“How come?” asked the foreman.
“Oh, he got into a knife-throwin’ contest with a stranger in the `Come Again’—an’ he lost,” was the grim explanation. “They holdin’ anythin’ against Stevens?” Severn asked. “Reckon not, but he may have drifted too near their hideout,” Bailey suggested. “White Masks is shore enough bad medicine, an’ I reckon even Black Bart ain’t anxious to offend ‘em.”
“Huh, Bart’ll go up there an’ eat ‘em one o’ these days when he’s got time,” sneered Devint, and Severn made a mental note of the remark. It was probable that he had found one of the men who had been wished on the Lazy M by the local autocrat. “He’s quite a while findin’ time,” put in Rayton, a sober, elderly man. “I reckon if Sudden, who cleaned up the Hatchett’s Folly gang, was around, yu’d see them coyotes point for the skyline immediate.”
“They say he was quick,” Linley contributed.
“Quick?” echoed Rayton scornfully. “Well, I s’pose yu might call lightnin’ that.”
“Huh, I’m bettin’ he ain’t so fast now; gettin’ tied slows a man up, I’ve heard,” Devint said cynically.
“Mebbe, but if I bumped into him he should have the road,” the other smiled.
Sitting at the head of the table, Severn listened to this conversation with inward amusement. So Sudden was not forgotten. He wondered if Rayton had met him before, but could find no sign of recognition in the puncher’s face. He did not think that “getting tied” had slowed his gunplay, but time would show. Anyway, it was good to be in the game again.
He remained for a while chatting with the men after the meal was over, and then retired to his own shack, followed by a satisfied Quirt—the cook had seen to that. For an hour he sat, smoking and turning things over in his mind. That Masters was a badly-scared man was obvious, though why, and how he proposed to evade the threatened loss of his ranch, Severn could form no conjecture. The only clear thing seemed to be that he had picked a rough trail to follow. Well, he had guessed as much when his old friend, Judge Embley, had first appealed to him, but he had his own reasons for accepting.
Chapter III
IMMEDIATELY after breakfast on the following morning Severn found the men assembled near the corral awaiting orders for the day’s work. Devint, a man named Darby, and a Mexican he had heard called Ignacio, were standing in a little group apart, and the new foreman scented trouble. He walked straight up to them.
“I’m told yu been actin’ straw-boss since Stevens passed out,” he said to Devint, and when the man nodded sulkily, he added, “Yu can go on doin’ it.”
In the bully’s eyes came a gleam of malicious triumph; if this new fellow wasn’t afraid of him, he at least didn’t want trouble. He squared his shoulders and thrust his chest out aggressively.
“Yu got the job that oughta come to one of us,” he began. “I reckon the Old Man has played it low down on the outfit, bringin’ in a stranger this away.”
The other men stood round watching. Plainly Devint had been talking, and they had known that he intended to test the new foreman. Severn’s mind worked quickly. He did not want an open rupture with any of them just yet, but he recognised that he must show the men he had to handle that he was capable of doing it. He looked at Devint and there was a glint of amusement in the glance.
“What’s it gotta do with me?” he asked. “Yu ain’t expectin’ me to tell Masters he’s appointed the wrong man, are yu?”
Several of the onlookers sniggered, and the bully glared at them; he did not at all relish being made game of, and he also realised that in a warfare of words with this man he would have no chance.
“I can tell Masters all I want to tell him myself,” he said, the scowl on his face deepening.
“All yu gotta tell him is that I’ve fired you,” Severn said easily, and then, as Devint made a threatening movement, “Take yore hand off that gun—yu haven’t the pluck to pull it.” For a few seconds the two men stood, less than a couple of yards apart, half-crouched, their eyes watching alertly for the first sign of action. Then the bully’s gaze wavered and fell. The foreman had forced the issue and found him unprepared.
“Like I said—yellow,” Severn sneered, and half turned away.
“Damn yu,” yelled Devint. “I’ll—”
But ere he could get the snatched-at gun from its holster Severn’s expectant eye had caught the movement, and his left hand darted out, gripping the wrist with a clutch of steel, while his right seized the would-be slayer’s throat.
