Sudden Makes War (1942)

by Oliver Strange

"Not only one, but the most deeply involved."

  At this moment the door opened and a young, fair-haired girl stepped in. "Oh, Dad," she began, and stopped. "Sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor."

  "My only child, Kate, Mister Dover," the banker explained. The young man stood up, shook hands, murmured, "Pleased to meetcha," and the girl withdrew, but not without a challenging glance of approval at the rancher.

  "What's the position?" Dan asked.

  "We hold a mortgage on your ranch for forty thousand dollars," came the reply.

  Dan jerked upright, his eyes large. "The hell you say?" he gasped. "Forty thousand? That's a jag o' money."

  "Much more than we can afford to lose. I understand the cattle business has been bad for some years."

  "You won't lose a cent," Dover asserted. "There's better times right ahead."

  "Mister Trenton, whose experience you must allow, doesn't share your views about that."

  Dan's face darkened. "How came the Wagon-wheel into this?" He put a question.

  "It is our rule never to disclose information about a client," Maitland said pompously.

  "Then Trenton don't know about the Circle Dot?"

  A second's hesitation, and then, "Not from us, Mister Dover," came the denial.

  Watching the weak, irresolute features, Dan knew the words were untrue. Long years of sitting on a stool, adding up figures, had given the man a position of some responsibility, but not the knowledge to use it. He would bully those beneath him, and be servile to his superiors, and of the latter he would regard Trenton as one.

  "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

  "The mortgage expires in a little less than two months, and as I am convinced our Head Office will not consider a renewal, it must be paid off."

  "An' failin' that?"

  The banker lifted his shoulders. "We have the power to sell."

  To all the young man's arguments that a forced sale would not produce even the amount of the debt, let alone the value of the ranch, and that, by waiting, the banker would get the whole sum due, he shook a stubborn head. He had the interests of his employers to consider; his predecessor had been unwise; he was sorry, and so on.

  Dover listened with a set jaw; he knew the mean, warped little soul was joying in the possession of authority for the first time. Mechanically he took the flabby hand extended when he rose.

  "I shall hope to see you at the dance," Maitland said. "A very kindly thought on the part of Mister Trenton. It will give me an opportunity of meeting our customers in a more congenial atmosphere than that of an office. My wife and daughter will appreciate it."

  Dan gave a non-committal answer, went out, and proceeded to the Parlour. Bowdyr was alone--yesterday's patrons were sleeping it off, and to-day's had not yet begun to come in.

  "Where's Malachi?" the rancher enquired.

  "At the opposition joint, I expect," Bowdyr grinned. "He's an odd mixture: allus pays cash here, but runs an account there--sez he'd hate to die in my debt, but it would cheer his last moments to remember that he owed Sody 'bout a million dollars. You want him?"

  "I want a drink more--a big one."

  The saloon-keeper looked at him keenly. "What's the trouble, boy?" he asked, pushing forward bottle and glass. Dan swallowed a hearty gulp of the spirit, and then told the story. Ben's face grew graver as he listened.

  "Hell!" he said, when all was told. "I knowed the Ol' Man was up agin it, but never suspicioned it was that bad. An' you think Trenton knows?"

  "Shorely," Dan replied. "He'd milk that money-grubber dry. I've gotta raise that coin somehow, Ben, or he'll buy the Circle Dot for half its value."

  "Well, Dan, any help I can give is yourn, but pore times in the cattle trade hits me too," Bowdyr said.

  "I know that, Ben, an' thanks, but this is my job."

  The entry of Malachi put an end to the conversation. He appeared to be sober, and helped himself to an unusually modest dose of his customary tipple.

  "I'm obliged for yore message, Doc," the rancher said. "You've seen Maitland? What's your opinion of him?"

  "I think he's taken the place of a better man."

  "Yes, it was an unlucky day for Rainbow when Lawson elected to go back East," the doctor agreed. "This fellow has always had a boss; he'll find one here."

  "He's done that a'ready," Dan said bitterly. "Though mebbe he ain't aware of it yet."

  Malachi nodded. "Trenton gets the town to give a dance in his niece's honour, an' tells Maitland it's for him." He laughed wryly. "Clever devil; wonder how much he owes the bank?"

  "I dunno, but I'd like to," Dan said. "You goin' to this festive gatherin'?"

