Sudden The Marshal of Lawless (1933) s-8

by Oliver Strange

  "C'mon, he can't get far," he cried, and began to climb.

  After the first dozen yards the ascent became almost vertical, and the pathway--if such it could be called--was a mere indication that others had gone that way. Slipping on the precarious foothold, jumping at times from one projection to another, hauling themselves up by the stunted vegetation, they struggled on. Slow as their progress was, they gained on the fugitive, who, hampered by his burden, had a task only made possible by previous knowledge of the pathway. They had left their rifles at the foot of the cliff, realizing that they would be an encumbrance.

  Andy swore explosively as his foot slipped and he had to grab frantically at a mesquite root to save himself. "I hope to Gawd he makes it," he said, "I'm scared to look up."

  "He knows the ground," his friend comforted. "We're coverin' two feet to his one; we'll get him."

  From below came the frequent report of a firearm, showing that the cleaning-up process was still in operation. Pygmy figures darted out of the cabin and dived for cover, with others in pursuit. The marshal smiled with grim satisfaction; this portion of Moraga's robber band would make no more raids. He swung himself round a jutting knob of rock and a bullet hummed past his ear, missing by a bare inch. Hurriedly he flattened out. Sixty feet above him the guerrilla chief was standing on the ledge, pistol poised, and a Satanic sneer of triumph on his evil face. He was still holding the girl, who appeared to be unconscious.

  "He's got us out on a limb, Andy," the marshal said.

  The Mexican, of course, could not hear the words, but he evidently divined what their thoughts must be, for a jeering laugh floated down. The rancher gritted his teeth as he heard it. Moraga held all the cards, and knew it. He had recognized the marshal when he made his dash for the door and was amazed that he should have escaped death in the desert. It was then that he decided upon flight. His taunting tones reached them again:

  "El Diablo has more than one home, senor the so clever marshal. We weel take the senorita where you weel never find her."

  "Can't we do nothin'?" Bordene growled.

  "We can poke our heads out an' get shot," Green told him, and then, "Hell! Look at the cliff above the ledge. Ain't somethin' movin' there?"

  At the risk of being bored by a bullet, the rancher wriggled round a bush which obstructed his view. Behind the ledge the crater rim appeared to rise almost perpendicularly and through the sparse growth of cactus, mesquite, and coarse grass he caught a shifting gleam of copper.

  "It's Black Feather," the marshal said. "I was wonderin' where he'd drifted. Musta knowed this place plenty well an' gone there a-purpose to stop any getaway."

  Eagerly they watched the Indian swing noiselessly down behind the unconscious Mexican. They could see him plainly now. Stripped to the breech-clout he carried only a knife between his teeth, and his bronzed body shone in the rays of the westering sun. Lithe as a mountain lion, he crept nearer and nearer to the ledge and the man standing on it, who had no eyes for anything save those below. With a few yards to go, the redskin slipped and must have made some noise, for the white men saw Moraga whirl round. In a single bound, the Indian landed on the ledge, and the bandit, dropping the girl, raised his pistol. Instead of pulling the trigger, however, he flung the weapon at the intruder's head. Green rapped out an oath.

  "Damn the luck. That musta been his last pill he fired at me," he lamented.

  Black Feather dodged the missile and began to creep in on the other, knife in hand, crouching, deliberate, implacable as death itself. Moraga, realizing that he was trapped and that his only hope lay in killing the redskin before the cowpunchers could reach the ledge, drew his own knife, with a muttered malediction. With the knowledge that every moment was vital he stepped towards the Indian. Only a couple of yards separated them when Moraga's right hand went up as though preparing to stab, and then--he threw the weapon. Against a white the ruse would have succeeded, but the red man is the only equal to the yellow in the use of cold steel, and Black Feather was not asleep. There was no time to dodge, and with a sudden upward thrust of his own blade he swept the oncoming missile aside, the force of the contact shivering both blades.

  Dropping the useless handle, the Indian resumed his slow, relentless advance. But the bandit dared not wait; one desperate chance had failed; he must try again. Gathering himself for the effort, he rushed in, hoping by the suddenness of the onslaught to hurl his foe from the ledge. But the claw-like brown fingers gripped like steel, and powerful as was his short, stocky form, Moraga found himself swung round with his back to the abyss. Savagely he struck at the fierce bronze mask with its bared teeth, and triumphant flaming eyes which bored into his own. Inch by inch he was forced nearer the edge; desperately he tried to clutch his enemy that both might die, but his fingers could get no purchase on the smooth, pigmented skin. His breath came in gulps, his face grew grey as he realized that the end was near, yet he fought on; he was a strong man and he did not want to die.

