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

by Oliver Strange

  “Who is it?”

  “Open up, Bob,” the stranger replied gruffly. “I’m from Nippert.” Apparently the answer was satisfactory; bolts were withdrawn and through the slightly-opened door came the light of a flickering candle; behind it, the peering face of the banker. At the sight of the masked man, he made a desperate attempt to close the door again, but the other had flung his weight upon it, levelling his revolver at the same moment.

  “One yap’ll be yore last,” he warned. “Stan’ back, or …” Morley knew that he was helpless; his nearest neighbours were thirty yards distant, and would be asleep. He obeyed, and watched the four bandits file in, closing the door behind them. Then the leader turned to him.

  “Unlock yore safe,” he said. “An’ be spry about it.” This was too much. The banker was an old man, but an obstinate one, with a sense of duty to those who had trusted him; these scoundrels might rob him, but he was not going to make it easier.

  “You’ll get no help from me,” he replied, and when the ruffian gripped him by the throat, forced him to his knees, and swung his pistol aloft, added, “Shoot, damn you, and rouse the place.” The threatened shot did not come. Instead, the barrel of the weapon dropped, with savage, merciless venom on the bent grey head, toppling the victim to the floor with a gashed, bleeding skull. The striker snatched up the still-lighted candle and surveyed the senseless man with malignant satisfaction.

  “Guess we can help ourselves,” he snarled. “That pays a score anyway. Last time we did business together it was yore turn; now it’s mine. I’ll trouble you for yore keys, friend.” On his knees beside the stricken man, he was searching the pockets when a gasp of horror made him glance up; the banker’s wife, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, was staring at the scene.

  “Gag her—quick,” he ordered.

  One of them clapped a hand over her lips, choking the cry in her throat, while another whipped the shawl from her shoulders, muffled her head with it, and then bound her wrists and ankles.

  “Lucky I fetched along these piggin strings,” he chuckled, as he completed the brutal task. “She won’t bother us.” Jake stood up. “Here’s the keys,” he said. “C’mon, we gotta work fast.” They followed him into the business part of the premises and soon the safe was at their mercy. A leathern satchel lay near it.

  “That’s just what we want,” Jake grinned. “Thoughtful o’ Bob to provide it.” With coarse jests they packed bags of coin and packets of currency into the receptacle, and having cleared the safe of all that was of any use to them, were about to rummage the drawers and desks when two rapid pistol-shots rang out.

  “What th’ hell’s that mean?” Jake asked.

  “A signal from the boys,” Javert suggested.

  “Then they must be loco,” was the reply. “We’ll beat it; I reckon we’ve cleaned the place.”

  As they hurried to the door, the leader glanced suspiciously at the supine figures on the floor, but neither appeared to have moved.

  “Who fired them shots?” he demanded of the men outside.

  “You tell us,” one of the waiting group retorted. “They ‘peared to come from inside.”

  “Couldn’t have,” Jake snapped. “None of us pulled trigger, Morley is as near dead as damn it, an’ the of woman hawg-tied. Hell ! the town is wakin’ up.” It was true; lights were gleaming in several windows, doors opening, and men’s voices could be heard.

  “We gotta go—pronto,” Jake decided, and turned to Dutch, who was carrying the plunder.

  “You know what to do. With the stuff safely hidden they can’t prove a thing, even if they overtake us. Now, ride like the devil.” Bunched together, with no further attempt at concealment, they shot into the open and, with a defiant yell, galloped away.

  The two reports had found the marshal and his deputy on the alert, and they were the first to reach the street. Others soon joined them, some only half-dressed, but all carrying weapons, and asking the same question:

  “What’s the trouble?” Nobody knew, until the retreating raiders flashed into indistinct view for a few seconds, and then Sudden swore: “Damnation ! I might ‘a’ guessed it—the bank.

  Take some men an’ get after ‘em, Ned; mebbe yu can run ‘em down.”

  “What are you goin’ to do, Jim,” Nippert asked.

  “I’ve another plan—it’s a chance an’ no more. Dave, I’ll need yu, but we’ll have a look at the bank first.” Leaving the saloon-keeper and his posse to take up the pursuit, the others hurried to the building, found the front door fastened and the side one open. The marshal stepped in and struck a match. At his feet was the candle the visitors had thrown down. Lighted, it revealed the prostrate body of the banker.