He shook the powerless man savagely, sinking his fingers still more deeply in the flesh of his neck. Devint, his eyeballs bulging and his face a dark purple, was on the point of suffocation when, with a sudden thrust, Severn flung him headlong into the dust, where he lay gasping, his labouring lungs sucking in the air in great gulps. It was some moments before he could get on his feet, and then the foreman said shortly :
“Go up to the house, get yore time, an’ hit the trail.”
With an evil look and a muttered threat the beaten man slouched away. Severn turned to the others; the anger had gone from his face but there was still an acid touch in his voice.
“Anyone else got notions?” he asked.
“I go wiz Meester Devint,” the Mexican said.
Severn nodded, and looked at Darby, who answered the unspoken question with a grin.
“I’m stayin’ put,” he said.
“Good enough,” replied the foreman, and proceeded to detail the duties for the day.
“My Gawd ! ” said Linley, as he rode away with Darby. “Did yu see? He was actually laughin’ when he guzzled Bull.”
“Laughin’?” retorted Darby. “Yes, laughin’ like a wolf does when it’s pullin’ down a calf. I reckon hangin’ won’t be no surprise to Bull now.”
Having sent the men off, Severn went up to the ranch-house. He found Masters and his daughter in the front room. The girl was dressed for riding and her forehead creased in a little frown when he entered.
‘Lo, Severn, started weedin’ a’ready, I hear,” the cattleman greeted.
“I had to part with two o’ the outfit,” the new foreman smiled. “They didn’t seem comfortable.”
“They’ve been comfortable enough till now,” the girl interjected. “Both reliable men, recommended by Mr. Bartholomew.”
The bitterness of this attack surprised Severn but his voice was cool and easy when he replied :
“I shore didn’t know they were friends o’ yores, Miss Masters.”
“I don’t make friends with cowboys or Mexicans,” the girl retorted coldly. “I suppose you followed your usual method and provoked them in the hope of a gunplay?”
Severn grinned. “An’ two more notches, eh? Well, the only provocation I gave Devint was to offer him the job of straw-boss, which he declined—without thanks. When he tried to shoot me in the back I just naturally had to reason with him. The Greaser took up his end of it.”
“Mr. Bartholomew won’t like it,” the girl said.
“Damn Bartholomew,” her father exploded. “This is my ranch an’ I’m runnin’ it. When I put a man in charge I back his play; yu can fire the whole bunch if yu need to, Severn. Anythin’ else yu wantin’ to see me about?”
“No, I’m just goin’ to have a look over the range,” Severn replied, and then an imp of mischief prompted him to add, “I thought if Miss Masters was thinkin’ o’ ridin’ she might show me around.”
The girl’s eyes met his in contemptuous astonishment. “I’ve something else to do,” she said shortly.
Setting out on his tour of inspection, the new foreman addressed the dog gambolling a few yards in front of his pony’s nose.
“The Princess regretted she had another engagement, Quirt, so we gonta go it alone,” he said quizzically. “Don’t look so blame’ joyful—she don’t like us, old-timer; she’s got no more use for us than she has for a boil on the neck, an’ that’s a fact.”
It must have been somewhere about midnight w
hen Severn was awakened by a low throaty growl from the dog curled up on the foot of his bed. Raising himself, he looked round. There was no moon, but the stars provided a murky light, and he fancied he saw an indistinct shadow outside the back window.
“Quiet, boy,” he whispered to the dog, and sat watching, his right hand gripping a six-shooter.
Again he saw what he had taken to be a shadow, and then came an unmistakable creak as though someone was trying to force an entrance. Severn remained motionless, but for some moments there was no further sound. Apparently the intruder, satisfied that he had not disturbed the sleeper, renewed his efforts, for a further creak sounded as the sash of the window was forced up several inches. Then came a light “flop”, and the shadow vanished, but not before Severn caught a glimpse of a white blot, with two dark holes for eyes. He smiled to himself; the outfit was playing a joke on its new foreman and that was why he had been told of the White Masks.