  "I weel give you gold--much gold," he gasped.

  The Indian's face twisted into a hateful grin. "Yellow dog's heart turn to water, huh?" he sneered. "Die all same."

  Inexorably he forced the now exhausted man back and a cold sweat broke out on Moraga's brow as one of his feet left the ledge. Despairingly he tried to twist, clawing frenziedly, and then the end came. The marshal and his companion, still toiling upwards, saw the bandit topple over the brink of the precipice and drop like a stone. They watched the body hurtling downwards. It caught on a projecting mass of choya and hung there for a moment, the bright red tunic like a great splash of blood against the frosty, grey-green of the cactus. For a few brief seconds the cruel claws held and tortured the shrieking form, and then Green fired. With a convulsive shudder, the body broke away and vanished.

  When at last they reached the ledge Tonia was free of her bonds and Black Feather again an impassive figure of bronze, but he bore himself like a man who has got rid of a burden. It might well be that the slaying of Moraga had wiped away his shame and put him right with himself, his people, and his gods. He would not listen to thanks.

  "No good stay here," he said. "Some fella get away--bring more."

  "He's dead right," the marshal said. "We've done what we came to do, an' the sooner we punch the breeze the healthier it'll be for us; we can't lick all Mexico."

  Led by the Indian, they descended from the crater rim by a longer but easier route, the one he himself had used. As Green had surmised, Black Feather had known that there was a way up and through the rock, and had guessed that if the fight went against him the guerrilla leader would make a bolt for it, leaving his followers to shift for themselves. When they reached the cabin again the fighting was finished. Renton, his left arm in a sling, hailed their appearance with a shout and hurried forward to greet his young mistress.

  "Shore am glad to see yu again, Miss Tonia," he said, and to the marshal, "Where'd yu find her? We've looked all over."

  Green gave a brief account of what had happened; the foreman looked wonderingly at the Indian for a moment and then stepped up to him.

  "If yu ever want anythin', any time, come to the Double S an' yu get it," he said. "Shake."

  The red man took the proffered hand. "Black Feather a chief, yellow dog have him whipped," he said, as though that explained all, and, from his point of view, it did.

  "Well, I reckon yu've done squared the 'count," Renton replied, and turned to the marshal. "We've cleaned up here pretty complete, but a few got clear, an' I've a hunch we oughta be on our way."

  "The Indian was saying the same. What's wrong with yore arm?"

  "Fella tried to hide a knife in me an' got my wing. 'Bout half a dozen of us is damaged, nothin' serious. Soon as we've fed we better point for the hosses, an' go back the way we come, huh?"

  The marshal agreed. The known dangers and hardships of the lava desert were preferable to the possibility of bumping into another bunch of bandits.

  CHAPTER XX

  The journey
back to Lawless was uneventful. The cowboys, elated by the success of the expedition, endured discomfort with cheerful curses. The grave face of their guide alone gave no sign of satisfaction, though there was a deep content in his heart. He spoke seldom, a wave of the hand serving for words.

  "Like a bloomin' image, ain't he?" Rusty said. "But I'll risk a stack he's more pleased than any of us; Injuns is plenty deep thataways."

  But Rusty was wrong--there was a more contented man in the party than even Black Feather. For Andy Bordene, to be riding side by side with the girl he loved and had so nearly lost, turned even the terrible lava desert into a paradise. Together they watched the sun, a blaze of golden flame, drop behind the misty purple hills, and when its red rim peeped above the horizon they were in the saddle again on their way--home. And home--Andy told himself--was soon going to mean very much more to him than it had ever done, now that he had got his ranch back and was free to speak. Nevertheless, though he had plenty of opportunities--for the others, with knowing smiles, left them much to themselves--Andy could not screw up his courage, until they had crossed the Border and were nearing the Box B. They had lagged behind--a not infrequent occurrence--and a bend in the trail hid the rest of the party. Andy suddenly pulled up, and when the girl's mount instinctively did the same, the young man leaned forward, a look in his eyes which sent the warm blood to her cheeks.

