Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935)

by Oliver Strange

  “I want to thank you for coming to my aid last night,” she began.

  The foreman flushed and looked uncomfortable. “It don’t need speakin’ of,” he replied, and added something about it being part of his job.

  “I cannot understand how you came to be there,” she said.

  “I caught sight o’ someone sneakin’ up to the house, an’ followed,” Severn explained, and then as Quirt came trotting up and thrust a cold nose into the girl’s hand, he added, “There’s the fella yu gotta thank. If he hadn’t roused me—”

  “Then I ought to be very glad you—bought him,” she said shyly.

  The foreman smiled, and there was a warmth and boyishness utterly foreign to his customary rather stern expression when with her.

  “We both got reason to be glad, I reckon,” he returned whimsically. “This ain’t the first good turn he’s been guilty of.”

  He went on to tell of the rattlesnake incident, and the girl’s gaze widened in horror as she listened.

  “Hideous,” she cried. “The man who could conceive such a thing is not fit to live. Did you find out who it was?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “Mister Ignacio played that prank.”

  Phil’s eyebrows rose, and with a touch of her old manner towards him she said, “Someone told me just lately that he had left the country.”

  “That’s true, but an understatement; as I told yu—he’s dead,” Severn said.

  “But you can’t prove it,” she protested.

  “No,” he agreed gravely. “I can’t prove it, but it’s so.”

  For a moment there was an awkward silence. The foreman knew her suspicions were returning, and the little oasis of kinder feeling produced by the events of the previous night was being engulfed by a desert of doubt. Deliberately he changed the subject.

  “Yu oughtn’t to stay alone in that house,” he remarked.

  “I have Dinah,” she said. “And her husband usually sleeps there, though last night he stayed in his kitchen at the bunkhouse.”

  “I’d let yu have Quirt, but I’m afraid he wouldn’t stay put,” he smiled.

  She was about to reply when she saw his face change; the old Severn was back, the mouth hard and cynical, the eyes cold. She followed their gaze. Bartholomew was dismounting in front of the ranch-house.

  “Again, thank you—and Quirt,” she said, and walked away.

  Chapter X

  THOUGH she had resented the foreman’s suggestion to be accompanied on her rides, Phil soon discovered that the escort added to her enjoyment. On the first morning Larry, rifle across his knees, had loped at a decorous distance behind her, until she smilingly told him to sheathe the weapon and ride by her side. The cowboy needed no second invitation. These excursions were the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him, and his glance, whenever it dared to rest upon her, was full of adoration. The trim figure, poised so buoyantly in the saddle, the proud little head, and the firm but wilful lips had got him, in his own phraseology, “thrown an’ tied”. And she—well, she liked his merry eyes, his boyishness and the shyness which she could dissipate with a smile. It was youth calling to youth.

  He did not talk much of himself, but by questioning she learned that he had “no folks” and had been “in cattle” since he was big enough to “straddle a hoss”. Also that he had “drifted a bit”, which, on investigation, turned out to mean that he had travelled and -worked-Over several thousand miles of the country. It amused her to note that when they got down to rest or admire a view he always took his rifle from its scabbard.

  “I don’t believe there is any danger,” she said, when the third ride had passed without incident. “I should be quite safe alone and it is a waste of your time.”

  “Do yu want that I shouldn’t come?” he asked.

  The warmth in his tone and gaze sent the hot blood to her cheeks and she was conscious of a thrill of pleasure. She was considering how best to put this daring young man in his place when he leaned forward and grabbed the bridle of her horse. Instantly she saw why. Round a curve in the gully, less than a mile away, six horsemen had trotted. They had white blotches where their faces should have been, and at the sight of the girl and her companion they quickened their pace.

  “The White Masks,” Phil gasped.

  “Looks like,” Larry agreed. “Mebbe they don’t want us, but I ain’t takin’ chances. We gotta punch the breeze.”

  Whirling their horses, they headed for the ranch at full speed. A savage whoop came from behind and, turning, Larry saw that the unknown riders were spurring hard in pursuit. For a while the fugitives held their own, and then it became evident that the pursuers were gaining, slowly but surely.

