The Judge looked at him steadily. “Bartholomew, some day I shall sentence you to be hanged,” he said.
The quiet conviction in the speaker’s voice robbed the words of any semblance of threat, and, despite his hardihood, the rancher was conscious of a momentary chill; the only effect on his calloused nature was to make him more angry.
“I hold the cards, yu old mule,” he said harshly. “I can keep yu here till yu rot.” A sudden thought came to him. “Do yu realise what it will mean to the girl if yu don’t marry us?”
“Yes,” said Embley scornfully. “She will escape a life of misery and degradation.”
Bartholomew laughed. “Wrong—that’s just what she’ll get, for I’ll let the White Masks have her,” he jeered.
The Judge looked at him with loathing.
“If anything were needed to clinch my decision, you’ve said it,” he replied slowly. “Such a thing as you is complete justification for men like Sudden; they do for the community what the surgeon does for the human body—cut away poisonous growths.”
Hardened as he was, the bitter contempt in the old man’s voice seared the rancher like one of his own branding irons. Purple with passion, he struck savagely, hurling his victim against the wall of the cabin, limp, his knees sagging, and the blood trickling down from his cut cheek.
“That’s on’y a sample o’ what yo’re askin’ for,” he sneered. “Toe the line, Embley, or I’ll fix things so that hell will be a welcome change to yu.”
He went out, slamming and locking the door, leaving, though he did not know it, a well-nigh despairing prisoner. Embley had kept up a bold front and had no intention of giving in, but he could see no gleam of hope. Bartholomew was playing for a big stake, and he well knew the desperate character of the man. With Masters dead, Severn in custody, and the girl also in the hands of the bandits, the Bar B owner did indeed, as he had boasted, hold all the cards.
Chapter XVIII
THE Lazy M outfit was not in its customary happy frame of mind, for it was suffering from a sense of failure. A crushing blow had been administered to the bandits, but the chief object of the expedition had not been accomplished. The most disgruntled member was the man who had not been able to go. Larry, on his feet again but with one arm in a sling, had made the foreman’s life a burden for the first twenty-four hours after the men returned.
“I tell yu we done all we could,” Severn told him for about the fiftieth time. “No, I ain’t goin’ there; I gotta ride to Hope, though I’m admittin’ there ain’t much difference, an’ I don’t want no lovesick cripples with me neither.”
With which frank expression of his sentiments the foreman escaped, got his horse, and rode into town. It was early afternoon when he arrived and the street was empty. The sun was blazing overhead, and he was indulging in pleasant anticipation of a cooling drink at Bent’s when he noticed that the bank was open again. Jumping down, he trailed the reins of his pony and walked in. The banker was there, looking weak and ill. He greeted Severn with a dubious sort of smile.
“Glad to see yu back, Mr. Rapson,” said the foreman. “Set-tin’ up yore game again, eh?”
“Yes, I am having another try,” the banker said. “Folks here have been kind—they ain’t blaming me. Mr. Bartholomew, for example, he paid in five thousand the day before the robbery and, rightly speaking, I owe him the money, but he won’t claim —says he’ll take his chance of the cash being recovered; others have followed his lead.”
“Why, that’s mighty generous,” Severn allowed. “An’ mighty clever,” he added under his breath. They talked on different topics for a moment or two, and then Severn said, “I was wonderin’ if yu’d mind breakin’ these up for me. I got some small payments to make.”
He produced four one-hundred-dollar bills and pushed them across the counter. Rapson glanced at them and shot a suspicious look at the unconscious cowman. His fingers were trembling as he picked up the notes.
“Certainly, Mr. Severn,” he said huskily. “You don’t mind if I send my clerk out on an errand first, do you?”
“No hurry,” the foreman assured him and rolled a cigarette while the banker consulted a ledger and gave his assistant whispered instructions. When the youth had departed Rapson began to slowly count out smaller notes.
“Nervous as a cat,” the customer reflected as he noted the way the man watched the door, and his shaking hands checking and re-checking the little pile of paper. “Well, yu can’t wonder.” Aloud he said : “Yu got any hope o’ tracin’ the stolen money?”