  "Tonia, do yu remember my sayin' I'd be comin' to yu for a job some day?" he began, and when she nodded, "the day's here, an' I'm askin'. Honey, the job I want is to look after, work for, an' make Life good for yu always."

  His voice was low, husky, and revealed a depth of feeling she had never suspected in this gay, irresponsible playmate of her youth. A wave of happiness swept through her; she had long known the answer she must make, but, woman-like, she had to ask a question:

  "Was that the job you were thinking of then, Andy?"

  "Shore thing, Tonia; but I was in a money mess an' hadn't the right to speak. Now it's different. Do yu reckon yu could learn to love me, Tonia?"

  The girl flashed a tremulous little smile at him. "You could have had that job then, Andy--for the asking," she whispered.

  They were still missing when the rescue party rode up to the ranch-house of the Box B, where, as it was late, they had decided to spend the night. To their surprise, they were greeted by Reuben Sarel, who had ridden over in search of news. He had a jaded, worried expression, which increased when he saw that his niece was not with them.

  "Ain't yu got her?" he asked.

  "Well, we took her away from Moraga all right, but on the trip back somebody else done stole her again," Green said solemnly.

  The fat man's face flushed with anger. "Pretty fine lot o' fellas yu must be--" he began, and then the errant pair, trotting leisurely, came in sight, and he understood. "Well, I'm damned! All right, marshal, that's a score to yu," he grinned.

  At the sight of the waiting group, the young couple raced for the ranch-house. Tonia won, and jumping from her saddle, flung her arms impulsively round her uncle's neck.

  "Well, well, burn me if bein' stole don't seem to suit yu," he said shyly. "I never seen yu look so bonny."

  "Guess it depends on who does the Stealm'," Green put in, whereupon the girl got rosier than ever and retreated precipitately to "clean-up."

  "Come an' eat, folks," Sarel suggested. "I wanta hear all about it."

  In the big living-room the story was told, and Reuben's eyes lighted when he learned how the guerrilla chief had died.

  "Served the skunk right," he commented. "I've allus regarded Injuns as pizen, but I'm a-goin' to make an exception; thisyer Black Feather can have my shirt if he wants it."

  "Which would make two for him and then leave plenty for patching," Tonia said merrily. Her glance rested affectionately on her bulky relation, and she suddenly sobered. "Uncle, you're not looking well; what's troubling you?"

  Reuben lifted his hands in surrender and turned to the marshal. "Fact is, I am bothered," he admitted. "We're losin' a lot o' cows; somebody's took advantage of our bein' short-handed to steal us blind, an' we can't figure it. Mebbe yu can help us?"

  "If Andy'll lend me a hoss I'll look into it to-night," Green said; and when they protested, he explained: "Waitin' means losin' a chance; soon as they know we're all back, the rustlers will lay over for a spell." He shook his head at his deputy. "I'm on'y goin' to snoop around; it's a one-man job, ol'-timer."

  * * *

  The following morning found Andy, Pete, and the Indian--the latter with Nigger on a lead-rope--covering the trail to Lawless, the rancher's presence being due to an eagerness to conclude his business with the banker. The journey did not add to Pete's entertainment, for Andy was riding in a world of his own, and Black Feather--for conversational purposes--was a hopeless dawn.

  "I'll have to get me a parrot," the deputy said, and then raised a whoop when he saw the marshal waiting for them.

  The new-comer did nothing to add to the gaiety of the party. He looked tired, and having greeted them and transferred his saddle to Nigger, he relapsed into a moody silence, from which he emerged only once, when he noticed Pete peering anxiously around and asked him what he was looking for.

  "The body," the deputy told him. "Thisyer's a funeral procession, ain't it?"

  Their arrival in town brought Seth Raven quick-foot to the marshal's office. He halted at the door for an instant when he saw Andy, and then came in. His face apeared strained, and there was an eagerness in his tone.

  "Yu got the girl--an' Moraga?" he blurted out.

  "Miss Sarel is on her way to the Double S an' the Mexican won't trouble us again," the marshal replied, and gave a bald recital of the rescue.

  "Yu done a good job; but why waste a cartridge on that coyote? I'd 'a' left him there for the buzzards to finish," Seth said savagely. "What I promised holds good, marshal."