  “We’ll never make it—they got better horses,” the cowboy concluded, but he kept it to himself.

  Side by side they raced on, the wiry little cow-ponies at full stretch, willing to run till they dropped; the girl rode magnificently, as though part of the animal beneath her and coaxing every foot of speed out of it. Larry looked back and stifled a curse when he saw that the pursuers had gained. Then a bullet whined past and they heard the crash of the report.

  He had no doubt it was the girl they wanted. Another shot ” came, his horse stumbled, and the cowboy jumped clear just as the animal pitched headlong, quivered and lay still. The girl pulled up with a cry of dismay.

  “Go ahead—ride for the ranch,” he cried. “I can hold ‘em for a piece.”

  “But they’ll get you, Larry,” she protested. “Jump up behind me.”

  “We couldn’t make it ridin’ double; they don’t want me—it’s yu they’re after,” he urged. “Ride like hell for the boys. Tell Severn I did my best.”

  “I’ll remember, Larry—I’ll always remember,” she said softly, and he saw that her eyes were misted.

  Without another word she raced off and the cowboy dragged his rifle from under the saddle and stretched himself behind the dead horse. The bandits had halted and were bunched together about six hundred yards away, but a bullet from Larry which dropped a horse sent them out on a half circle. A couple of shots came in reply but they went wide. To his surprise the men made no effort to follow the fleeing girl. Certainly the two on the extreme right and left began a detour, but they rode slowly and presently vanished. The others remained, standing near the horses, and well out of range.

  “Goin’ to sneak up on me from the back,” Larry surmised. He looked and saw that there was a ridge behind him which would make the manoeuvre a simple one. “Wish I had a hoss.”

  But it was no use wishing, so he rolled a cigarette, lighted it and lay smoking, waiting philosophically for the next move in the game. Half an hour passed and then from the ridge behind came a gruff command :

  “Drop that gun, shuck off yore belt, an’ elevate yore paws; two of us has got yu covered.”

  Larry stood up, leaving his rifle on the ground, unbuckled his belt and let it fall, but instead of putting up his hands he used them to make another smoke.

  “Come ahead,” he said coolly.

  Two masked men rose up from the brow of the ridge and stalked down upon him, rifles ready for the least movement.

  “I told yu to put yore hands up,” growled the one who had spoken before.

  “I forgot, an’ I’m keepin’ on forgettin’,” laughed the prisoner. “What yu goin’ to do about it?”

  The man snarled out an oath, scooped up the rifle and belt, and sent his companion for their horses. At the same moment the other four came galloping up, two of them using the same mount. One, who appeared to be the leader, jumped down and, producing a piece of paper from his pocket, fixed it in a cleft stick and jammed it into the ground. Larry watched’ this proceeding amazedly.

  “If yo’re erectin’ a eppytaph to the hoss his name’s ‘Bouncer’,” he volunteered.

  “Tie him on a hoss—two o’ yu’ll have to ‘de double,” was the only response.

  So Larry, astride one of the bandit horses, his legs roped beneath i
ts belly, found himself heading for the Pinnacles, ignorant of the fate in store for. But he was not unduly downcast; Phil’s last words, ane fact that she was safe, were

  a sufficient compensation.

  The arrival of the girl at the ranch, riding a spent and lathered pony, brought the foreman and those of the outfit there running. In a few words she told what had happened. Severn wasted no time.

  “Hosses an’ guns,” he ordered.

  “One for me, Darby,” Phil added.

  The foreman looked at her. “I doubt if yo’re fit—” he began.

  “I’m going,” she told him. “It was for me—” She broke off and turned away.

  Severn made no further objection, and in a few moments he, six men and the girl set out for the scene of the attack. They rode in grim silence, the only sound the jingle of spur or bit and the creak of saddle leather. Not until Phil warned them they were nearing the spot did they slacken pace. Presently Severn called a halt, just short of a ridge the girl remembered crossing directly she left the cowboy.

  “Stay here, boys,” he said. “They may be waitin’ for us, an’ there’s no sense in our buttin’ into an ambush.”