  "I might. I'm told the girl is pretty. Have you seen her?"

  "yeah, she has looks," Dover admitted, and left soon after. "He's missin' his dad," Bowdyr remarked.

  Malachi nodded agreement. "Ought to take more liquor; drink is the sovereign cure for depression, old settler; lifts a man to Paradise--"

  "An' drops him in hell next mornin'," the saloon-keeper finished. "You can't tell me, Doc; I sell it."

  Chapter VIII

  Dover spoke little during the evening meal, but afterwards, when he joined Sudden and Burke at the fireside--for the nights were chilly--he shared the burden which had been on his mind all day. The effect on the foreman was shattering.

  "Goda'mighty, Dan, it can't he true," he cried. "Them bank sharks must be framin' you."

  "I saw the deed," the rancher replied. "It's straight enough.

  We have to pay up, or let Trenton grab the Circle Dot."

  "Is the Wagon-wheel in debt to the bank?" Sudden asked. "Shore to be, but not up to the neck, as we are."

  "Then they won't find it easy to put up the price."

  "Not unless Garstone can get it back East."

  "That'll take time, an' gives us a fightin' chance to heat 'em to it," the puncher responded. "Mebbe if yu reduced the amount ..."

  "I offered that, but he wouldn't listen. Trenton has painted a pretty gloomy future for cattle."

  "Awright, we gotta make it so--for him," Sudden said grimly. "Meanwhile, we'd better keep this to ourselves; sometimes there ain't safety in numbers. Yu got anythin' in mind, Dan?"

  "Yeah, but it's such a long shot that--well, it'll sound hopeless."

  "Long shots come off--times."

  The rancher pondered for a moment, and then, "Bill, you'll have heard o' Red Rufe's Cache?"

  "Shore, but I never took much stock in it," Burke replied.

  "It's true," Dan said, and went to an old desk in a corner of the room. They heard a click, and he returned with a creased half-sheet of paper. "Here's what it sez: `Dear Dave,--I've made a lot o' money an' a good few enemies. In case one o' these last gets me, I'm lettin' you know that my pile is cached in the hills. When you reach the bowl on 01' Cloudy's knees, watch out. West is north, an' north is noon, one half after will be too soon. I'm sendin' the rest o' the instructions by another hand. Yore brother, Rufe.' That was the last news we had of him, some three years ago."

  "An' the second messenger never arrived?" Sudden asked. "I dunno. A stranger was found two-three miles out on the Cloudy trail a little while later; he'd been shot an' robbed. The first chap got drunk in the town an' may've talked some. Anyway, the story of the cache oozed out, an' there's been more than one try to find it, but Cloudy is big an' hard country."

  "Yore father didn't attempt it?"

  "I ain't shore; he was away for a week or more several times, but without the rest o' the directions, it's almost hopeless."

  "An' it was this paper that--"

  "Dad was killed for," Dan said gruffly. "Yeah, someone has the other. I figure Flint was sent here to steal it."

  "That means Trenton has the other?"

  "That's my belief, but I've no proof," the rancher admitted. "Yeah, I guess I could find this place the paper mentions, but without the further instructions ..." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

  "Well, it's a forlorn hope, li
ke yu said, Dan," Sudden remarked. "We gotta keep eyes an' ears open. One good pointto bite on is that whoever has the second message is wuss off than we are--he don't know where to begin."

  "If on'y we could put our paws on that missin' paper," the foreman lamented.

  "If--that's one hell of a word, ol'-timer," Sudden smiled. "Just the most provokin' one in the whole darn dictionary."

  The evening of the dance arrived and found the Circle Dot bunkhouse in a state of feverish activity. Shirts had been washed, boots polished, and war-bags were being searched for a hoarded neckerchief or cherished tie, which was not always found in the possession of its rightful owner.

  "Hi, who's rustled my red silk wipe?" Lidgett wanted to know, and then, detecting Noisy in the act of slipping the missing article out of sight, pounced upon it.

  "Why, you gave it me," protested the silent one.

  "It was on'y lent, you chatterin' son of a cock-eyed coyote," Lid retorted. "Think I got nothin' to do with my earnin's but keep you in clothes?"

  "You don't earn a cent--what Dan gives you is part o' our pay," Noisy grinned. "We do the work."