  "Forget it," Green replied. "All in the day's work, Raven. Town behaved itself while we been away?"

  "Middlin', till last night, an' then"--he looked at Andy--"the bank was robbed. First we know of it the clerk can't get in this mornin'. We busts the door an' find Potter on the floor of his office an' the place cleaned to a fare-yu-well. Potter has been shot in the head, an' is as near dead as don't matter. Looks like Mister Sudden has turned another trick."

  "Anythin' to show that?" Green asked.

  "No, 'cept that I saw a fella on a black hoss tricklin' outa town mighty early this mornin'," the saloon-keeper said. "There wasn't much light, an' I took it yu were back again, marshal. It's shore tough luck for yu, Andy."

  The young rancher, rudely awakened from his dream of happiness, shook himself like a dog. Fate had dealt him another bitter blow, but he was not yet beaten. Nevertheless, there was a tremor in his voice as he said:

  "It's tougher still on Potter. S'pose the thief didn't take my mortgage, huh?"

  "It warn't there, Andy," Raven said slowly. "As a matter o' fact, Potter came to me for money an' made over yore mortgage as security, askin' me not to say anythin' till he'd explained to yu. O' course, I ain't pressin' yu, though the bank robbery has hit me considerable."

  The words did not ring true; try as he might, he could not keep the note of exultation out of his voice. The marshal sensed it, and a bitter smile on the rancher's lips showed that he too was not deceived. The half-breed turned to Green:

  "Yu bein' away, I sent to Strade, an' I hear he's just come. Reckon you'll find him at the bank. 'Pills' is lookin' after Potter."

  "Pills"--known by no other name--was the local medico. A small grey-haired man of perhaps twoscore, with a deeply lined face, he possessed a sharp tongue, which he did not scruple to use. When the saloon-keeper had gone, the marshal turned to Bordene.

  "Keep a stiff upper-lip, Andy," he said. "Hills ain't never so steep as they look when you come to climb 'em. I'm a-goin' down to see Strade."

  The Sweetwater sheriff opened the bank door himself. "Come right in, marshal," he invited. "I hear yu go
t that Greaser."

  "Yeah. What do yu make o' this?"

  "Just nothin'. It's like when the Sweetwater bank was looted four-five months ago, on'y no one was hurt then, the premises bein' unoccupied. Yu heard of it?"

  "It fetched me here, bein' put to my account, though I dunno why."

  "Stranger on a black hoss with a white face was seen sneakin' outa town, that's why."

  "Huh! Raven says he saw the same thing this mornin'--heard the hoof-beats an' got up to look: he figured it was me."

  "Sorta suggests our friend is still busy, don't it?" Strade mused. " 'Lo, doc, how's yore patient?"

  "Couldn't be worse, and live," said the doctor, who had just come from the bedroom at the back to which the injured man had been removed.

  "No chance o' gettin' a word out of him, I s'pose?"

  "Don't talk like a fool, Strade," Pills snapped. "The shot fractured the back of the skull and it will be a miracle if he opens his eyes again, much less his mouth. If you are looking to him for help, you'd better forget it."

  He bustled away, and the sheriff's eyes followed him. "Peppery little beggar, but he knows what he's talkin' about," he said, and added what few facts he had gleaned: Potter had been seen entering the bank soon after ten o'clock; the safe had been opened with the banker's own keys; a few strangers had visited the town, but their movements were known; no one had noticed the shot, which was not unlikely in Lawless. "In fact, there ain't a smidgin' o' evidence to go on," Strade concluded.

  The marshal nodded; but his eyes were busy. Slowly they travelled from the ominous stain on the board floor to the books flung hastily from the rifled safe, and back to the desk in the centre of the room. Stooping, he raked beneath this with a ruler, bringing to light a little brass cylinder; it was a used shell, a Colt's .45, and along one side ran a horizontal scratch.

  "On'y this," Green said.

  The sheriff whistled. "That cinches it," he said; "but don't bring us no nearer; seems to me yu gotta catch this hombre in the act; he's too damn clever. Got a wad this time too; Raven reckons he's shy ten thousand hisself. Well, seein' yo're in the saddle agin, I'll be gettin' back to my lambs. Come over soon an' have a pow-wow."