“I didn’t have much until to-day, but I think now there’s a chance,” Rapson replied.
He spoke louder and much of his nervousness seemed to have vanished. Hearing footsteps, Severn turned and saw that the sheriff, with his two deputies, had entered the bank. Behind them, framed in the doorway, were several citizens, and others were arriving every moment. He scented trouble. All three officials had their hands in close proximity to their guns, and the expression of malignant triumph on the sheriff’s features was as plain as print. Twisting half round, so that he faced them, the foreman leaned against the counter, thumbs resting in his belt, and grinned genially.
“Step right up, sheriff, my business is about through,” he said.
The officer eyed him malevolently. “Yore business ain’t begun,” he snarled. “Where’d yu git them notes yu just cashed?”
“Well, I dunno as it’s any concern o’ yores, but I got ‘em here,” Severn drawled. “Them notes are part o’ the sum I drew out o’ the bank the mornin’ it was raided. Ain’t that so, Rapson?”
The banker shook his head. “Those four notes you handed me just now were part of the stolen money,” he stated.
Severn stared at the man in blank amazement; then his eyes chilled, and in a low, even tone, he said :
“I’m supposin’ yu’ve made a mistake, seh.”
The banker sensed the menace, but, though his face was deathly white and his lips trembled, he answered without hesitation.
“There can be no mistake. Here is a list of the numbers of the larger notes taken and I gave the sheriff a copy of it after the robbery. You can see for yourself.”
He held out the list and the notes. Severn compared them and nodded; the numbers of the notes he had cashed were undoubtedly there. The banker flapped open a book, took a slip of paper and wrote rapidly. When he had finished he passed over the slip.
“There are the numbers of the notes I paid you,” he said.
The foreman studied the list and knitted his brows in an effort to solve the mystery. How it had come about was more than he could fathom, but he recognised that the evidence was conclusive and that he was in a very tight corner. Slipping the list into his vest pocket he laughed and looked at Tyler.
‘Well, I dunno how yu did it, sheriff, but it shore looks a neat frame-up,” Severn said. “I s’pose yo’re goin’ to charge me with helpin’ to loot the bank?”
“Yu betcha—’mong other things. The shootin’ o’ Rapson for one,” snapped the officer.
Severn’s features expressed concern. “My gracious, did I shoot yu, Rapson? I’m right sorry.”
“An’ the murder o’ Philip Masters,” the sheriff added crushingly.
But the accused declined to be crushed; he only laughed. “Yore memory ain’t what it oughta be, Tyler,” he quizzed. “Yu’ve forgotten to put in the assassination o’ President Lincoln.”
Furious with rage at the laugh which this raised, Tyler started to pull his gun, remembered that this man had easily beaten Bart to the draw, and thought better of it. But his movement did not pass unnoticed.
“If yo’re wantin’ a pack o’ cards I’ll get ‘em, Hen,” came a sarcastic voice from behind.
The badgered officer darted an angry glance in the direction of the speaker. “I can do without a pack o’ fools anyway,” he snorted, and, turning to his two men, he added, “Take his guns. Neither of the deputies betrayed any great eagerness for the task and the puncher
smiled.
“Better go slow, sheriff,” he warned. “I’m a peaceable man up to a point, an’ I got every respect for the law—for the law, I said, sheriff, not for the pin-eyed parasites who sometimes misrepresent it—but I don’t like bein’ rushed.”
“Huh! if I say the word, we can blow yu apart,” the officer blustered.
Severn did not seem to change his lolling attitude, yet with a motion that baffled the sight his guns were out levelled from the hips.
“Give yore orders, Tyler—to the undertaker,” he mocked.
The blood fled from the sheriff’s face and the crowd surged back towards the door, as eager to get out as it had been to enter; the bank had not been built for gun-fights. The man with the drop watched with saturnine amusement.
“No need for panic, gents,” he said. “The sheriff an’ his deppities will elevate their paws an’ hear what I’ve to say.” The command was obeyed without hesitation.
