obstacles. It was a blood-chilling task, for the slightest sound might bring first the agony of tearing hot lead, and then—death. At length his groping fingers touched a still face, travelled downwards and found a shoulder-holster—empty. He stifled the curse which rose to his lips, and edged away.
“Yu ain’t a quick thinker, Navajo,” the taunting voice said “I’ve got Baudry’s gun.”
In his rage and disappointment the half-breed fired at the spot where he judged the speaker to be. An answering spit of flame stabbed the gloom and a bullet nicked his neck. The voice spoke again:
“Near thing, Navajo. A mite to the right an’ yu’d be travellin’ the one-way trail.’ The incident shook the outlaw’s confidence. Hell! If the fellow could see in the dark … And he had wasted a shot, for though the silence was profound again he knew that he had missed. The thought of what his cupidity had cost carne back to torment him: wealth, possession of the girl, for whom he had hungered since first he laid his leering eyes upon her, freedom. He visioned the pair of them riding into the trackless wilderness and his lips went wide in a lecherous grin. Then he came to earth again and blasphemed at the reality; he was trapped, likely to lose all, even life itself.
Lying there in the stillness so pregnant with danger he flogged his faculties to find a device to extricate himself and, at length, hit on a plan. It would be a desperate risk but he resolved to take it. And he must act at once, for he knew that his courage was ebbing; the jeering devil waiting so patiently to kill him was his master. Rising swiftly to his knees, he fired and swayed away instantly. Sudden aimed at the flash, heard the thud of a falling body, and a deep groan. Five—ten minutes passed and no sound came. The cowboy moved a foot noisily but nothing happened.
“Looks like I may’ve got him,” he muttered.
Groping on the floor, he found the candle and lighted it. Navajo was lying on his side, his face buried in the bend of his left arm, his right arm hidden under his body. His gun lay some feet away. In the uncertain light he appeared to be dead. Sheathing his pistol, Sudden stooped to turn the body over. Instantly it came to life, the right hand darting upwards in a vicious stab.
With a lightning snatch the cowboy clutched the wrist, wrenched it aside, and springing back, pulled and fired. Navajo, his face ferociously distorted in a murderous grin, sank back. This time there was no doubt.
Chilled to the bone by the narrowness of his escape, Sudden leant against the wall. Had he delayed an instant, or missed the deadly thrusting wrist, eight inches of steel would have ripped him open. He drew a long breath and wiped the cool moisture from his forehead. Then he looked at the dead man with an odd respect.
“Didn’t figure yu had the savvy for a play like that,” he mused. “Yu fooled me plenty an’ a’most deserved to get away with it, though I’m just as pleased yu didn’t.”
He searched for and secured the stolen money, and then the sound of a galloping horse straightened him up, gun in hand. It was Sandy who thrust open the door.
“Jim, yu all right?” he called.
“Yeah, an’ it’s lucky,” Sudden reproved. “If any o’ these other hombres had been on their feet instead what would ‘a’ happened to yu, bustin’ in like that? Ain’t yu got nothin’ but sawdust in that red head?”
“Where’s Carol?” the boy asked, disregarding the aspersion. “Outside—tied to a hoss,”
Sudden told him, adding grimly, “I’ve been too busy to turn her loose.”
Sandy’s eyes widened as he looked round. “Gosh, Jim, did yu get ‘em all?”
“No, yu chump,” Sudden replied, and told what he believed to have happened.
As they bent over Rogue, his eyelids flickered and his lips breathed a question.
“She’s safe,” Sudden assured him.
Sandy went out and found that Carol was conscious again. He untied and lifted her down.
She asked about Rogue. “He’s badly hurt,” the boy told her.
“I must go to him” she said.
“It’s—pretty terrible—in there,” he demurred.
“It would have been more terrible—for me—if he hadn’t come,” she cried, and to that Sandy could say nothing.
A spark of life shone in the dying outlaw’s tired eyes when she entered the cabin.
Kneeling by his side she strove to thank him, sobs choking her.
“It don’t matter,” he said.
“Can’t I do anything?” she asked hopelessly.
A little shake of the head, and then, doubtfully, “Once I had a lass who would be about yore age …”
With swift comprehension, she bent over and pressed her lips to the furrowed brow of the man who had killed and robbed, yet given his life for her.
“It’s too good—an end—fora—rogue,” he murmured.
The ghost of a smile passed over his hard mouth and that was all. Sandy led the weeping girl out of the hut, clumsily trying to comfort. In her overwrought state she could think of one thing only.
“Sandy, he died for me,” she cried. “I’ll never forget that.”
“If I didn’t owe him so much I’d feel jealous,” the boy said huskily.
Carol turned to him impulsively, thrilled by his tone. Her forthright nature scorned evasion.
“You needn’t be,” she said softly. “Oh, Sandy, when that woman told me you were hurt, I—nearly—died.”
Sudden unnecessarily slammed the cabin door, propped a plank against it to keep out prowling coyotes, and came towards them.
“The boys will be over in the mornin’,” he said.
