Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940)

by Oliver Strange

  “Which I’m shorely sorry, Splinter, but we just gotta make it,” he panted. “O’ course, he may’ve sold his hoss, but no, he’d never part with Nigger.” Soon they sighted the tree, and the black knot of people. A decision had been arrived at—Javert’s inhuman proposal had found few supporters, and Sudden was to die only once.

  “Someone a’comin’ an’ ain’t losin’ time neither,” Dutch called out.

  Jake glanced down the trail; one man only, but he was taking no chances. “Haul on that rope,” he ordered.

  The burly fellow holding it was bracing himself to obey when a hard round object was jammed into the small of his back and a harsh voice whispered, “If you do, you’ll die before he does.” A half turn of the head told him that the owner of the Red Light was standing behind him, and being well aware that Nippert was no bluffer, he froze. Before Jake could investigate, the newcomer arrived, leapt from the saddle, and shouldered his way unceremoniously through the onlookers.

  “Jim!” he cried.

  Sudden stared at him in utter bewilderment, unable to believe his eyes. The face of one other betrayed a like incredulity, that of Javert, who gazed open-mouthed at this man who had apparently risen from the grave to defeat him.

  “Dave,” the marshal breathed. “It can’t be—yo’re dead.”

  “Not very,” the other returned lightly.

  “But—I killed yu.”

  “Skittles! It was a pore shot—on’y creased me.” He pushed his hat back, showing a scarcely-healed wound along the side of his head. “I didn’t bat an eyelid for most twenty-four hours—concussion, the doc said. Soon as I was able to climb a hoss, I set out in search o’ yu, an’ I seem to ‘a’ got here at the right moment.” He stepped to the condemned man and lifted the loop from his neck.

  “Who the devil are you to come buttin’ into our business?” Mullins rasped.

  The young man grinned at him. “I’m Dave Masters, the corpse in this case, an’ if anybody wants to argue, he’ll find me the livest corpse he ever tackled.” The challenge passed unheeded, but Nippert joined the two men beneath the tree. “Here’s yore belt, marshal,” he said. “Mebbe you’ll feel more comfortable wearin’ it.” The act aroused Sark’s malignity. “Hold on there,” he growled. “We’ve on’y got this fella’s word that he’s Masters.” The cowboy’s face grew bleak. “I’ll remember that, Mister Whatever-yore-name-is,” he retorted, and looked around. “Ask the skunk who came to yu with a lyin’ tale to hang the man he had failed to murder; there he stands—Javert; he’s the one yu oughta swing.” A threatening murmur warned the Pinetown citizen that he might be in danger—mobs were mercurial, easily swayed. In his anxiety to save his neck, he fell into the trap.

  “It warn’t no lie,” he blurted out. “I left with the posse an’ we all figured you was cashed.

  I ain’t bin in Pinetown since, so how would I know?” Dave’s grin was back again. “Well, gents, Mister Javert havin’ admitted I’m me—which a’most makes me doubt it myself—I guess that settles the cat-hop,” he remarked.

  “Not any,” Sark snapped. “That fella”—pointing to the marshal—“is a notorious outlaw, an’ I’m going to turn him over to the sheriff at Drywash.”

  “You gotta git him first,” Nippert said. “Loose yore dawgs as soon as you like, Sark.” The defiance brought a deeper frown to the rancher’s face.

  Many of the Welcome men were stepping aside and would take no part in an affray, but he would have two for one. Nevertheless, lives would be lost, and there was that cursed gunman.

  Sark had an uneasy feeling that the marshal’s first bullet would render the result of the fight a matter of indifference to him. Then Providence intervened. A growing thunder of hammering hooves, and along the trail a compact body of riders raced into view. Nippert drew a deep breath of relief; the Bar O had come. A few more seconds and they were at the scene.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” Owen asked, and when he had heard the story, turned to Sark.

  “Sore at havin’ failed to hang a man for somethin’ he didn’t do, huh?” he said contemptuously.

  “He’s an outlaw—wanted in Texas ”

  “He’s wanted a damn’ sight more in Welcome, judging by this precious gathering; the on’y thing I’m surprised at is that they had the pluck to try it in daylight,” came the scathing answer. “I s’pose you made ‘em good an’ drunk first. Got any proof of what you say?”

