Sudden: Rides Again

by Oliver Strange

  Turvey laughed scornfully. “Rogue shoot?” he jeered. “Why, he couldn’t hit a barn ‘less he was inside it.”

  He saw the snare into which he had stumbled when Sudden said, “I expect yu !mowed him better than I did.”

  “I was told that—I never seen the man,” he protested.

  “Yu said yu hadn’t heard of him,” Lazy pointed out. Turvey scowled, but showed no desire to continue an argument in which he had very obviously been worsted.

  For some time that night Sudden lay awake, trying to place this man who had apparently played a part in a page of his own past, but without success; after all, he had not seen all the members of Rogue’s gang of bandits.

  Chapter X

  In the morning, on the pretence that he needed another shirt, Sudden again searched his belongings, but the telltale notice was not there. Either the thief had destroyed, or could find another use for it. The circumstance did not worry him; he had a shrewd suspicion it would be put to the purpose he had intended. On his way to the corral, the rancher stopped him.

  “You and Homer get along all right?” he asked. “Good, I’ve told Steve you are to work together.”

  “I’m thankin’ yu,” the puncher replied.

  As he threw the saddle on Nigger, and tightened the cinches, he was puzzling over Keith’s attitude, unburdening himself to his four-footed friend.

  “Either Steve was lyin’ complete, or the 01 Man is playin’ ignorant, Nig,” he muttered. “The on’y certain thing is they ain’t trustin’ me; Frosty is to keep cases. Wonder where the chucklehead has got to?”

  “Stick ‘em up !” hissed a low voice, and something hard was jammed in the small of his back.

  Sudden froze for an instant, and then, with lightning speed, whirled on the balls of his feet and flung himself on the man who had cat-footed up behind him. They went to the ground together, Sudden on top, but at once he was erect again, brushing the dust from his clothes.

  “Yu perishin’ idjut,” he said. “I might ‘a’ broke yore fool neck.”

  Frosty rose also, filled his depleted lungs, and spoke feelingly. “Namin’ yu `Sudden’ was shorely an inspiration.”

  “So yu know?”

  “All of us knows—Turvey, for once, was plenty chatter-some.”

  “Was it him put Keith wise?”

  “Dunno, but if he did, why ain’t yu been sent packin’?”

  “Mebbe they’d rather have me here than in Hell City.”

  “Which would be sound reasonin’. Let’s go.”

  For several miles nothing was said, but Sudden was conscious that his companion was covertly observing him. Presently the boy blurted out: “Jim, I just can’t believe it; vu don’t seem that sort o’ man.”

  Sudden divined his thoughts. To be a famous gunman was one thing, and murder for money was another. Moved by an impulse he did not attempt to analyse he told the story of his notorious nickname.’ Charged with a crime of which he :new nothing, forced to fight to free his neck from the noose, hunted like a beast of prey and driven to take refuge with the type of outcast the world had made him. Baldly, briefly, the f acts were stated.

  “I ain’t squealin’—a man has to play the cyards he gets,” he said in conclusion, “but I reckoned yu’d a right to be told, case yu—”

  “Forget it,” Frosty said gruffly. “I’m proud to know yu. I figure yu can’t choose yore friends—either yu like a fella or vu don’t, that’s all there is to it. Luck has played yu some scurvy tricks, Jim. Can I tell the boys?”

  “No, keep it behind yore teeth—I ain’t carin’ what the others think—an’ there’s another reason to that. I’m told that some o’ the outfit would like to see Jeff ownin’ the ranch. Yu one of’em?”

  Frosty shook his head. “Ken Keith hired me, an’ that goes for most of us,” he said. “Mebbe the 01’ Man’s rasp of a ongue has roughed up a few o’ the older men.”

  Soon afterwards they separated, riding in opposite directions. Sudden had said nothing of the foreman’s proposal. He believed that Homer could be trusted, but he was playing in a desperate game and dared not add to the risks. Also, he wanted to learn if he was watched. So he kept under cover, weaving his way through thickets of tall grass, thorn and mesquite.