Through the black velvet of the night they rode back to town. Sudden led the way, his thoughts dwelling on the dead outlaw. Though his meeting with the man had meant nothing but misfortune, he had liked him, and i
n some way he could not understand, was conscious of a sense of loss. The pair behind were riding close together, and Sudden smiled a little bitterly at the reflection that he was soon to lose another friend. Had Rogue lived…
It was not until the morning that the rancher was sufficiently recovered to hear the full story of the previous night’s happenings. Varying expressions chased each other across his rugged features as Carol told the tale, and when it was ended, he brought his fist down with a thump on the pillow beside him.
“By heaven, Jim, all the herd-money wouldn’t pay what I owe yu,” he said. “But yu’ll be comin’ back to the S E with me, an’—”
A shake of the head interrupted him. “I’m obliged,” the cowboy replied, “but yore memory ain’t workin’.”
“Shucks! I got friends who can pull ropes,” Eden said. Sudden’s grin was sardonic. “I got enemies who can do the same an’ mebbe my neck would be in the loop o’ one,” he pointed out.
“No, seh, I’m shore fond o’ Texas but I ain’t honin’ to end my days there—yet.” His face sobered.
“Besides, but for another man yu’d have nothin’ to thank me for.”
“I ain’t allowin’ that,” Eden returned. Despite the amend Rogue had made, he found it difficult to think kindly of the outlaw. His gaze went to Sandy. “I’m told yu kept them rats from finishin’ me off,” he went on. “yu must ‘a’ had a change o’ heart since the Colorado.”
“Hold yore hosses, seh, an’ take a squint at these,” Sudden interposed, producing a pair of beaded moccasins. “Found ‘em in Navajo’s saddle-bag; they fit those tracks I measured. An’ there’s this.”
The rancher took the proffered slip of paper. “Baudry’s fist an’ signature,” he muttered, and read the contents aloud: “‘I have to-day bet Navajo one thousand dollars that my friend, Sam Eden, gets his herd through and comes safely back to the S E.’ ”
The document bore the date the drive started. With knitted brows Eden studied it; then the sinister import dawned upon him.
“Why, he’s offerin’ the fella a thousand cold to put me outa business,” he burst out.
“Yu said it,” Sudden agreed. “An’ when he failed to turn the trick hisself he bribed Lasker.”
The old man looked woodenly at Sandy. “That appears to let yu out,” he said. “S’pose I’ll have to take yore word.”
This ungenerous surrender brought a reproachful “Daddy!” from his daughter, and an expression of angry scorn on the young man’s face.
“I ain’t offerin’ it,” he retorted. “Think what yu please.”
Aunt Judy flung herself into the discussion with her usual impetuosity. “Sam Eden,” she said sharply, “if I was yore daughter—even by adoption—I’d box yore stubborn ears.” She slanted a bony finger at Sandy. “Do I have to tell yu who that boy is?”
A slow smile softened the rancher’s face. “No, that’s my scamp of a son, Andrew Eden,” he replied, and the harshness was gone from his voice also.
“Your son, and you treated him so—unkindly?” Carol cried. “You could even think …”
The rancher wriggled uneasily and then shook his head. “Don’t reckon I ever really believed that, but I had to he shore,” he excused. “An’ I wanted to see if he would stand the iron.
I didn’t know the game, but I was willin’ to play it his way, so I told Jeff an’ Peg-leg to keep their traps closed—they savvied him too. How come yu to be with the Rogue, boy?”
“Got word he was rustlin’ yore cattle,” Sandy explained. “Later, I learned it was more serious an’ when he sent Jim an’ myself to join yore outfit it looked like a chance to put a crimp in his plans.”
“Why pertend to be a stranger?” Eden asked.
Sandy looked embarrassed. “yu ain’t rememberin’ how we parted,” he said.
The old man chuckled contentedly—his boy was trying to spare him; but he was no shirker.
“I’ve not forgotten,” he admitted. “Threatened to fill yu with buckshot if yu showed up again, didn’t I? Well, that’s all past an’ done—I reckon we’ve both learned sense since that day. ‘yu’ve made good an’ I’m proud o’ yu, son.” His eyes twinkled as he went on, “It’s a pity Carol don’t like redheads—claims she’s had enough trouble with me, but mebbe she” He looked round the room and seemed surprised to find the girl had slipped away. “Now where in mischief has she gone? Yu better go find her, boy; somebody is liable to steal her again,”
Sandy’s old impudent smile was back. “Somebody’s goin’ to,” he promised.
From the crest of a ridge in the plain, a man on a big black horse watched a lumbering, canvas-topped wagon and its attendant group of riders diminish in the distance. The S E outfit was homeward bound and Sudden had ridden with them this far. Bitterness was again upon him; once more he was friendless. Even Tyson—well supplied with “smokin’,” but disdaining the offer of a new rifle to replace his cherished “Betsy”—had returned to the wilderness in search of, as he had grimly put it, “copper-coloured marks to shoot at.”
Sudden was sorely tempted to spur on and take his chance in Texas. Then came the memory of Bill Evesham, the man to whom he owed everything, who had passed out leaving him a legacy of hate. Somewhere on the far-flung frontiers of the west the two men who had wronged his benefactor were to be found. He had given his word and must keep it, at any cost.
His young face became flint.
“I have it to do,” he muttered, and whirling his mount, rode resolutely towards the town.
The End
Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) Page 22
