Sudden The Marshal of Lawless (1933) s-8

by Oliver Strange

  "If yu was a turkey I'd say he was fattenin' yu up for the killin'," the deputy said. "Looks like Andy has made it this time."

  The marshal nodded. "Jevons was at the Red Ace last night," he said. "An' his boss didn't seem none pleased 'bout somethin'."

  Green's guess was a good one. The 88 foreman had come on an unpleasant errand--the admission of his own failure, and that this was due to wrong information supplied by his employer, though it would have excused him with most men, did not do so with Raven.

  "Well, how many d'yu get?" was his opening question, as the foreman entered the private room.

  "Not a hoof," Jevons replied. "Whoever told yu they aimed to bed down in The Pocket got it wrong."

  The half-breed gritted out an oath as he remembered where he got the information. Always, by accident or design,, the marshal hampered him.

  "Green again, blast him," he muttered. "He's allus in the way."

  "Put him outa business," the foreman suggested callously.

  "Tell me how," snapped the other. "Yu can't--he's got yu all buffaloed."

  Jevons was silent for a while, and when he did speak his remark seemed to be irrelevant: " 'Split' Adam is at the 88," he said.

  Raven reflected. "Think he'd tackle it?" he asked.

  " 'Split' is mighty near sellin' his saddle," Jevons told him. "Five hundred dollars would listen good to him about now."

  Since a saddle is the last thing a Western rider parts with the saloon-keeper knew that Adam must be at desperation point.

  "Send him in," he said shortly.

  Hard-looking strangers attracted little attention in Lawless, unless they invited it by their actions, and this Mister Adam was careful to avoid. In fact, he arrived after dark, pushed his bronc furtively into the Red Ace corral, himself into that place of entertainment by the side door, and so into the owner's private sanctum. Raven nodded towards a chair, shoved forward a box of cigars, and silently studied his visitor. Adam had small pretensions to beauty. On the wrong side of forty, he was thin--even weedy--in build. He had a long, narrow face, emphasized by a ginger goatee beard and a stringy, drooping moustache, and a sneer appeared to be his natural expression. His small eyes, cold, expressionless, were like polished stone. Two guns, the holsters tied down, hung low on his lips. He endured the other man's scrutiny for a moment or two, and then, in a harsh, rasping voice, he said:

  "Jevons allowed vu wanted to see me. Well, yu done it, an' if that's all I'll be on my way."

  The truculent, bullying tone did not appear to affect Raven. "How many men have yu killed, Mister Adam?" he asked. "There's a fella in this town we could git along without, but he won't take a hint."

  The sneering question was plain in the other's eyes.

  "Yeah. Natural for yu to think that, Mister Adam," Raven went on, "but I'm not a gun-fighter--don't even tote one. My weapons are brains and--dollars."

  The killer smiled wolfishly. "How many--dollars?" he asked.

  "Five hundred," Raven replied. "The fella happens to be the marshal too, so if he--left us--there'd be a vacancy."

  "I'll go yu," Adam said. "I can use that mazuma, an' I've allus thought a star would look about right on me."

  "Yu gotta earn 'em first," the other warned. "The chap ain't no pilgrim, an' yu'll need to play yore cards close. He calls hisself Green, but yu can risk a stack it don't describe him."

  "I ain't exactly a beginner my own self," the gunman replied. "Nothin' will happen to-night--don't want it to look like I come in a-purpose--but I'll be takin' his measure. O' course, yu won't know me from--Adam."

  He laughed hoarsely at his little joke, nodded to his host, and departed, again using the side door. Some time later he oozed into the Red Ace, posted himself at the bar, and called for the customary drink. Beyond a casual glance, no one took any notice of him, but his own eyes were busy. Presently Pete drifted in, and when he caught sight of the deputy's badge, Adam looked at Raven, who was playing cards at a nearby table. The saloon-keeper shook his head slightly.

  When Green eventually made his appearance, Adam got from Raven the sign he was waiting for, and his cold gaze watched the marshal incessantly. He noted the tall, limber frame, the easy play of the muscles when their owner moved, and the youthfulness. But the little smile which crinkled the corners of the firm mouth and softened the square jaw misled him.