  “Hurt had, but he’ll pull round,” Sudden announced, after a brief examination. “Lift an’ carry him to the bedroom.” As two of them raised the limp form a revolver clattered to the floor.

  Dave picked it up.

  “A couple o’ empty shells,” he remarked. “Musta fired them shots what roused us hisself.

  Bravo, Bob.” By this time the woman had also been found and released, but she was in a dead faint, and could give them no information. The gaping door of the safe told the rest of the story.

  The marshal drew his assistant aside.

  “We can’t do anythin’ here—nothin’ to go on,” he said. “Let’s take a ride.” They got their horses and Sudden led the way eastwards until the settlement was behind them and then turned sharply to the left into a wilderness of scrub and small timber. Travelling through this in the darkness was a ticklish operation, but the marshal found a way, twisting and turning but —as his companion noticed—always coming back to a fixed line. Presently they reached a tract of pines, and the guide gave a grunt of satisfaction.

  “There’s my blaze,” he said.

  On the trunk of one tree, showing clearly in the gloom, was a white mark where a strip of bark had been slashed away with a knife.

  “Yu been here afore?” Dave wanted to know.

  “I spent some time searchin’ out this trail on my way back yestiddy.”

  “For the love o’ Mike, why?”

  “We’re goin’ to find out,” Sudden told him.

  “Open up, yu clam. Nippert’ll never catch ‘em. What are we riskin’ our necks an’ hosses in this blasted brush for?” The reply was a question. “When yu rob a bank what’s the first thing yu wanta do?”

  “Why, yu black-haired misery,” Dave began indignantly, and then laughed. “Me, I’m mighty eager to cache the coin, ain’t yu?”

  “That’s the right answer, an’ I’m gamblin’ that these hombres will have the same notion.

  Now, if they come from the hills, they gotta cross The Step, an’ their nearest point ain’t far from where we lost that rustlin’ gent. I’ve been lookin’ the ground over.” The next few miles were covered in silence. At intervals a blazed tree was passed, telling them they were on the right path, but the journey was taking longer than the marshal had expected; darkness had doubled the difficulty and made any attempt at speed impossible. So the grey light of dawn was streaking the eastern sky when they reached their destination—the stretch of gravelly ground. On the edge of this, screened by thick bushes, they drew rein.

  “If my hunch is good, they’ll come this way,” the marshal said. “An Injun would lose their tracks on that stuff, an’ there’s more on the other side o’ the creek; the place was made for fellas on the dodge.” For a while they waited as patiently as might be, watching the stars pale and fade before the coming of the day. It was a wearisome business, for the morning air was chill, and they dared not smoke. Dave voiced the thoughts in both their minds:

  “Mebbe we’ve missed ‘em.” Sudden raised a warning hand; his sharp ears had caught the snap of a twig away to their left. Soon came the pad of a trotting horse.

  “On’y one, seemin’ly,” Dave murmured perplexedly.

  Both drew out their rifles. The sounds became clearer, and presently a horseman emerged
from the undergrowth. In the half-light, they could see that his features were blotted out by a kerchief, and secured to the cantle of his saddle was a bulky package. Unhurriedly he began to cross the open space and was less than a hundred yards away when Sudden’s voice rose above the rumble of the waterfall:

  “Hold on, or we’ll drop yu.” They saw the violent start, the snatched look at the two men, who had now ridden out, and heard the curse which greeted their appearance. Grabbing a gun, the unknown sent two bullets whistling past their ears, and then—apparently realizing that in another moment they would be upon him —bent low in the saddle and spurred his mount remorselessly.

  “If he gets to the stream we’ll lose him like we did afore,” Sudden said, and raised his rifle.

  One shot, and the fugitive flung up his arms and pitched to the ground; the pony careered on. With scarce a glance at the sprawling form, the two men raced after the the runaway, and in a short space Sudden’s loop settled over its head. Pulling the brute alongside, he thumped the package, and grinned with saturnine satisfaction when he heard the unmistakable clink of coin.

  “That’s the loot from the bank,” he said. “Let’s have a look at the fella they trusted with it.” The man was lying on his face, but one glance told that he was dead; the bullet had broken his spine. Sudden turned the body over and removed the improvised mask.