“Yo’re resistin’ arrest—that constitutes another charge,” Tyler protested.
“Well, yu can’t hang me but once, which is a consolation when yu come to think of it,” the puncher grinned. “An’ I ain’t resistin’ anyways, but I gotta little matter to arrange before I accept yore kind invite, sheriff. Yu see, there’s no one in charge at the Lazy M an’ the boys are liable to paint for war when they hear about this. I want someone to take ‘em word from me that they ain’t to sit in, an’ Judge Embley, at Desert Edge, has to be told; he’ll know what to do.”
There was a movement near the door and Snap Lunt pushed his way unceremoniously through the onlookers. His face betrayed no recognition of the Lazy M foreman.
“I’ll take them messages, Mister,” he offered. “I was agoin’ to Desert Edge anyhow.”
“I’m certainly obliged to yu,” Severn said gravely.
“Here, I reckon I got a word to say ‘bout this,” the sheriff interposed.
Lunt looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Yu claimin’ to interfere with my movements?” he asked acidly.
Tyler had nothing to say to this challenge and with a gesture of contempt the little gunman headed for the door. He had almost reached it when a foot scraped. Instantly Snap was facing the sheriff, with both guns out and venom in his slitted eyes. A few seconds of blood-chilling silence and then Snap realised that no sinister move was intended; his leathery features wrinkled into a hard grin.
“Sorry folks,” he apologised. “My nerves ain’t just right these days.”
After he had backed through the door and vanished the sheriff gave vent to an audible sigh of relief. One of the deputies expressed the general feeling.
“He oughta get them nerves seen to,” he said.
“He’ll find thisyer town too hot if he comes any more o’ them capers,” Tyler growled, his courage returning when the danger was over. “Now, Severn, what’s the word?”
The cowpuncher unbuckled his gun-belt and held it out. “Havin’ made my arrangements I’m entirely at yore service, sheriff,” he mocked. “Yu got the wrong man, but a trifle like that won’t worry yu, I’m shore.”
The officer did not reply to the insult; this tame surrender of a man he regarded as desperate and dangerous made him uneasy.
Chapter XIX
HOPE AGAIN not being sufficiently civilised to boast of a regular gaol, offenders against the law had to be content with a cell, specially constructed for the purpose at the back of the sheriff’s quarters. The walls were of ‘dobe, two feet thick with a core of stout logs, light and ventilation being provided by an unglazed opening a foot square defended by a strong iron bar. This last must have been added for effect, since only a small child could have passed through the aperture. The door was massive, and secured by a heavy lock. A round hole in the upper part enabled the inmate of the cell to be spied upon. A pallet bed and a bench comprised the furniture.
Severn, having noted these details, rolled a cigarette as well as his bound wrists permitted, lighted it, and gave himself up to meditation.
“I’ll begin to believe I did rob the durn bank presently,” he muttered.
Painstakingly he turned the matter over in his mind, seeking for some clue that might provide an explanation, and suddenly it came to him. When the bandits had raided the Lazy M and stolen the girl, the money had not been taken, though it was in a place where the most casual search must have unearthed it. At the time it had struck him as curious that such men should forego an opportunity for plunder.
“They rung the changes on me,” he soliloquised. “Took my notes an’ left stolen ones in their place. But why? Shadwell might a’done it outa spite, but he warn’t the sort o’ man to pass up most of two thousand plunks, an’ it wouldn’t be his way o’ evenin’ up.”
Though he was satisfied that he had solved the mystery of how the stolen money had come into his possession, he could see no way of proving it, and as many of the inhabitants of Hope had suffered by the bank robbery, he knew his chances of clearing himself were slim indeed. So far as the murder charge was concerned he did not give that much thought, regarding it as mainly a bluff on the part of Tyler. Nevertheless, he did not propose to remain idle; there was a certain evidence he hoped to be able to hand to Embley.
“I gotta get outa this,” he muttered, and began to consider how that might be achieved.