  "Kinda young for his job an' liable to take chances," he reflected sneeringly. He turned to the bartender. "Ever heard o' Split Adam?" he asked loudly.

  "Yeah, but I never seen him," Jude replied.

  "Yu have now," came the answer. "Yessir, I'm that eedentical fella. Know how I got that label?"

  The barkeep did not, and shook his head.

  " 'Cause I c'n split a bullet on a knife edge at twelve paces," boasted the killer, and with an aggressive look at Green. "That's shootin', Mister Marshal."

  "Shore is," the officer agreed mildly. "But if the knife-edge was bustlin' bullets in yore direction at the time it might make a difference."

  "There's quite a few who found it didn't," Adam sneered.

  "I'll have to take yore word for that, seh," the marshal replied. "I reckon theirs ain't available."

  He turned away, ending the discussion, and the gunman's gaze followed him with malignant triumph. He did not want to clash yet; he was merely trying out his man. The marshal left the saloon early, and when Pete followed some time later he found him cleaning and oiling his revolvers.

  "Know anythin' 'bout that hombre Adam?" asked the deputy casually.

  "Heard of him," Green replied. "He's bad, all right--one o' the gunmen yu can hire. There's towns in Texas where they'd jerk him on the way to Paradise with considerable enthusiasm."

  "He's after yu," Pete said.

  The marshal grinned. "Ain't yu the cute little observer," he bantered, and then, "Yeah, I sort suspicioned it m'self, an' I'm wonderin'--who's payin'?"

  "Well, seein' he's a buzzard I'd say it was a case of 'birds of a feather,' " the deputy opined. "I'm a-goin' to be yore shadder tomorrow."

  To this decision he adhered; wherever the marshal went Pete was, unobtrusively, close at hand. It was about noon when the pair of them entered the Red Ace. Adam was there, talking and drinking with several of the toughest inhabitants. Raven was leaning against the far end of the bar, and the attendance was bigger than usual. Immediately the marshal entered all eyes turned upon him, and he guessed that the killer had been talking. With an evil look that advertised his intention to force a quarrel, Adam stepped towards his quarry.

  "Marshal, yu ain't lookin' too good--kinda peaky 'bout the gills," he began. "I reckon this part o' the country don't suit yu."

  The grating tones carried a plain threat, and the room waited in utter silence for the officer's reply to the challenge. The marshal sipped the drink he had ordered, noting grimly that men in his vicinity were edging away from him. Putting down his glass, he commenced to roll a cigarette.

  "Yu think I'd better be goin'?" he asked in mild surprise.

  "Don't be funny with me, fella," he warned. "I let yu git away with it las' night, but that don't happen twice. Savvy?"

  Hands hanging over his gun-butts, teeth bared like a snarling dog's, he thrust his face within a few inches of his intended victim's, his narrowed eyes flaming with the lust to kill. The marshal straightened up and stepped back a pace, throwing his weight on his right foot.

  "Mister Adam," he said quietly. "I don't like rubbin' noses with a rattlesnake. That face o' yores may look mighty near human two miles off, but at two inches it's an outrage. I'm movin' it."

  With the words his right fist came up, and as the arm shot out, landed with terrific force on the out-thrust jaw of the killer. Driven home with all the power of perfect muscles, backed up by the forward fling of the body, the blow lifted the fellow from his feet and hurled him full length on the floor. He was still conscious, for Green's fist had just missed the point of the jaw, but he could not rise. Lying there, glaring his hatred,
he poured out a stream of abuse, and clawed feebly for his gun. "I guess I wouldn't," the marshal warned, his hand on his own weapon. "Fade."

  The ruffian scrambled to his feet, a fury of passion shaking him.

  Staggering blindly like a drunken man, Adam went out, and the victor turned to face the advice and expostulations of his friends.

  "Yu did oughta drilled him, marshal," Durley put in. "He shore asked for it."

  "Oh, I reckon he'll drift," Green said.

  "Drift nothin'--he'll hang around an' shoot yu from cover," Loder contributed. "Better leave here by the back door."

  The marshal shook his head. He had noticed Raven's departure immediately after the killer's downfall, and was wondering whether his expression denoted contempt or disappointed anger. When the excitement had died down a little several of the spectators left the saloon, and one of them thrust the door open again to say there was no sign of Adam.