  Paddy, the cook, pestered by demands for hot irons to take the creases from seldom-worn coats, and the loan of his razor, which was known to possess an edge, energetically damned the dance and the fools who were going to it. He was remaining at the ranch.

  "An', thank Hiven, it's a peaceful night I'll be enjoyin' for once in me loife."

  "It's a mercy you ain't comin'--there'd be no space for anybody else," Slim unwisely told him.

  "Shure an' there wud for you if the room was full, ye slice o' nothin'," the fat man retorted. "Yer partner'll think she's dancin' wi' a flag-pole."

  Before Slim, who really did justify his name, could hit upon an adequate reply, Blister cut in. "They say the Trenton dame is awful pretty; wonder if she'll take a turn with any of us?"

  "Zeb'll 'tend to that," Tiny said. "I'm told the banker's girl ain't exactly a grief to look at. I've most near forgot how to waltz; let's try her out, Blister."

  It was an unfortunate rehearsal--for someone else. The two wash-basins were in great demand, and Slocombe, despairing of getting one, had brought in a bucket of water, and, stripped to the waist, was bending over it, sluicing his face, when the disciples of Terpsichore collided heavily with his rear. Head jammed in the bucket, the outraged victim rose to his feet, the soapy contents cascading down his person, and literally drowning the muffled maledictions which came from the interior of the utensil. Tiny, eager to make amends, tore the strange headgear from the wearer's head. The effort was well-meant, but Tiny was a tall man, his snatch was upward, and he forgot the dangling handle. With an agonized yell, Slocombe grabbed the offending pail, hurled it with a crash of glass through a window, and clutching his almost fractured jaw with both hands, capered around the room spitting out lather and profanity with every leap. The paralysed outfit fought its mirth--one laugh might have turned the comedy into a tragedy. Tiny broke the silence:

  "Which I'm damn sorry, Slow," he said, and his voice contained no hint of the laughter bubbling within him. "We didn't go for to do it; we never saw you."

  "Sorry?" Slocombe cried. "You lumberin', club-footed elephant--they oughta hang a bell on you to tell folks when yo're movin' around; yo're a danger to the c'munity, an' why in hell did you try to slice the face off'n me with that sanguinary handle?"

  "I acted for the best, Slow, honest I did," the big man replied, but his contrite expression was too much for the audience and a storm of merriment broke out.

  Slow looked murder for a moment, and then--being a good sport--joined in. The appearance of Sudden stilled the tumult, and he had to be told the story.

  "Yo're dead right, Slow," was his decision. "Tiny oughta have a corral all to hisself."

  "You'll be late, Jim, won't you?" Blister asked, noting that the puncher had made no preparations.

  "I ain't goin'," was the reply. "Someone has to stay an' keep house, if on'y to see that nobody steals our cook."

  "Huh, they'd have to fetch a wagon to take him away," Slim chimed in.

  "We'll cut the cards to see who stays home 'stead o' you," Tiny said, and the rest voiced approval.

  "Mighty good o' yu, but it's all settled," Sudden repliedt "An' I don't care for dancin', anyways."

  Later, as Dan mounted to follow his men, he said, "Why not come along, Jim. Paddy can hold down the ranch."

  "I'm playin' a hunch; mebbe there's nothin' in it."

  When the hilarious whoops died away in the distance, he had an idea. Returning to the living-room, he opened the desk. Knowing where to look, it did not take him long to find the hidden drawer. Then, the paper in hand, he pondered. On a shelf, amid a dusty litter of odds and ends, was a spike file of paid bills. Sudden removed half, thrust on Rufe Dover's letter, and replaced them. Then he saddled his horse, leaving it picketed just outside the corral. These preparations made, he returned to his lonely vigil. Paddy was singing in the kitchen, and away over the plain the weird call of a prowling coyote came to him.

  "The boys would say there ain't no difference, an' they'd be damn near right," he chuckled, as he lit a cigarette and settled down in his chair by the fire.

  The hours crept by and the watcher was beginning to think he had foregone an evening's amusement vainly when a rifle-shot brought him to his feet; something was happening on the range. He stepped swiftly to the kitchen and awoke the drowsing cook.

  "Get a gun an' keep yore eyes peeled," he said. "Somethin' odd goin' on."

  He hurried to the hut by the wood-pile; its occupant was squatting by the fire.

