Sudden Makes War (1942)

by Oliver Strange

  "We oughta be ready to set out on the word," Bundy put in. "How many will you want?"

  "We three, with Flint, Rattray, an' another should be sufficient. We'll need plenty of supplies, an' a small tent for my niece."

  "Takin' her?" Bundy asked in surprise. "It ain't a job for a dame."

  "Nonsense," the rancher said. "Just a little trip into the mountains; she'll enjoy it. We shall avoid trouble, an' probably not encounter the other party at all."

  The foreman was not satisfied, but Garstone did not support him, and after the earlier rebuff he was taking no more risks; this thing was too good to miss.

  Garstone had not objected because the presence of Miss Trenton fitted in with his plans, already partly formed, but which were now beginning to expand more widely than either of his companions suspected, even Bundy, who was having thoughts of his own.

  That same evening, at the Circle Dot, a very similar conversation was taking place. Dan, who had been to Rainbow earlier in the day, broached the subject.

  "I had a talk with Maitland an' there ain't any possibility o' the bank givin' us an extension," he began. "Told me his people wouldn't hear of it, an' that--as a business man--he agreed with 'em. So that's that."

  "An' there's no other way o' raisin' the wind?" Burke asked. "On'y one," the rancher replied. "We gotta find the Cache." The foreman's face was anything but optimistic. "It's one hell of a chance," he muttered.

  "Bill, if yu were in a poker game, with the cards runnin' badly, an' had just one stake left, what would yu do?" Sudden said.

  "Bet it, o' course," was the prompt reply.

  "Shore yu would," the other grinned. "Well, that's our position. So what?"

  "I ain't baulkin', Jim," the foreman returned. "I've bin up agin the iron before. Whatever Dan sez, goes, with me."

  "I know that, ol'-timer," Dover said. "An' because I do, I'm goin' to ask a favour: I want you to stay here an' look after the ranch; I'll feel easier in my mind with you in charge."

  Burke made a brave effort to conceal his disappointment; he would have dearly loved to make one of the search party, but he recognized that his employer was right--it would be more than unwise for both of them to be absent; the Wagon-wheel might seize the opportunity to try something.

  "Very well, Dan," he agreed. "Who you takin'?"

  "No call for a crowd," Dan told him. "I figure that myself, Jim, Tiny, Blister, an' Hunch oughta be plenty.""Hunch?" Bill said in surprise.

  "Yeah, he knows the Cloudy district probably better than anybody around here, is a good woodsman, an' can cook an' make camp. We might take Yorky along to help--just as well for him to be outa the way till Bundy's bruises lose some o' their sting."

  "When do you aim to start?"

  "Soon as we can arrange things," Dan replied. "We'll want some stores, which I'll get in town to-morrow."

  "An, no one must know a word about it, not even the rest o' the outfit," Sudden supplemented. "Also, we'll slide out in the middle o' the night."

  The other two looked at him in astonishment. "What's on yore mind, Jim?" Dan questioned.

  "Just this: the possessor o' the second part o' the directions don't know where to begin searchin', but he's on'y gotta trail us to find out."

  "Holy Moses, he's right, Bill," the rancher cried. "We're a couple o' sheep-heads. Trenton may have this place picketed, an' be waitin' for us to move."

  "We'll try to keep him waitin'," Burke grinned. "How long d'you expect to be away?"

  "Can't say," Dan told him. "If we have any luck--but there's no sense in guessin'."

  "Yorky'll be tickled to death over this trip," Sudden remarked. "How'd he get on with his new mount this mornin'?" They had not had their usual jaunt.

  "Well, he got on, an' off in quicker time," the foreman twinkled. "Shore, it's a good little hoss, no vice in him, just a mite fresh. The boy warn't hurt, 'cept in his feelin's mebbe, an' he comes up smilin'. `That's first t'row to you, partner,' he sez. `Let's roll 'em agin.' He climbs on, an' gits piled, which makes him scratch his head some. But he's game. `Third time lucky,' he grins, an' by cripes, it was; we seen daylight between him an' the saddle pretty offen, but he hung on, an' it was the hoss got tired first. When the fun was over, Slow asked which o' the names Yorky'd called the animile he was goin' to choose. 'I'm namin' him "Dancer"--he's so damn lively on his toes,' the kid sez."