  “That fella knows him.” The Bar O owner regarded Javert with distinct disapproval. “I wouldn’t destroy a dawg on his evidence,” he said bluntly. “What’s it gotta do with you, Sark, anyways?”

  “I was invited by the citizens o’ Welcome to come in–.”

  “Meanin’ Mullins an’ the lousy loafers from Dirty Dick’s?” Owen interrupted. “Well, you are now invited to get out, pronto.” The Dumbbell man writhed under the lash of that bitter tongue. “yo’re takin’ a high hand,” he said. “I ain’t here alone.”

  “I’d noticed it, an’ if you want trouble …” Sark was not eager—the odds were no longer in his favour; the majority of the townsfolk would side with the Bar O, whose custom was of moment to many of them. Also, the riders from that ranch were known to be willing fighters, ready to storm the gates of Hell itself at the bidding of their boss. And the marshal … Sark reckoned up the chances and made his decision.

  “That’ll come later,” he promised. “For now, I’m pullin’ out.” He swung his horse towards the hills where his own ranch lay, and his men followed him in silence.

  John Owen turned to Masters. “I’m obliged to you, young man,” he said. “We were delayed, an’ if you hadn’t got here when you did …”

  “I’d be hearin’ harps right now,” Sudden finished. “Yo’re flatterin’ yoreself, ol’-timer,”

  Dave laughed. “When did you get religion?”

  “Jim’s a methodis’, an’ he has Welcome mighty near convened,” Nippert said solemnly.

  “There goes some who ain’t converted yet,” Gowdy remarked ironically, indicating another group heading for town. “Don’t you make the mistake o’ thinkin’ you’ve finished with them, marshal.”

  “I won’t,” Sudden smiled. “But I feel like forgivin’ even Jake and Javert to-day.” It was true; relief from the intolerable and ever-present burden of grief was so great that he could harbour no rancour against any. But someone was missing—Sloppy.

  “Had to leave him in town—said his feet was wore off to the knees,” Owen explained.

  “My idea is that he reckoned we’d be too late an’ he couldn’t face it.”

  “There’s a good deal of a man hid somewhere in that fella,” Sudden observed. “Welcome ain’t troubled to look for it.” A mount was found for the marshal and he rode with his friend, almost in silence. But each knew the other’s mind, and was content; sentiment would have made both uncomfortable. At length, Dave said:

  “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with yore eyes, Jim?” Sudden removed his spectacles and stowed them in a pocket. “No,” he replied. “They was just a notion. My, this trail looks purtier’n it did a while back.” The westering sun was casting long shadows as they loped into the town, and passing the Widow Gray’s, Sudden had an idea which he communicated to his companion.

  “First come, first served, is a right good motto,” he concluded. “O’ course, she’s a widow, an’ ain’t as young as she was, but yu’ll like her—cookin’.” When Dave entered the little dining-room, its owner was wiping her eyes; he could not know that they were tears of thankfulness. She had seen the prisoner taken away, and heard the purpose; now she had witnessed his safe return. She became aware that the stranger was staring at her, nervously running the brim of his big hat through finger and thumb. The sight of this slim young woman had him guessing—wrongly.

  “S’cuse me, miss, but Jim—the marshal—said for me to tell yore mother that four hungry men is aimin’ to pay yu a visit an’ mebbe she could sling a meal for us,” he said awkwardly.

&
nbsp; It was her turn to stare. “My mother?” she queried. “There must be some mistake; I am Mrs. Gray.”

  “Well, of all the scaly reptiles!” Dave gasped. “No, miss —ma’am, I mean, that ain’t for yu, but that marshal fella He fooled me—said yu warn’t as young as yu was once.” She laughed happily. “But that’s true of us all, isn’t it? Now, with four men to feed, I must get busy.”

  “Jim said there’d be others to follow—the Bar O is in town; we’re sorta stealin’ a march on ‘em.” She raised her hands in dismay at the prospect and darted away. He followed her to the door.

  “Say, can I help?” She laughed again. “Yes, if you can peel potatoes.”

  “I can skin an ox, so I guess I oughta be able to shuck the hide off’n a measly vegetable,”

  he replied.

  So when Sudden, Reddy, and Shorty arrived, sounds of mirth greeted them from the kitchen.

  “Sloppy musta recovered,” Reddy remarked.