  He rode forward alone, topped the rise and vanished.

  “Black Bart would ‘a’ sent one of us to do that,” the girl heard Darby say, and the other men laughed assent.

  Somehow she felt that it was true, and a spasm of respect for the man who took the risk himself when he need not shot through her. Then came another thought, bred of Bartholomew’s poisoned suggestions : was there any risk to Severn, or was he only playing a part? Her speculations were cut short by the return of the foreman.

  “The hoss is there—what the buzzards have left of it—saddle an’ bridle gone, an’ no sign of Larry barrin’ this paper,” he said. “Here’s what she says :’We got yore man, Severn. If yu want him, be at Skull Canyon to-morrow about noon, an’ fetch along two thousand dollars. If yu ain’t there, or try any tricks, he stretches rope.—THE MASK.’ “

  A cry from Phil, and a chorus of muttered curses from the men greeted the epistle, which was scrawled in pencil on a page apparently torn from an account book, for it was ruled for figures and numbered. The writing, Severn noted, appeared to be the same as on the scrap he had taken from Ignacio’s body. Moodily he gave the word to return, and the girl whirled upon him.

  “Aren’t you going to do anything?” she asked. “Surely you’re not leaving him to die?”

  “There is nothin’ we can do now,” Severn told her. “They’ll have covered their tracks, an’ s’pose we could trail ‘em, we’d on’y run into an ambush; they ain’t overlookin’ that bet.” She stared at him, storm in her eyes.

  “I call it cowardly,” she said. “If you won’t lead the men, I will.”

  Severn did not reply and, looking at the others, she knew that they would not follow her. It was Darby who answered. “The foreman’s right, Miss Phil,” he said. “No good buttin’ yore head agin a rock. S’pose we did find ‘em, an’ it ain’t like lyin that pile o’ up-ended country, they might hang Larry pronto. They got us out on a limb, shore enough.”

  With a glance of contempt which made the men squirm in their saddles, the angry girl swung her horse round on the home trail. She rode in silent disdain, trying to reconcile the smiling face of the boy who had squired her so joyously in the morning with the grim-faced man who had so roughly told her to “ride like hell for the boys”, and who had cheerfully sacrificed, perhaps his life, for her sake.

  When, after a troubled night, she came down on the following morning, she found the foreman waiting to see her. Handing her a roll of bills, he said :

  “That’s the money for the herd, less what I’ve paid for expenses; yu had better put it in a safe place.”

  “Why are you giving it to me?” she asked.

  “Yu are forgettin’ that I’ve got an engagement,” he pointed out.

  “You are going to Skull Canyon?” she cried. “But then you will want the money.”

  “Of course I’m goin’, but I’m not takin’ any cash,” he said. “I ain’t a kid.”

  “But what do you intend to do?”

  “I dunno; I’ll have to see what cards I get before I an play ‘em.”

  His tone was light, and there was even a quirk of amusement in the corners of his eyes. Yet he was taking a desperate chance. But was he? Despite her better feelings the old suspicion recurred.

  “Perhaps it isn’t so dangerous after all,” she said coldly. “You may have friends there.”

  For a single instant the man lost his iron control and she quailed before the savage anger in his eyes.

  “Listen to me, girl,” he said. “God Almighty placed a pretty head on yore shoulders an’ it seems impossible that He shouldn’t have put some brains in it. Use them.”

  Without another word he strode from the room, sprang into the saddle of his waiting horse, and rode off. The girl, aghast at the sudden spate of passion she had aroused, saw him wave a farewell to the watching outfit and vanish. Then she dropped into the nearest chair and stared with hard, unseeing eyes, at the wall. She had encountered a novel experience and she did not like it. Men in anger she had often seen enough, but never had that anger been directed at her. Little demons of doubt pursued her all day; she found herself watching the northern trail anxiously, and knew she was looking for Larry.

  Chapter XI

  BY the time he had covered a mile Severn had recovered his customary calm, and was taking himself to task for having lost it.