  “Dutch!” he exclaimed. “Well, that’s somethin’ else I might ‘a’ guessed.”

  “Sorta points to Mullins, huh?”

  “Yeah, but yu couldn’t prove it. They left Welcome together, but it don’t follow they stayed that way; Dutch may’ve gone to the hills on his own account. Well, gotta take him in, I s’pose.” Roped across the back of his own horse the dead robber returned to Welcome. They stopped at the bank, where they found Nippert.

  “We never saw hide nor hair of ‘em,” he said, in answer to the marshal’s question. “An’ when we lost the trail, there was nothin’ for it but to come home.”

  “How’s Bob?”

  “He’s got a busted head, but that’ll mend, if he gives it a chance.”

  “I got the medicine to cure him,” Sudden said. “They say money talks. Well, it shore does. Listen ! ” He lifted the leather bag and smote it, once, twice. “Hear it?” The saloon-keeper’s eyes popped out. “If you ain’t the shinin’ limit! This’ll save Morley’s life.”

  “Take it in to him,” the marshal smiled. “Me an’ Dave ain’t slept since the last time—‘bout a week ago, it seems. We’ll see the of boy later.” As he went out, a chalk-faced youth was climbing back on to his stool in the office. Sudden guessed he had seen the grisly sight outside, and went to him.

  “Don’t worry, son,” he said. “I’ve fetched the stolen money back, an’ yore boss will get well. Stay with yore job —there’s worse ways o’ earnin’ a livin’ than bankin’.” Dumb with amazement and relief, Evans watched the tall, lithe figure swing into the saddle and ride down the street.

  “Gawd, what a man,” he murmured.

  Chapter XI

  JAKE and his band, having succeeded in eluding pursuit, made a wide detour to avoid the Bar O range, and reached the gully about the same time as the marshal and his deputy returned to Welcome. The absence of Dutch astonished them.

  “What in hell can have delayed him?” Mullins muttered. “He’s had time to cover the ground twice.” Javert’s face took on an ugly sneer. “Yeah, time to git to the California border, pretty near,” was his reply.

  “I’ve knowed Dutch a-many years an’ he’s straight,” Jake defended. “He wouldn’t play no pranks on me.” None of the others appeared to partake of his confidence. In the excitement of carrying out the raid, Jake’s plan for getting rid of the tell-tale spoils had seemed good, but now they began to doubt its wisdom; it was a temptation not one of them could have resisted. Nothing further was said, however, and having eaten, they waited sullenly for the advent of the missing messenger.

  As the day wore on and brought no sign of him, the fear that they had been duped deepened. It was a bitter dis— appointment; the whole enterprise had gone smoothly; a single coup had given them more wealth than a year of rustling would produce, and now …

  “I hope yo’re right,” Javert shrugged. “Me, I’m goin’ to catch up some sleep.” He got his blanket, and, one by one, the others followed his example. Jake alone remained sitting by the fire, gazing into it morosely. Despite his bold front, he was desperately uneasy. What else could have happened? A rogue himself, he read the minds of his men, and was even now bitterly reproaching himself for not having done what they suspected.

  It would have been simple, and with only two to share. … The scrape of a hoof, and rattle of a rolling stone, recalled him to realities. He sprang up, crying:“He’s here. What did I tell you?” The others flung aside their blankets and stood up, but the man who stumbled through the shadows and stepped into the glow of the fires was Pinto, the Bar O rider.

  “Thought you was Dutch,” Jake said disgustedly. “Hell ! ”

  “That’s where you’ll have to go if yo’re wantin’ him,” the cowboy replied.

  “You sayin’ that Dutch is—dead?” Jake asked.

  “Hope so, seem’ as they’ve buried him,” was the callous answer.

  “Let’s have a plain tale,” Javert cried impatiently.

  “Well, the marshal didn’t fall into yore trap an’ stayed to home. When you punched the breeze, he sent the posse after, but him an’ his damned deputy made for the Silver Mane, shot down Dutch, an’ toted his remainders, with the coin, back to Welcome. Who put him wise?”

  “Nobody,” Jake told him. “I didn’t git the idea till we was in the bank; it seemed a good way o’ playin’ safe.” This for the benefit of the Bar O man, whose face bore a palpable sneer.

  “How d’you hear?”

  “Reddy brought the cheerful tidin’s.”