  "Two-three of us'll come out with yu," Pete suggested. "No, I'll play her a lone hand," the marshal said firmly. Bunched together, the men went out into the sunshine, but halted a little way along the street. Evidently the news had spread, for there were other groups and heads protruded from windows and doors. Three tense minutes loitered past, and then the swing-door of the saloon was thrown back and the marshal stepped out. At the same instant a gun roared from the corner of a log building opposite and the onlookers saw Green pitch sideways, to lie prone on the footpath, his right arm outflung and his left bent across his hip. With a cackle of malignant triumph, Adam emerged from his shelter, both guns poised.

  "Well, gents, I reckon I've sent yore marshal to hell. Any o' yu got notions?"

  Muttered curses were the only response to his bravado. Pete, filled with a bitter rage, looked at the prostrate form of his friend and wondered if his eyes were playing tricks. Surely that left hand was moving, nearer and nearer to the holster. A moment later he knew, for the gun was out and spouting flame. The amazed spectators saw the killer crumple up and collapse in the dust, and by the time they reached the marshal, he was on his feet again. They found him untouched.

  "Shore thought he'd got yu," Durley said. "How'd he come to miss?"

  "I fell before he fired," Green explained. "I guessed he'd hide an' lay for me. Had to make him show hisself. Well, he had his chance."

  "Why yu give him any has got me guessin'," the deputy grumbled.

  Later on, in the privacy of their own shack, Green enlightened him. "Yu see, Pete," he argued. "Yu don't blame a gun for killin', yu blame the fella who pulls the trigger. This Adam jasper was just a gun, an' though I'm holdin' he warn't fit to go on livin', it's the man who used him who oughta be lyin' out there."

  "Mebbe yo're right," the deputy conceded. "I'm just .is pleased things worked out as they did. Chewin' over these here fine distinctions'll end one day in yore bein' described as 'the late lamented.'"

  CHAPTER XVIII

  During the next few days Green, in accordance with his resolution, made discreet enquiries regarding Potter. The result was meagre. Residing in a room at the back of his premises, he had remained an Easterner in speech and habits, taking no part in the activities of the town other than his business demanded. So that it was a surprise to the marshal, sitting alone in his office one evening, when the banker opened the door and slipped quietly in.

  "Evening, marshal," he said. "Am I disturbing you?" Green assured him that he was not and invited him to take a seat. He noticed that the visitor selected a position where he could not be seen from the window, and that his hands were trembling.

  "Marshal," he began, "I hope you will not be offended, but I've been studying you rather closely since you came here and I've decided that you are to be trusted. Believing that, I am going to depend on you in a matter of the greatest importance to me." He drew out a long, sealed envelope. "I want you to take charge of this, hide it, and give me your word that it shall not be opened until the breath is out of my body. It is of no interest to any save one man, and he would sell his soul to destroy it. Should he learn it is in your possession he would slay you without hesitation, and--the contents of that envelope are my death-warrant also. I felt it only fair to tell you this, marshal, although it may mean refusal."

  His voice shook on the last few words, and there was eagerness in his eyes as he awaited the other's decision.

  "I ain't refusin', Mr. Potter," Green said. "I'll take yore envelope, an' no one shall see or hear of it again till yu are beyond human hurt. That's what yu want, ain't it?" The banker nodded, a look of relief on his face. The marshal hesitated for a moment and then added, "Yu got any reason to think yu are in danger?"

  "I can't tell you another word, marshal," the banker replied, as he rose and held out his hand. "I am deeply obliged to you."

  After the visitor had gone Green looked at the envelope, but it was a plain one and told him nothing. That the maker of this strange request was in deadly fear was very evident, but why? With a shrug of his shoulders he set about the task of concealing the envelope. Wrapped in a piece of an old slicker, he buried it beneath his bed, stamping the earth flat again to remove any signs of disturbance.

  "If what Potter says is right it'll be like sleepin' over a keg o' giant powder," he reflected grimly. "Well, I reckon that won't ruin my rest anyways."