“Dam fool, whoever it may be,” he muttered. “If I’d fired—”
The sentence remained unfinished, for at that moment he heard a sharp hiss, followed by a curious sound, somewhat resembling the crumpling of a parchment, and he knew that there was a rattlesnake in the room. Sensing danger, the dog growled again, and the man, putting his hand on it, found the animal trembling, the hait of its neck bristling. He himself had an unpleasant prickling sensation under his scalp.
For a moment he listened intently, hoping to locate the reptile but the faint slither of its body as it moved on the earthen floor gave no indication of its whereabouts. The rattlesnake, Severn knew, is a coward and will rarely attack unless forced to defend itself, but this one must have just been released from captivity and would be fighting mad. One thing was certain, he must have a light, and his matches were on the table in the middle of the room. Gingerly reaching out, he felt for his boots, dropped at the side of the bed, found and pulled them on.
This was the ticklish time. Slipping from the bed, gun in his right hand, two long noiseless strides brought him to the table, where he pawed eagerly around for the matches, nearly upsetting the lamp. He could not find them and had to move his position. Every step he expected to feel a squirming body under his foot and the sinking of the deadly fangs in his flesh. In groping about he made a slight noise and his blood chilled when the ominous rattle sounded again, and very near. Then his fingers closed on the matches and, spilling them on the table, he snapped one alight with his thumbnail. Less than a yard away was the reptile, coiled upon half its body, poised in readiness to strike. He had just time to spring back and send a bullet into the flat, venomous head. Then, with shaking fingers, he lighted the lamp, and kicked the still quivering carcass into the open hearth. A scurry of footsteps came from outside, voices and a knock on the door. Opening it, he saw several of the men, partially clad, but every one of them carrying a gun.
“What’s doin’?” asked the foremost, the man named Darby. “A diamond-back come a-visitin’,” Severn explained. “Had to abolish it some.”
The men crowded in and examined the snake, which was a large one.
“Ten rattles—he was a daddy, shore enough,” commented one. “Wonder if he fetched his farnily.”
A search of the room revealing no further visitants, the cowboys returned to their bunks, all save Darby, who lingered.
“Funny ‘bout him,” he said, jerking a thumb at the dead reptile. “There’s gravel all round this shack an’ snakes don’t like gravel.”
He walked to the window, stooped and picked something up. “He shore meant to stay, too—brought his war-bag.” He held out a leather sack, the mouth of which could be closed with a draw-string; it was rank with the peculiarly offensive odour of the rattlesnake. “Yore fondness for pets has got around,” he went on. “Mebbe yu’ll get a skunk next.”
“I could ‘a’ got one tonight if I’d knowed,” the foreman replied, but gave no information. Though the man seemed friendly, he was not trusting anyone yet. That a dastardly attempt on his life had been made was clear, but he had no evidence to locate the culprit. When Darby had gone he turned in again, but not without a commending pat for Quirt.
“I reckon yu’ll pay for yore keep, old fella,” he said.
At sunrise he was searching the ground outside for tracks, but, as Darby had said, there was gravel all round, and he found nothing until he came to a strip of sand some ten yards distant, separating the gravel from the grass. Here were the deep marks of two heels, as though the wearer had stood there for a while, and the right showed little indentations in the form of a cross. Masters, when he heard of the incident, scouted the idea that the bandits had anything to do with it.
“Never had any trouble with the White Masks, an’ don’t want none,” he said. “They may lift a steer now an’ then for the meat, but this ain’t the kind o’ play they’d make. Looks more like a Greaser trick to me.”
This agreed with the foreman’s own view, and he left it at that. He spent the day riding the range, “having a look at the country” was how he would have expressed it, and returned in the evening to find a man waiting to see him. The visitor, chatting casually with the outfit, was a plumpish young man of just under medium height, with fair hair, pale blue eyes, and a round, youthful face which the sun had reddened rather than tanned.
“I’m guessin’ yo’re the foreman,” he said, when Severn approached.
“Yo’re a good guesser, seh,” the other told him. “What might be yore trouble?”