  Presently the clink of iron against stone sounded faintly. Forcing his mount further into the undergrowth, he waited, a bitter sneer on his lips; his “friend” was spying upon him. To his amazement, however, the rider who came into view was Lagley, sitting slackly in his saddle, and with no attempt at concealment. He was apparently heading for Coyote Canyon, and, after a mental apology to Frosty, Sudden decided to follow.

  “Fly at it, Steve,” he grinned. “I never did like advertisin’ myself”

  As he had surmised, the foreman turned into the canyon and proceeded along it at a leisurely pace. Sudden, at a safe distance in the rear, kept him in sight. At the end of the gully the ground sloped up to a little forest of dwarf pines and continued to rise until a scrub-covered level was reached. Here the cowboy lost his quarry but the whinny of a horse from a black blob of brush told him that Lagley could not be far away Leaving Nigger, he circled the spot and found a faint trail.

  Stepping lightly as an Indian, he moved slowly forward until he reached a small cleared space at one side of which the foreman’s pony was tied to a shrub. The dim light which filtered through the foliage overhead enabled him to see that Lagley was not there, and an opening in the ground suggested the reason. Knotted round a near-by tree was a lariat, the end of which vanished in the hole. Sudden peered down but could see nothing but a kind of cave, only barely visible. It was but a drop of a dozen feet, and the rope made descent simple.

  He now found himself in a large, irregularly shaped room, - !lowed out of the living rock. The uneven floor was littered rubble and at one side the wall was pierced by a tunnel orifice through which came a diffused daylight. Searching around, he discovered another opening, with a rude ladder leading to a lower chamber. He went down, to find it similar in every respect to the one he had left, even to a second ladder. He was about to descend this when an indistinct mutter of voices warned him that it might not be wise. Instead, he crawled along the tunnel-like opening and peeped out. Below was a kind of street, with rock walls on both sides pitted with holes identical with the one he was using. On the ground level these were larger, and in some cases, had rough doors fitted to them. Even as he watched, the foreman emerged, crossed the street, and disappeared through one on the far side; he had the familiar red badge pinned on his breast.

  Having seen enough, Sudden returned to where he had left his horse. This must be Hell City, and he had guessed Lagley’s errand correctly; the stolen placard would shortly be in the possession of the chief of this outlaw community. Since he had brought it with that object, he was well content. The more so as he had lighted upon what seemed to be a private means of entering or leaving the place; no doubt :here was a man on guard below, but … The puncher was not one to ford a river before he came to it.

  The Double K foreman found the man he had come to see alone, save for the loutish attendant hovering in the background. The red mask made the stony eyes paler than ever; they always gave Lagley an uncomfortable feeling. The boy he used to know had eyes of the same colour, but they were alive, mirthful, unless he was angered. Lae bandit nodded negligently to a seat.

  “What brings you?” he enquired.

  “Yore business, o’ course,” the visitor replied. “Have a good look at that.”

  Satan unfolded the stolen placard and read it. “Well, are you suggesting I should send to Texas for him? Too much trouble, my friend, Besides, he’ll drift in, sooner or later.”

  “Make it sooner,” Lagley said. “He’s here a’ready.”

  The other straightened in his seat. “And I was not told?” he cried. “By Christmas, I’ll—”

  “Hold yore hosses, Jeff; nobody knows but me. He calls hisself Green, an’ he’s ridin’ for—us.”

 
“That fellow?” Satan said coolly. “Well?”

  “He’s useful—look how he handled Scar’s crew, an’ it was him an’ Homer busted up that brandin’ play. The 01’ Man is stuck on him, which is another reason for ropin’ him in.”

  “Have you sounded him?”

  “Kind of,” Lagley replied. “He didn’t jump at it—ain’t the sort—but I figure yu could fix him.”

  “What’s he done to you?”

  Under the scrutiny of those staring eyes the foreman shifted uncomfortably; he had the feeling that his inmost thoughts were being dragged out.

  “I got nothin’ agin him,” he protested.

  “He may come to see me—if he has the nerve.”

  Lagley essayed a grin. “That’ll fetch him, but he’s gotta be handled with gloves—he ain’t no common roughneck.”