  Sudden laughed. "Yorky's all right; he's goin' to bring good luck to the Circle Dot, mark my words. Yu do well to take him with us, Dan."

  In the morning Dover journeyed again to Rainbow, and to the youngster's extreme satisfaction, took Yorky with him. Arrived there, they separated, the rancher to deal with various business matters, and Yorky to do as he pleased. His first visit was to the post office, where he mailed a letter, with many furtive glances around to make sure he was not observed. Then he went to finish his "shoppin'." This actually meant displaying himself in all his glory to young Evans, who was now assisting his father in the store. Yorky hung about outside the place until he saw that the boy was alone, and then, hat pulled over his eyes, and regretful that he had not brought his rifle, he swaggered in.

  "Got any feed for a Winchester forty-four?" he enquired, making his voice as gruff as he could.

  "Yessir," the youth behind the counter replied, diving into a drawer.

  Yorky choked down a chuckle; he was not recognized. Casually he examined the packet of cartridges, tossed down a bill, and received his change. The young salesman noticed that the customer did not appear to be wearing a pistol, and, anxious to do business, ventured to ask solicitously:

  "C'd I int'rest you in a second-hand six-shooter, sir?" yorky squirmed with delight--this was better than his dreams. "Dunno as I care fer other folks' leavin's," he replied carelessly. "I'll take a peep at her."

  The gun was reached from a shelf and the customer revolved the cylinder, cocked and pressed the trigger, tried the grin, and hefted the weapon as he had seen cowboys do when examining a new one.

  "What yer askin'?"

  "Twenty dollars--the price is on the ticket."--- Yorky was aware of the fact. "I'd say fifteen's a-plenty," he said disparagingly.

  "I'll see if Dad will take that," the salesman replied, and disappeared into the rear of the shop.

  Yorky looked disconcerted; he had been showing off, and much as he would have liked to possess the weapon, had nointention of buying it. He was seeking a means of backing out without loss of dignity when Dover came in, and brought an inspiration.

  "Say, Boss, c'n you let me have an advance?" he asked anxiously. "I've offered fifteen bucks fer that gun an' I'm shy th' coin."

  Dan picked up the six-shooter. "She's good an' cheap at the figure," he said. "Here's the necessary."

  "Thanks a lot, Boss," Yorky replied with great relief. "I didn't want ter eat dirt afore this kid. He don't know me; ain't it a scream?"

  The "kid" returned and, after a very respectful greeting to the owner of the Circle Dot, addressed his other customer: "I can accept yore offer, sir. Will you be needin' any cartridges?"

  "Them I got will do--she's a forty-four, same as my rifle," Yorky said, and paid over the price. "Yer needn't to wrap her up, an' yer can't int'rest me no more, neither."

  He thrust the gun under his belt, pushed his hat back, and stood rocking on his heels. Goggle-eyed, the beefy boy on the other side of the counter gawped at him, remembered and suffered. The ragged, sick little tramp he had fought and beaten--as he maintained--had now beaten him, by becoming what he would have given his ears to be--a cowboy. He could strut into the store, and he--Evans--would have to serve and be polite to him; only a lad could plumb the bitterness of this. His job, of which he had been so proud, became as dust and ashes in his mouth. And then, unable to bear those triumphant eyes any longer, he bolted.

  "I guess that levels up some with him," Yorky said. "I'll be outside."

  "The durn li'l monkey," Dover muttered. "Fancy him thinkin' up a game like that."

  The st
ore-keeper came in, and his orders given, the rancher rejoined the boy. A little way along the street they met Fox-well, who stopped, his beady eyes alight with malice.

  "'Lo, Dover, gittin' ready to quit the Circle Dot," was his greeting.

  Dan suppressed a start. "Any reason why I should?" he asked.

  "Well, everybody knows yore of man was up to his neck in debt, an' it's said now that the bank won't give you no more rope," came the insolent answer.

  "Lies," Dan replied airily. "Big, fat lies which no respectable representative o' the Law should be passin' on. Lemme see, Sheriff, how long have you managed to hold office?"

  The officer's not too acute intellect missed the innuendo. "Goin' on four year," he said, even rather pridefully.

  "Yeah, I remember; it was you who found the murdered man on the Cloudy trail--the man who had neither money nor papers on him, not even a letter addressed to someone else, huh?"