  “That’s Dave,” Sudden smiled. “Set him down in the middle o’ the Staked Plain an’ he’ll be callin’ all the rattlesnakes by their first names inside an hour.” A moment later the young man entered, wiping his hands, and grinning widely. “Yu fellas ever tried peelin’ spuds?” he asked.

  “I’m tellin’ yu it’s an art. First two or three I held all wrong, an’ Mrs. Gray said if she cooked what I took off yu’d get more to eat, but after she showed me, I got along fine.”

  “What yu done to them fingers?” Sudden asked.

  “The durned knife slipped a few,” Dave admitted. “I came near bein’ shy some digits.”

  The arrival of the meal put an end to conversation for a time, but when appetites began to wane, tongues became busy again. The Bar O men wanted to hear the story of the Pinetown affair in detail, and then Reddy told of the shooting match, and the fight with Mullins, despite Sudden’s attempt to head him off.

  “Why didn’t yu blow his light out?” Dave demanded, and as he saw the expression on his friend’s face, added softly, “Yu of Piute. What yu need is a guardian.” With the advent of more customers, they went away, leaving their hostess overwhelmed by their praise. She refused Dave’s offer of further assistance, Sloppy having turned up, painfully lame, but deaf to all her protests.

  “We can’t have them boys goin’ away disappointed,” he said. “I can work settin’ down.”

  Chapter VIII

  As was generally expected, Jake and his adherents, though they had returned to Welcome, had no intention of continuing to honour it with their presence. At Dirty Dick’s, the same evening, the matter was discussed.

  “I’m goin’—but not very far,” Mullins announced to his own little circle. “No, sirree, I’m aimin’ to even up with this place, as well as that swine, Owen, an’ fill my pockets at the same time. We’ll have to live rough an’ take a risk, but the profits will be han’some. Any of you can come in, but it’s gonna be understood that I give the orders.”

  “I’m game,” Javert said. “I’ve a few debts in these parts an’ ain’t leavin’ till they’re paid—in full.” Sloppy brought the news to the marshal in the morning. “Jake is clearin’ out.”

  “Did yu figure he’d stay?”

  “No, but he’s tryin’ to sell his business.”

  “Yu wanta buy it?” Sudden asked sardonically.

  “Yeah, but I ain’t got the coin,” was the unexpected reply. “An’ run in opposition to Mrs. Gray?”

  “No.”

  “Then—by Jupiter, yo’re right, an’ I must be dumb. She ain’t got enough room, an’ … I’ll see Morley, he’s the fella to deal with this.” Forthwith he sought the banker and explained his mission. “He’s askin’ two hundred an’ fifty, but I guess he’ll take less; he ain’t servin’ five meals a day that’s paid for.”

  “Leave it to me,” the banker said.

  He found his man at home, and came to the point at once. “I’m told you’re selling out; what’s the figure?”

  “Three hundred, an’ cheap at that.” Morley raised his eyebrows. “For the shack, some bits of furniture, cracked crockery, and old pots and pans?”

  “Yo’re forgettin’ the trade.” The banker repeated what the marshal had told him, and walked from room to room, appraising the contents. When he was satisfied, he turned to the vendor.

  “One hundred and fifty—cash, and dear at that,” he said shortly.

  Take glared. “I can do better.”

  “Suits me,” the other replied indifferently, and turned to go. “Tomorrow my price will be one hundred only.” Mullins gave in; he was no match for the financier. Already he had sounded every possible purchaser and met with refusal.

  “Hold on,” he said. “Its sheer robbery, but I’ll go you. I wanta take the trail tonight.”

  Morley found the marshal in his office, and showed him the document.

  “Good work,” Sudden told him, and reached for a pocket.

  “That can wait. Now, we have to put this thing over so as not to hurt the little lady’s self-respect. I have a scheme, but perhaps you’d like to explain it to her yourself?”

  “Not on yore life,” the marshal said hastily. “I ain’t used to women—I’d make a botch of it.” The young widow welcomed the banker with a smile; she liked this grey-haired, sedate little man who had been well spoken of by her uncle.

  “I hear your trade is increasing,” he opened.

  “Thanks to some good friends,” she said.

  “No, largely to your own efforts,” he corrected. “But there are complaints.” A look of concern replaced the smile. “Oh, not about your cooking, but the accommodation.”