  “I shall deal with him as I think fit,” came the snub. “By the way, I want more three-year-olds; arrange that some are —available.” He threw some bills on the table. “There’s your pay; see that you continue to earn it.”

  The foreman picked up the money and would have given something for the courage to fling it in the face of the master who treated him so cavalierly, but self-interest and a desire to we both forbade it. Silver, with a smirk which uncovered his usks, showed him out, and then returned with his great shoulders shaking.

  “What’s amusing you, Silver?” the masked man asked. “They’s all the same, Chief,” rumbled the deep voice. ‘Come in, steppin’ high, with their heads up, an’ slinks out ails tucked in. Never seen the fella could out-face you. Dunno how you do it.”

  The thin lips curved in a gratified smile. “The ability to rule is born in a man,” Satan said. “I have the gift. Tomorrow, you shall see me tame this gunfighter.”

  But the morrow brought no Sudden to Hell City. The foreman delivered the message, not quite in the condescending form in which it had been given—”He’ll be glad to meetcha,” was how he put it—and Sudden had received it omewhat nonchalantly.

  “I’ll chew it over. Mebbe drop in one day.”

  “Don’t leave it too long,” Lagley warned. “He ain’t the patient kind.”

  He got a look he could not put a meaning to. “I’m a bit short on patience myself,” the puncher replied. “Also, I ain’t kow-towin’ to any road-agent who’s afeard to show his face.”

  “Wait till yu see him; yu’ll talk different.”

  “P’raps, but first he’s gotta wait till he sees me,” Sudden retorted. “I’ll choose my own time.”

  So it came about that several days passed before the black horse carried him along the narrow causeway which wound through the foothills, and, rising with increasing steepness, led to the ponderous portal of Hell City. Approaching it, one could not help being struck by the natural strength of its position. Many centuries back, the place must have been a pass through the crest of a high plateau, but some mighty convulsion had torn away the cliff on the right, leaving a mereshell of rock with a precipitous face mounting abruptly from the valley. This shell formed one side of the bandit stronghold.

  Pacing slowly along, Sudden’s eyes were busy, but he did not halt until he reached the gate. It opened at once, to disclose a burly-looking ruffian, holding a rifle levelled from the hip. The visitor knew that his approach must have been observed; he had already decided upon his attitude.

  “Are you Sudden?” the man asked.

  “Folks have found me all that,” was the reply.

  “I’ve had word to let you pass, but yo’re after yore time; the Chief don’t like to be kept waitin’.”

  “Is that so? Well, I don’t like it neither, an’ yo’re keepin’ both of us waitin’,” Sudden reminded, adding sharply, “I’ll have to tell him….”

  With a look of alarm, the custodian fell back, his bluster gone. “No call to do that, stranger.”

  His eyes followed the black as it stepped unhurriedly along the street; the rider appeared to have forgotten his haste. “A killer, shore enough,” he muttered. “Had me covered, too, damn him.” He slammed the gate and then chuckled. “The Chief’ll take the starch out’n him, good an’ plenty.”

  The puncher paced on until he reached the point where he had seen Lagley vanish, and then pulled up beside a group of three men, slouch-hatted, unshaven, heavily armed, who surveyed him with insolent hostility.

  “Where’s yore boss hang out?” he asked brusquely.

  All three scowled, but one jerked a thumb over his shoulder. They watched him dismount and trail the reins, their greedy eyes on the horse. He spoke again.

  “Keep away from him or he’ll kill yu, an’ if he don’t, I will.”

  The faces of the men he warned grew darker, and one of them growled, “Who the devil are you to give us orders?”

  “My name is `Sudden,’ ” the puncher rasped. “Put yore paws up, all o’ vu, pronto !”

  As he spat out the last word his own hands came up, a gun in each. Utterly taken by surprise, the ruffians dared not disobey; the jutting jaw and icy narrowed eyes were not those of a bluffer.

  “Run, yu rats,” came the harsh command, and a bullet tore the heel from the boot of the last to start.

  The gunman waited until they had dived, like the vermin to which he had compared them, into one of the openings, and then hammered loudly on the door with the butt of a gun. It was opened immediately by Silver, who beckoned him in. The masked man was lolling in a big chair, reading, and took no notice when they entered. The puncher seated himself, pushed his hat back, and began to roll a cigarette. Presently the book was thrown aside.