  He had told the truth when he admitted that he did not know how the rescue of the prisoner was to be effected; he had made no plans. He figured that the bandits did not want Larry, and the fact that he had been named as the bringer of the ransom made him pretty certain that he was the one they wished to lay hands on; it was a trap and the cowboy was the bait. He smiled grimly; he was willing to be caught.

  “What with the girl, Bart, an’ these fly-by-nights, I’m ‘bout as welcome as a wet dawg in this neck o’ the woods,” he soliloquized.

  It was nearing noon when he reached the entrance to Skull Canyon, pulled up and sat waiting, a smile of contempt on his lips. He would not have been surprised to see a spurt of flame from the brush and to feel hot lead tearing through his body, but instead, a hidden voice hailed him.

  “Drop yore belt an’ rifle an’ put up yore hands, Severn; we got yu dead to rights.”

  The foreman obeyed the order, and a masked man, leading his horse, emerged from a clump of undergrowth twenty yards away. Picking up the discarded weapons he climbed into his saddle and said gruffly :

  “Foller my tracks, an’ if you feel like makin’ a break, just remember there’s a coupla chaps behind yu with orders to shoot.”

  “I didn’t come here to play the fool,” Severn said acidly. “Where yu takin’ me?”

  “Wait an’ see,” was the laconic answer.

  “The wisdom o’ the ages in three words,” commented the captive lightly.

  The guide only grunted and led the way through a thicket of spruce and aspen to the right of the canyon, after which they plunged into some of the wildest country Severn had ever seen. The trail, a mere pathway, had been little used, and the prisoner guessed that this was not the direct route to the robbers’ roost.

  Throughout the journey they had been gradually climbing, and presently they reached the lower slopes of the mountains and rode amidst the serried ranks of a pine forest. The air was cooler, for the sunlight only penetrated the thick foliage overhead in shafts; on the soft carpet of pine needles the hoofs of the horses made no sound. Glancing back, Severn saw two masked riders, rifles in readiness across their knees. Evidently they had closed up, for although he had heard, this was the first time he had caught sight of them. Gradually the trees grew scantier and more stunted until presently they left the pine-belt behind and headed along the side of the rnountain. Above them loomed one of the giant teeth of the Pinnacles, towering in solemn majesty.
A long, slight descent brought them to the edge of a cup-like depression in the side of the range. It was perhaps a mile in length and half as wide, and the whole expanse, save the rock-rimmed, brush-cluttered walls, was covered with luxuriant grass. In the centre was a small lake, fed by numerous streamlets from the heights above. Cattle and horses were dotted about, grazing.

  At first sight there appeared to be no entrance to the valley, but the guide did not hesitate. Sliding his horse down a sharp incline, he circled some bushes, and came to where a break in the rock formation afforded a natural gateway. Passing through this they came to a rude corral.

  “Turn yore hoss in there, we gotta walk some,” the captor commanded, setting the example himself.

  Severn complied, and then followed the other up a narrow, stony path which climbed up and along the steep face of the mountain. At a height of about a hundred feet above the floor of the valley the path broadened out into a ledge, and here were several openings in the rock face. Severn knew it for an old Hopi Indian haunt, and smiled sarcastically at the thought that the present inhabitants were probably considerably more savage than the first of the cave-dwellers. Several of the caves had rude doors fitted, and into one of these the prisoner was directed.

  “Stay there till yo’re wanted,” his captor said. “Hungry?”

  “Well, breakfast shore seems a long time back,” the Lazy M man replied, and then, fishing out a five-dollar bill, “D’yu reckon yu could find a bottle o’ whisky? I’m feelin’ sorta shaky.”

  “Dutch courage, eh?” chuckled the other. “See what I can do.”

  He went away, padlocking the door first, and presently returned with meat, bread and a flask of spirit.

  “Go light on that hooch,” he warned. “It’s wuss’n dynamite if yu ain’t used to it.”

  Severn nodded; he knew the stuff. When the man had gone he examined his place of confinement. It was a mere hole in the rock, entirely dependent for light and air upon the filtrations through the ill-fitting door. He made his meal, took a mouthful of spirit and spat it out, poured two-thirds of the remainder on the ground and placed the bottle beside him.