  “Damnation! That tacks a label on us,” Javert said.

  “Not any,” Jake corrected. “It ain’t knowed where we are, or that Dutch stayed with me.

  I’d ride into Welcome to-day if I felt like it; they can’t prove a thing.”

  “If you do, take a squint at yore of shack,” Pinto advised. “Widow Gray is runnin’ it, an’

  Reddy sez it’s swell.” The other’s eyes narrowed. “So,” he said harshly. “I shore will; in fact, I’ll feed there.”

  “Step careful then. Reddy said Sark paid a visit, got fresh, an’ was throwed out, neck an’ crop.”

  “By that slip of a female?” asked an incredulous listener. “No, by young Masters, an’ as him an’ the marshal are ace-high about now, it might be dangerous.” Jake frowned. “Sark, huh?

  What’s his game?”

  “She’s a relation, an’ quite a few think she oughta be ownin’ the Dumbbell. Marriage with her would stop that talk.” This appeared to give Mullins food for thought; he was silent for a while. Then he dismissed the subject with a lift of his shoulders, and said briskly:

  “Well, boys, I was right ‘bout Dutch, you see—he played fair. We’ve lost this time, but there’ll be others. What are the chances for a worth-while gather, Pinto?”

  “Mighty slim—at present; the outfit is right on its toes, an’ I have a hunch that cussed marshal has ideas ‘bout me. I don’t like them cold eyes—they gimme the feelin’ he can read what’s in my mind.”

  “He must be a medicine man to have knowed about Dutch,” Pockmark put in.

  “Kid’s talk,” Jake said scornfully. “He guessed right, an’ that’s all there is to it. Awright, Pinto, we’ll lie doggo till the Bar O is feelin’ easy again. Better git back in case yo’re missed.”

  “I’m night-ridin’—watchin’ for you fellas,” the man grinned, as he prepared to go. “Hang the luck! I’d bin hopin’ to tell John Owen what I think of him, an’ git my time.”

  “Which would ‘a’ showed pore sense,” Mullins remarked. “Even if the bank deal had come off, we’ve a soft thing here, an’ when
the Bar O is good an’ thinned, we’ll have Sark where we want him.”

  “Hadn’t looked at it thataway,” Pinto admitted. “You got a head, Jake, but I’d like to see the last o’ that marshal.”

  “He’ll be taken care of,” was the sinister assurance.

  The men retired to rest again, but for some time the scheming brain of the bandit chief was busy, and not on their account. The result of his deliberations was a shave, and an attempt to smarten his appearance in the morning, an unusual proceeding which inevitably provoked curiosity.

  “Who’s the dame, Jake?” one asked.

  “Dame Fortune, the on’y one o’ her sex worth troublin’ about,” was the cynical reply. “I’m goin’ to Welcome.”

  “Ain’t that a risk?” Pocky inquired.

  “Not to you, anyways. I’m ridin’ in from Drywash, to see Dutch.”

  “But he’s cashed.”

  “News to me, an’ I’ll be the most astonished fella in the place when I hear it.” Javert nodded. “He’s right; it’s a good bluff, an’ oughta lay out any suspicion of us bein’ mixed up in that bank affair.” It was not until early afternoon that Mullins reached Welcome. The visitor rode to his late abode, dismounted with a sigh of relief, and after a peep through the neatly-curtained window, entered. His step on the board floor brought the Widow from the kitchen. Astonishment checked the customary greeting.

  “Howdy, ma’am, I expect yo’re s’prised to see me,” Jake said, as he removed his hat and sat down.

  “What—do you want?” she stammered.

  “I’m peckish, an’ not partic’lar; I’ll leave it to you,” he replied.

  She served him in silence, and he too had nothing to say until he had done full justice to the food, but his eyes were busy and found her more desirable than ever. When she came to remove the empty plates, he was rolling a smoke.

  “That was bully,” he complimented. “I once said you couldn’t cook; I was wrong.”

  “Thank you,” she replied quietly.

  “You’ve made a new place o’ the shack,” he went on. “Curtains, tablecloths, everythin’ clean, it’s a dandy layout, an’ good grub. I allus said it takes a woman to make a go of a joint like this. I hope the hawgs appreciate it.” A tiny frown creased her brow at the epithet, but all she said was, “My customers seem to like it.”