  "Hunch, I want yu to fork a hoss an' fetch Dan an' the boys; they're at the schoolhouse in Rainbow. Say there's trouble, an' hurry. Understand?"

  The old man nodded, and the puncher wasted no more time. He reached his horse, coiled the picket-rope as he ran, mounted, and spurred into the open. He had not gone far when he saw a flash, followed by a crack--this time, of a revolver--and the bellow of a frightened steer. Rustlers! Sudden clamped his teeth on an oath and slowed down--he had no desire to run into a trap. Soon he could hear the beat of galloping hooves, and discern shadowy forms scurrying to and fro in the gloom. They were rounding up cattle in readiness to drive.

  Sudden dragged out his Winchester, waited until he could see one of the vague figures, and squeezed the trigger. The crash of the gun was succeeded by a muttered curse which brought balm to the marksman; the bullet had not been entirely wasted. Three fingers of flame stabbed the darkness, but the Circle Dot man had moved immediately he had fired, and the lead hummed harmlessly past him. He replied, aiming at the flashes, three quick shots from different positions, to convey the impression that he was not alone. Apparently he succeeded, for a hoarse voice said:

  "Better be movin'--we've given 'em time enough. C'mon." The puncher sent a couple of slugs to hasten their departure and then rode forward. A dark blot on the ground proved to be a dead horse from which the saddle had been removed. Nearby about a score of steers were milling. Sudden broke and scattered them; if the rustlers returned, they would have to start all over again. But he did not think they would; the remark, "given 'em time enough" was sticking in his mind, and realizing the impossibility of running down the raiders in the dark, he headed for the ranch-house.

  Approaching quietly, he dismounted and slipped in by the back door. On the floor of the kitchen the cook was lying senseless. Sudden dashed into the living-room in search of whisky. The place might have been struck by a cyclone. Chairs and table overturned, the desk and secret drawer open, rug thrown aside, papers and other articles scattered broadcast. Sudden grinned as he saw that the shelf and its dusty burden had not been touched. There was no whisky, and a smashed bottle on the hearth supplied the reason. He was looking at this when a voice came from the doorway:

  "Don't stir if you wanta go on breathin'."

  There was no need to turn; a small mirror over the fireplace told him that a masked man, with a le
velled gun, had followed him in from the darkened passage without. Sudden obeyed a further order, but did not raise his hands very high.

  "Where's the letter from Rufe Dover?" the unknown barked.

  "On the shelf behind me--there's a file," the puncher said.

  In the glass he watched the fellow move, noted that as he

  reached for the shelf, his eyes instinctively followed his hand.

  This was the moment Sudden was waiting for. His own right dropped, whisked out a gun, reversed it, and fired over his shoulder, the whole action taking seconds only. He saw the intruder stagger under the impact of the bullet, drop his weapon, and lunge from the room. At the same moment a voice outside the window said:

  "What's doin', Rat? Want any help?"

  "No," Sudden gritted, and sent a slug crashing through the glass.

  He heard the front door slam, and the same voice asked: "You got it?"

  "Yeah, in the shoulder--that cursed gun-wizard showed up. C'mon, beat it."

  A scuffle of hurrying hooves told the rest.

  The puncher returned to the kitchen to find that the injured man had recovered his wits and was sitting up tenderly feeling a large bump on the back of his head.

  "Glory be, an' phwat's happenin' this noight," he wanted to know.

  "S'pose yu tell me," Sudden suggested.

  "An' that won't take long," Paddy replied. "I'm settin' in me chair, an' hears someone come in by the front dure. I thinks it's yerself an' stan's up to welcome ye. An' thin, the roof falls on me."

  The festivities at Rainbow were in full swing by the time the Circle Dot contingent arrived and had deposited hats, spurs, and guns. Desks had been removed from the floor, forms arranged against the walls, thus leaving space for the dancers. At one end of the room, a pianist and a fiddler--loaned from Sody's saloon--struggled for the lead in a polka, and bets were laid as to which would win. Trenton, his harsh countenance contorted in what he would have called a smile, had presented his niece to the more important of the townsfolk, and she was now dancing with Malachi. Her glance rested on Dover as the rancher and his men entered, but she at once looked away. The doctor danced well, and had taken the trouble to improve his appearance. But he was his usual flippant self.