  “The room only holds four,” she murmured regretfully. “But what can I do?”

  “A favour to Welcome, and to me,” he replied. “Mullins is leaving in a few hours for good—our good, and I’ve purchased his business, lock, stock, and barrel. I want you to move in there.” Her eyes shone, but she shook her head. “It would be fine, but I couldn’t afford it.”

  “All you’ll have to pay will be a small rent to me,” he pointed out. “Won’t you give it a trial?”

  “But of course,” she cried. “It’s a chance I’ve longed for, and I don’t know how to thank you.” The banker stood up. “Well, that’s settled, and I’m glad. This town will have a feeding-place to be proud of.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she promised.

  That evening, in the Red Light, Nippert drew Sudden aside. “Jake’s went, an’ it’s all over Welcome that Mrs. Gray is takin’ over his eatin’-house. It’s a blame’ good move, an’ I s’pose we have to thank you for it?”

  “No, Sloppy, though he don’t want it knowed.”

  “Where did he git the money?”

  “He didn’t; I fixed that with Morley,” the marshal explained, and told of the arrangement the banker had made.

  “First-rate,” Nippert agreed, and then, “Jim, havin’ found yore friend, you ain’t thinkin’ o’ goin’ back to Pinetown?”

  “Where they wanted to hang me?” The saloon-keeper had a sense of humour. “But we damn’ near did it,” he grinned ruefully.

  Sudden laughed too. “Allasame, I’m stayin’ put; the trees is too handy in Pinetown.”

  “An’ Masters?” The marshal’s face sobered. “I dunno. Mebbe he’ll get a job with the Bar O; Owen seemed to like him.”

  “I’ve bin thinkin’ you need a deputy.”

  “It’s mighty good o’ yu, Ned, but it would be just charity.”

  “I forgot to mention when you took hold that we’d had a couple o’ marshals bumped off in twelve months.”

  “I knew—Gowdy’s girl told me.”

  “You certainly fetched yore nerve along,” Nippert said. “Well, you may figure you got this town tamed, an’ mebbe that goes for two-thirds of it, but the rest is a craggy lot; they’ll fear you, but bein’ scared of a man don’t make you love him, none whatever. Mullins has gone, with some o’ the worst, but he’s left friends behind, an’ he ain’
t forgettin’. Nor will Sark, an’ he’s got poison ‘stead o’ blood in his veins.” Sudden gave in. “Awright, Ned,” he replied. “Yu know the people an’ yo’re the doc. O’ course, I’ll be tickled to death to have Dave workin’ with me.” At that moment the man himself came up. “Yu both look as solenn as owls,” he grinned. “Must be discussin’ somethin’ serious.”

  “No, we were talkin’ ‘bout yu,” his friend countered. “Fact is, Ned thinks I oughta have a deputy, an’ he’s suggestin’ yu.”

  “If Mister Masters will take it,” the saloon-keeper put in politely.

  “Mister Masters won’t, but Dave will, with both han’s,” was the smiling reply. “But not till after tomorrow; I’ve somethin’ to do.”

  “What fool-play yu got in mind now?” Sudden wanted to know.”

  “Me an’ Sloppy is goin’ to make a yaller dawg’s kennel into a fit place for a lady to live in,” Dave replied lightly.

  Two weeks went by, and Welcome—the principal disturber of its calm having departed—had returned to everyday routine-existence.

  The first whisper of unrest came when Reddy rode in one morning. He was the only Bar O man to visit town since the dash to the marshal’s rescue, and was therefore ignorant of subsequent events.

  “Yu’ll feed with us at Jake’s,” Sudden invited.

  “I eat at the Widow’s,” Reddy replied.

  “That’s what I said,” was the enigmatical retort.

  He got the story as they walked up the street. Arrived at the restaurant, he surveyed approvingly the newly-painted sign, clean curtains, and absence of rusty airtights littering the ground. The interior with its scrubbed floor, neatly-laid tables, and sound chairs, opened his eyes wider, but he said nothing until the proprietress came to take the order.

  “There ain’t such a swell joint inside a day’s ride,” he told her. “Reckon Jake would bite hisself if he could see it.”

  “I had some kind helpers,” she said, her eyes on Dave.

  “They did the work; I’m afraid I was only in the way.”