  The sheriff's gaze shifted uneasily. "That's so; the fella what downed him took everythin'."

  "I don't doubt it." Again the implication passed unobserved. "A month or two later you were elected by a small margin, one provided--so some folks said--by the Wagon-wheel outfit because you had done Trenton a considerable service."

  "What are you drivin' at?" Foxwell cried, his face crimson.

  "Lies, Sheriff, big, fat lies like I was tellin' you about," Dan retorted, and then, "God Almighty!"

  They were standing a few yards from the Parlour Saloon. On the opposite sidewalk, Miss Trenton had apparently made up her mind to brave the terrors of the rutted and hoof-torn strip which was Rainbow's only thoroughfare; just past this point, the street took one of its uncertain turns. She was halfway across when, with a stertorous bellow, six wild steers, enveloped in a cloud of dust, charged down upon her. The girl saw the cruel branching horns, fierce eyes, and lolling tongues, and made a despairing effort to hurry. But this only led to disaster; her feet slipped in the powdery sand and she fell to her knees right in the path of the infuriated animals, behind whom now appeared a perspiring horseman, shouting and gesticulating.

  Leaving the pop-eyed sheriff, Dover sprinted along the sidewalk, dragged out his revolver, and fired at the leader, a little in front of the herd. The brute hesitated, stumbled and went down, only a yard from where the girl lay. The fall of the foremost halted the others, but Dan knew it would be only momentary. Jumping into the road, he floundered to the spot, and raised the now senseless form. A man on foot has no terrors for range cattle, and the sight of him put them inmotion again. By a superhuman effort, he regained the sidewalk with his burden; a grazed arm and a ripped shirtsleeve from a slashing, needle-pointed horn was the only damage.

  "Close work, boy," Bowdyr said. He had come out to see what the noise was about. "Bring her into my place."

  "Ain't hurt, is she?" the sheriff enquired anxiously.

  "I guess not." Dan replied. "If you wanta do Zeb another service, go an' ask that butcher's lout what he means by bringin' cows through the town an' drivin' 'em into a frenzy with his fool yellin'; must be mad or drunk." He caught the saloon-keeper's enigmatic expression, and added, "Might 'a' killed the pair of us." The sheriff went; he did not enjoy the company of Mister Dover in this mood.

  When Miss Trenton returned to the world again, she was sitting in a strange room, with a rugged but kindly-faced man bending over her, glass in hand.

  "Drink this, ma'am," he said. "It's good stuff, an' will put new life into you.

  She obeyed, and the strong spirit--though it made her cough--sent the blood racing through her veins. She looked curiously at her surroundings.

  "What place is this?" she asked.

  "The Parlour Saloon an' I'm Ben Bowdyr, the proprietor," he explained. "Dan's gone for Doc Malachi, an' to git hisself another shirt."

  "Is Mister Dover hurt?"

  "Shore, no, just a spoilt garment," Ben assured her. "Ah, here's the Doc."

  Malachi hurried in, the concern on his face giving way to relief when he saw the patient. "You are not harmed, Miss Trenton?"

  "I foolishly fainted," she replied. "Mister Bowdyr kindly gave me some--medicine, and I am quite well again."

  "Medicine?" Malachi echoed. He picked up the glass she had used, sniffed, glanced at the saloon-keeper, who had retired to his bar, and smiled whimsically. "Then Ben has done all that is necessary and robbed me of a case. And from the way Dover carried on, I really thought it was a serious one."

  "It would have been but for his courage and prompt action," she said soberly. "He also escaped injury I am told."

  "Yes, these cattlemen are tough animals--very discouraging to a doctor," he mourned. "Fortunately they are quarrelsome. But you have made a conquest, Miss Trenton." He saw the colour creep into her cheeks. "That brandy--I should say, medicine--was laid down by Ben's grandfather, 'way back in Virginia, in the days when people of position had cellars, and he wouldn't take fifty dollars a bottle for it."

  Her gaze went to the saloon-keeper. "He was most kind," she murmured.

  "The first thing I learned out here was not to judge by appearances. Ben is a fine fellow, and one day, when settlements like Rainbow become cities, such men will be sent to Congress, and have a word to say, not only in the affairs of our country, but of the whole world."

  "Still your dream," she smiled. "Why, isn't that Yorky?" Malachi stared as the boy came to them. "By all that's wonderful, it is."