Nothing could be done until his hands were free, and he strained at the thongs; they did not yield in the least. Then he tried the knots with his teeth, but the man who had tied them knew his job. An idea occurred to him. Going to the door, he yelled, and immediately one of the deputies appeared.
“What’s yore trouble?” he growled.
“Thirst,” replied the prisoner promptly. “This damned hole is like an oven.”
The man grinned and went away, to return presently with a pail of water and a tin dipper, putting them down just inside the door.
“There yu are, an’ don’t make a beast o’ yoreself,” he said facetiously.
The prisoner did not reply to this pleasantry, but having made sure that the man was not watching him from the spyhole, he took a drink, and kneeling down by the bucket, plunged his bound wrists into the water and kept them there. At the end of half an hour he had the satisfaction of finding the rawhide give a little. Working at the bonds and renewing the soaking at intervals, he succeeded after some hours in stretching them sufficiently to slip them off when he wished.
Darkness was drawing on before he made his next move. Tyler, he surmised, would spend his evening, as usual, at the “Come Again” and the two deputies would be left in charge. As the dusk deepened he again began to shout through the door, and the man who had answered the previous summons showed himself.
“What yu belly-achin’ about now?” he asked.
“Belly-achin’ is right,” Severn snorted. “Don’t yu feed folks in thisyer Bumptious ho-tel?”
“Damme if I didn’t forget about yu,” the man chuckled. “See what I can do.”
“So will I,” murmured the prisoner, and smiled felinely as he slipped his hands free of the bonds.
The deputy returned soon with a hunk of meat and bread. Unlocking the door, he came in, put the provender on the floor and straightened up.
“Ain’t got no cof—” he began.
Before he could finish, Severn leaped forward, his fist shot out and the guard went down under the bitter blow like a poleaxed steer. A few seconds sufficed to tie and gag him.
“Thank the Lord he was totin’ his gun,” murmured the captive, and making sure that it was loaded, slipped it into the band of his pants and buttoned his vest over it.
He listened at the door but heard nothing—the falling body on the earthen floor had made but little noise—and satisfied that all so far was well, he stepped lightly along the passage which led to the street. As he passed the half-open door of the sheriff’s office, a voice called out :
“That yu, Jake? Where yu off to?”
“Back right away,” Severn said gruffly.
&nbs
p; “Huh! Hen’s orders was to stay on the job,” said the other.
“To hell with Hen,” Severn grunted, edging nearer the exit. “He’s stayin’ on it hisself, ain’t he?”
He did not hear the answer, for the street door was in front of him, and in a moment he was outside. Slouching his hat over his eyes, he slid round the corner of the first building he came to and picked his way along the backs of the others. It was darkish now, but there was a moon, and he had to slink quickly from shadow to shadow. Presently he reached the rear of Bent’s saloon, and saw what he had hoped to find—the tethered horse he knew the owner usually kept there. He wondered whether Bent’s friendship had been strong enough to survive the apparently conclusive evidence of his guilt. He believed it would be, but he dared not run the risk of making himself known.
“If he ain’t changed, he won’t mind my borrowin’ the cayuse,” he reasoned. “If he has, well, I ain’t carin’.”
Hauling in the picket-rope, he fashioned a hackamore, and without waiting to search for the saddle, mounted the animal and spurred for the nearest cover in the direction of the Bar B. He had just ridden in among the trees when a confused medley of shouts from the buildings behind informed him that his escape had probably been discovered.
Well aware that the regular trails would be searched, he took care to keep clear of the one to the Bar B, forcing his way through the brush and zigzagging along draws and gullies to avoid showing himself on the skyline. He did not trouble to hide his trail, knowing they could not track him in the night, even with the help of the moon. Beyond a general sense of direction he had nothing to guide him, and presently, without realizing how he had come there, he found himself passing the ruined cabin of the nester Forby. The big cottonwood, with the 4 B brand and the sinister row of notches, looked eerie in the moonbeams. The Lazy M man gave it but a glance, and was about to ride on when a horseman loped out of the trees and pulled up with an oath, only a few yards away. It was Penton, and at the sight of Severn, he snatched out his gun and covered him.
Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) Page 16