The visitor’s eyes twinkled. “Well, barrin’ a severe pain in the pants’ pocket I don’t know as there’s anythin’ the matter,” he replied.
“Yu wantin’ a job?” asked Severn.
“I’m needin’ one, which I s’pose amounts to the same thing,” was the answer. “Yu see, years back, I got into the habit o’ eatin’ regular meals.”
“Which is shore a hard one to get out of,” the foreman agreed. “Yu understand cattle?”
“Cattle? Me? Why, they raised me on cow’s milk,” smiled the stranger.
“Yu don’t say,” ejaculated Severn gently, looking down from his superior height. “They didn’t raise yu too much, did they?” The visitor joined in the laugh that followed, and the foreman continued: “I can certainly use another man. What are we to call yu?”
“Anythin’ yu like, an’ I’ll come a-runnin’ all same good dawg,” retorted the workless one with jaunty impudence.
“Right,” Severn smiled. “We’ll call yu `Sunset’—the name shore fits yu like yore skin.”
For a moment the pale eyes flashed and the young man’s face grew even redder; then his mouth opened into a wide grin.
“Sunset goes, though my name’s Larry Barton,” he said. “An’ I shorely asked for it, didn’t I?”
Severn nodded. “Supper’ll be ready soon,” he told him. “Gentle Annie will find yu a bunk.” He waved a hand towards Linley, and that youth’s face promptly rivaled that of the new hand. “What the hell—” he began, but the foreman interrupted him with a smile. “I heard yu singin’ this mornin’,” he explained.
“Yu an’ me shore oughta be friends,” Sunset said, as he followed Linley to the bunkhouse. “We’ve been christened together.”
The boy grinned sympathetically, but he then and there abandoned any ambition he may have cherished regarding an operatic career.
Later on in the evening Barton sneaked up to the foreman’s shack, slid inside without the formality of knocking, and grinned impudently at his new boss, who grinned back again.
“Sunset, yu are right welcome,” he said.
“If I’d guessed yu would plaster that dam label on me I wouldn’t ‘a’ come,” retorted the other. “I oughta known—”
“Better than to get fresh with me,” interrupted Severn.
“Besides, yu got company.”
Larry laughed. “Shore, Gentle Annie. How come yu to hit on that?”
“He was bellerin’ like a sick calf this mornin’, Gentle Annie, do you lo-o-o-ve me,
As you did long years a-g-o-o-o?
I just couldn’t help it, but I reckon he’s a good kid all the same. He’ll stand the iron.”
“What for sort of a bunch is they?” asked the new man.
“That’s what I want yu to find out,” said the foreman. “See, here’s the how of it.”
He proceeded to recount his experiences since he had arrived in Hope, his companion listening with a widening smile.
“Huh ! Ain’t missed any opportunities, have yu?” he commented. “A coupla weeks an’ yu’ll be as popular as a fella with small-pox.” He dropped his bantering tone. “Did yu ever wonder why I was so set on comin’ here with yu?”
“I put it down to yore natural desire to dodge regular work,” the other grinned, and then, when the answering smile and usual retort did not come, he added soberly, “Tell me, Larry.”
With a face of stone, from which all the youthfulness had gone, the other told the story of the hanging of the nester, Forby. Save for a huskiness, there was no emotion in his voice, but the deadliness of purpose in the concluding words could not be mistaken. “I was that boy; it was my dad they did to death, an’ I’ve come back to make them pay.”
Tight-lipped and with an outthrust jaw the foreman stood up and dropped a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Yu know these fellas, Larry?” he inquired.
“I remember every one o’ their damn faces, but I ain’t got all their names,” the boy replied. “Darby is in yore outfit now, but he done what he could an’ that squares him. There was a Greaser, Ignacio, an’ two o’ the others were called Penton an’ Fallan.”
“Yu don’t have to worry ‘bout him: he pulled a gun on me in Desert Edge,” Severn said grimly. “Ignacio was here but drifted when I come; we’ll find him again, an’ the rest o’ the murderin’ houn’s. Bartholomew’s got a bigger bill to pay than I reckoned, but we’ll collect it—together—in full.”
Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) Page 3