  "I'm hopin' yer ain't hurt much, ma'am," Yorky said. "I seen it all an' shore t'ought yer was a goner."

  "Thanks to Mister Dover, I am not a--goner," she smiled. "And how are you, Yorky?"

  "Fine, an' I'm on th' pay-roll," he blurted out. "S'cuse me, I got a message for Ben."

  "An amazing improvement," she said. "There's a case to make you proud of your profession."

  "Not my work," he told her. "I prescribed a cessation of nicotine poisoning and fresh air--"

  "The breath of the pines," she murmured.

  "Precisely, but I didn't put it so prettily."

  "No, I remember it was his friend, Jim."

  "Really? After all, why shouldn't a puncher be poetical--he's at grips with Nature all day long. Anyway, Green saved that lad's life, by supplying the missing ingredient in my treatment." Her look was a question. "Yorky had lost his self-respect, and lacking that, my dear lady, a human being is--finished; he cannot fight disease." Then, in a flash, his gravity was merged in a laugh, as he added, "I should be a preacher."

  She was about to reply when Dover came in, and before the door swung to again, she saw Miss Maitland pass.

  "I must be going," Malachi said rather hurriedly, and ashe departed spoke in an undertone to the rancher, "Not leaving town yet, are you?"

  "I'll be here for a while," Dan replied, and stepped to where the girl was seated. "Doc tells me you ain't injured. I'm glad. Is there anythin' else I can do?"

  His manner was stiff and distant, and she suddenly comprehended that the red-haired youth who so impulsively rushed to rescue her from the quicksand had--short as the time was--become a man. Grief and responsibility had brought about the transformation.

  "I think you have done enough, and more," she replied. "It is hard to find words to express my thanks."

  "Then don't try," he said bluntly. "I don't want 'em, an' if it will ease yore mind, I would 'a' done just the same for any tramp in the town."

  "Very well, but you cannot prevent me feeling grateful," she said. "you risked your life."

  "Which is no more than I've done many times for one o' my father's steers," he told her. "I'm not meanin' to be rude, Miss Trenton, but to be forced to help one o' yore family is plain hell to me."

  "I understand," she said coldly. "But you must remember that to be forced to accept your help is also plain hell to my family."

  With a slight inclination of her proud little head, and a smile of thanks to the saloon-keeper, she walked out. The rancher's gloomy gaze followed her. What had possessed him to speak that way? He recalled how
his heart had seemed to stop beating when he saw her in the path of the cattle. Perhaps it was the reaction at finding her unharmed when he had feared . Or maybe it was the encounter with the sheriff, which still rankled? Well, what did it matter--she was a Trenton anyway. He went to the bar, and Bowdyr's first remark might have been an answer to his last thought.

  "She's a fine gal--even if she is kin to Zeb," he said.

  "Looks ain't much to go on," the young man observed cynically. "The meanest hoss I ever owned was a picture."

  The saloon-keeper, being a wise man, kept his smile and his thoughts to himself. Malachi, returning presently, found them drinking together, and to the surprise of both, declined their invitation.

  "How's the arm?" he enquired.

  "Fine, it was just a touch."

  "Yes, touch and go; if you'd been two seconds later the horn would have pierced your heart," the doctor said. "I didn't tell Miss Trenton that."

  "I'm obliged--she's over-grateful a'ready. You ain't here to ask after my health, are you, Phil?"

  "No, my errand concerns my own. When are you going away?"

  "So you've heard that damn silly rumour too?"

  "I pay no attention to idle chatter, and get it into your head that I'm on your side," Malachi said seriously. "Listen: I happen to know--never mind how--that you have to raise a large sum of money in a short time."

  Dan swore. "So my financial position is common property?" he said bitterly.

  "Whose isn't, in this place?" was the rejoinder. "Where are you going for it? With the cattle business as it is, your chance with the Eastern capitalist is nil; north and south are only ranches in the same predicament as yourself; in the west, there is Rufe's Cache--if you can find it."

  "What do you know about that?" Dan demanded.

  "The story is common property also," the doctor reminded. "Your father himself gave me the facts, and asserted that if necessity arose, he could go to the spot. Probably that is why he did not worry about his debt to the bank."

  Dan was silent; it was disturbing to think his affairs and plans were known. Then he said, "Who told you I was leavin' Rainbow?"