  * * *

  Andy Bordene rode into Lawless with a light heart and let out a whoop of delight when he saw the marshal and his deputy talking to Raven just outside the bank. Leaping down, he greeted the officers joyously, but his manner towards the saloonkeeper was more distant.

  "'Lo, Andy, so yu fetched 'em through this time?" Green said.

  "Yu betcha--no trouble a-tall," the young man replied. "An' I sold well too; I got over thirty thousand in my clothes an' I'm a-goin' to talk turkey to Potter an' get my ranch back right now."

  "Good for yu," the marshal said. "No time like--hell! here comes a gent in a hurry."

  At the eastern end of the street, a buckboard, drawn by two wild-eyed, maddened ponies rocketed into view. The driver, a short and very fat man, was urging his team both with tongue and whip to greater efforts, despite the fact that nearly every jolt of the swaying, lurching vehicle threated to fling him into the rutty road. Andy needed only one look.

  "I'm an Injun if it ain't Reub Sarel," he explained. "What's broke loose now?"

  With a string of expletives which would have aroused the envy of even a talented mule-skinner the driver of the buck-board flung his weight on the lines and dragged the ponies to a standstill by main force. His appearance bore testimony to the urgency of his errand. Coatless, hatless, shirt torn open at the throat, his fleshy face grimed with dust and sweat, he was hardly to be recognized as the indolent manager of the Double S. Flinging down reins and whip, he fell rather than stepped out of the conveyance, gulped once, and then said huskily:

  "Marshal, they got Tonia. She went for a ride yestiddy an' didn't come home. I sent the boys out to comb the country, an' this mornin' early they found her hoss--shot. There warn't no sign of her. I left the boys searchin' an' come for help. I'm guessin' that damned Greaser has nabbed her."

  "By God! if Moraga has dared to lay a finger on her I'll tear him in strips," Andy swore. "Guns an' hosses, marshal; we'll get that coyote if we have to foller him clear across Mexico."

  Green was watching Raven. At the first mention of the Mexican the man's sallow face had gone paler and his little black eyes had gleamed with sudden anger. Now he turned to the officer and spoke, his voice charged with venom:

  "If it's Moraga, get him, marshal," he rasped. "Spare no effort or expense. I'd come with yu, but I'm no good with a gun, I'd only be a hindrance. Kill the dirty cur. Bring the girl back an' yu can name yore own reward. Sabe?"

  There was no mistaking his sincerity. For some reason which the marshal could not fathom the disappearance of Tonia had stirred unsuspected depths in the saloon-keeper.

  "We'll find her," Green said, and turned to Bordene. "Better hurry up yore b
usiness with Potter."

  "That must wait," the rancher replied. "I'll leave the coin with him an' settle when I come back. Tonia--"

  He broke off and darted into the bank. The marshal saw the half-breed's narrowed eyes regarding him curiously as he went. Stark hatred, cunning, and desperate design might all have been read in that look had Green possessed the key. But he was too concerned with the business in hand to give it more than a passing thought.

  No time was wasted. Andy, having deposited his money, set out at once for the Box B to collect some of his riders. They were to meet at the Double S, for which ranch the marshal, Pete, and the Indian started soon after. Green had declined to take men from the town.

  "It's the job o' them two ranchers, an' I reckon they can handle it," he pointed out. "We don't want no army."

  Seth Raven had a last word. "What I said goes, Green," he reminded. "An' don't make no mistake this time. If yu don't wanta kill the damn yellow thief yoreself, let yore Injun do it."

  "We'll get him," the officer promised, inwardly marvelling at the vindictive emphasis on the last words.

  They were met at the Double S by a tall, thin, middle-aged cowboy who had just ridden in from the other direction. This was Renton, the foreman, and his frowning, worried features lighted up when he saw them.

  "Durn glad yu've come, marshal," he said, and his tone showed relief. "Thisyer business has shore got me bothered. Grub's 'bout ready; we can talk as we eat."

  He had little more to tell them, save that his riders were still searching the range in all directions. "But that ain't no good," he admitted. "My hunch is she's been carried off, an' our on'y play is to foller, if we can strike an' keep the trail."

  A hail from outside proclaimed the arrival of the Box B contingent, which consisted of Bordene, Rusty, and two other riders.