  “You are `Sudden’?”

  “Men call me that,” the cowboy replied. “I s’pose yo’re `Satan’?”

  “That’s what I call myself. you have taken your time.”

  “Why should I come a-runnin’ when yu whistle?” Sudden said rudely. “I ain’t nobody’s dawg.”

  The expressionless eyes did not alter, but he saw the mouth harden; the blow had gone home.

  “I heard a shot outside. What happened?”

  “Three o’ yore scum got impudent; I had to educate ‘em some.”

  “Was it to find me you came to Arizona?”

  “Never heard o’ yu till I got to Dugout—robber bands ain’t no novelty in the West,” Sudden said carelessly. “I was just travellin’—for my health.”

  A flash of anger shone in the dull eyes but was gone in an instant. This truculent bully must be given a lesson, the masked man decided.

  “I have something to show you,” he announced. “When you have seen it, we will continued our conversation.”

  At a sign, Silver dragged aside a rug and raised a trapdoor, disclosing a ladder. He went down, and Satan motioned his guest to follow. Little as he appreciated the courtesy, the puncher—conscious that he was between the two fires—could not but comply. A moment, and the third man had joined them. The chamber they were now in was a counterpart of the one they had left, save that it was unfurnished. Daylight, entering by a hole on one side, revealed only what Sudden took to be a pile of rags, until a deep groan apprised him that they covered a human form.

  “Still alive,” the masked man said, and there was a horrible satisfaction in his tone. “Good!”

  “What’s he done?” the visitor asked.

  “You don’t know the Governor of Arizona, I expect?” Satan replied, watching him keenly.

  Sudden laughed. “Sheriffs is my limit thataway, so far.”

  “The Governor is good enough to take an interest in me,” the hard voice went on. “He has already sent two spies. The first went back ready for burial, and this one will be returned in the same way when I have finished with him. Lagley said you could shoot. I am about to test your skill. Lift him, Silver.”

  The dwarf raised the supine form as though it had been that of an infant, and the puncher needed all his iron control to suppress a cry of horror. Never had he seen a more dreadful sight. Through the tattered fragments of clothing the shrivel
led frame of the poor wretch gleamed like the bleached bones of a skeleton, the limbs swinging loosely, as if tied on with string. Long, matted white hair and beard draped a pallid, blood-drained face, with sunken cheeks, glazed eyes, and drooling lips.

  Sudden schooled his features to an expression of callous indifference; he had found Dolver—too late; the man was dying; he might live for days, enduring unspeakable agony, but there was no hope. He fought an impulse to shoot down the devil who now stood, gloating over his handiwork, but it was Keith’s son, and to slay the leader only would but make way for another. Even if he got out of Hell City alive—which was doubtful—his work would be still to do. In a voice he hardly recognized, he asked:

  “What’s wrong with his arms an’ legs?”

  “Broken at the knees and elbows—it saves the trouble of bonds,” the monster explained. “How I wish the Governor could see him.”

  He gave an order and Silver, supporting his burden easily with his left arm, gripped the lolling head with his enormous other paw and held it upright, as in a vice.

  “you have heard of dying by inches,” Satan said coolly. “This man is dying by fractions of an inch. You see that groove extending from the forehead back over the scalp? Well, every day I deepen it the smallest shade by a bullet. Eventually, I shall touch the brain, and then …”

  Into the piteous eyes of the prisoner, near blind with pain, came a spark of life, and from the mumbling lips a weak wail. “For God’s sake, kill me.”

  The masked man laughed hideously. “Always the same prayer,” he gibed, and finished with a blasphemy.

  Stepping back several paces, he drew a pistol, aimed and fired. The shot drew a despairing moan from the victim, and Sudden could see the faintest trickle of blood from the groove. The marksman looked at him triumphantly.

  “That’s shooting, my gun-slinging friend,” he sneered.

  The puncher did not appear impressed. “Fair,” he admitted. “But if that hombre was fit an’ had a forty-five in his fist …”