Sudden: Rides Again

by Oliver Strange

  ‘Satisfied that he would not be pursued ln the dark, Sudden eased his mount after covering a few miles. He saw clearly enough what had occurred: Satan and Lagley had “framed” him, and his absence from the Double K had provided the opportunity. A daub of white paint and the bandit’s black would convincingly resemble Nigger in the starlight. Satan’s reference to his early return to Hell City recurred to him and he now understood the sly smile which had then puzzled him. The reason for the plot was not so obvious. Either the bandit wished to force the cowboy to join him openly, or to get rid of him altogether. Sudden did not think the latter likely, though it might well have suited Lagley.

  Dismissing the matter from his mind, he began to seek a place to spend the night, for he had no intention of returning to Hell City until daylight. It did not take him long; at a spot where the trail to Dugout dipped between brush-covered slopes, he found a grassy hollow from which he could see without being seen. He picketed his horse, but did not remove the saddle, rolled himself in his blanket, and, back against a sapling, was soon asleep.

  The sun was climbing the eastern sky when a merry but unmelodious voice awoke him; it seemed familiar. Creeping forward, he parted the bushes; Frosty was riding leisurely towards him. Sudden grinned, thrust out a gun, and called hoarsely: “Push ‘em up, yu yowlin’ he-cat.”

  The rider’s start of surprise nearly threw him out of the saddle, but the protruding weapon admitted no argument; he raised his hands. The hidden voice went on grumblingly: “Oughta blow yore light out, spoilin’ my sleep an’ pizenin’ the atmosphere thataway. Explain yoreself.”

  Try as he might, he could not keep the mirth out of his tone. Frosty detected it; he lowered his hands.

  “Shoot an’ be damned,” he said.

  Instead of a bullet, came an order. “The sheriff o’ Dugout will get off that bone-bag he calls a hoss an’ step up here, fetchin’ said bone-bag along.”

  The cowboy did as directed and found himself facing the smiling owner of the voice. “Knowed it was yu allatime,” he said hastily. “Just had to let yu play yore kid game. No, there ain’t nobody followin’ me; I slipped off.”

  “To find me?”

  “I was hopin’—figured yu might go to town. Jim, I don’t savvy—thought mebbe yu could wise me up.”

  “I ain’t very clear my own self,” Sudden admitted. “Yu were there when the herd was run off?”

  “Yeah, four of us was watchin’ them steers yu an’ me bin collectin’—Steve had a hunch somethin’ was goin’ to happen,” Frosty said.

  Sudden’s grin was ironical. “He would have,” he commented. “An’ he wanted plenty witnesses.”

  “Over a dozen of ‘ern closed in onus from all sides, firin’,” Frosty continued. “They got Denver in the leg, crippled two hosses, an’ swept the cows off before we’d got our breath; it was the neatest gather. The leader’s mount was the spit o’ Nigger.”

  “Was he masked?”

  “I didn’t get that close an’ the light was poor, but I’d say he had a bandanna round his chops. He shorely looked liked yu, Jim.”

  “It warn’t me nor Nigger—both of us was in Hell City.”

  “Yu didn’t go to Red Rock?”

  “Never meant to, an’ Keith knowed it,” Sudden said. “I’ve been framed, cowboy. Mister Satan wants me to throw in with him.”

  “I’ll bet yu’d not do that, Jim.”

  “Then yu’d lose, for that is precisely what I’m goin’ to do,” was the sardonic answer. “Are yu suggestin’ I should let the Double K string me up?”

  “There’s other places,” Frosty pointed out.

  “I know it,” Sudden retorted harshly. “I’m to go on the dodge for somethin’ I didn’t do, huh? That’s happened before, an’ I’m through. This time I’ll hit back, an’ hit hard.”

  The bitter vehemence of this declaration told that further argument would be useless. Frosty was silent for a while, and then : “If yu need help, Jim, yu on’y gotta mention it—that’s what I really came to say, an’ I reckon it goes for some o’ the others, too.”

  “I’m obliged, but there’s no call for my friends to put their necks in a noose because I do,” Sudden replied.

  “Pickles !” Frosty laughed. “Friends oughta hang together, anyways. We’re backin’ yu—the limit.”

  “Which is mighty good hearin’,” Sudden said soberly. “I got a sorta ambition to abolish Hell City, but yu needn’t mention it yet awhile.”

  Frosty stared at him incredulously. “Is that all?” he asked. “What yu goin’ to do in yore spare time?”

  “I’ll have to think up somethin’,” Sudden grinned. “Listen: I happened on a private way o’ gettin’ into the place.” He described the spot. “Find, but don’t use it till yu have a word from me. Still got that badge? Good, yu may need it.”

  “Jim, d’yu reckon Steve is Toxin’?”

  “He was powerful eager to see me dance on nothin’.”

  “No foreman likes to have his cattle stole.”

  “That’s true; but I wouldn’t trust him. Now, I gotta be on the move. So long.”

  “When yu want us we’ll come a-runnin’,” were Frosty’s parting words. “Yu goin’ to town?”

  “Yeah, I couldn’t stay for supper las’ night an’ my insides is remindin’ me; fresh air’s good, but it ain’t fillin’.”

  Frosty watched the black till it disappeared round a curve and then climbed his own mount. “Just can’t figure him, Cactus,” he mused, “but I’m bettin’ high he’s—straight.”

  Sudden’s demeanour when he reached Dugout was anything but that of a fugitive. He procured the needed meal at Black Sam’s, and learned that though the raid on the ranches was the one subject of conversation, his own supposed share in it was not known. This was fortunate, the town being indignant at the spoliation of its two best customers.

  “Couple o’ hundred head at one lick,” Jansen said. “Real money, that is. I’ll wager Keith is some difficult to live with.”

  “He’s takin’ it hard,” the puncher admitted.

  “Beats me why him an’ Merry don’t team up an’ drive them rats out’n their hole,” Naylor remarked. “Some of us would give a hand.”

  “Ever bin in Hell City?” Birt asked. “I have–on business,” he added hastily. ” ‘Less yo’re a bird, there’s but two ways in, an’ four men with rifles would hold the pair of ‘em agin ten times their number.”

  Sudden left them arguing, and rode in the direction of the place he had been warned to avoid. He was less than halfway when he met Miss Dalroy, riding a horse he recognized. At the sight of him she pulled up, anger and scorn in her eyes.

  “You are going back?” she cried.

  “Shore looks thataway,” he replied, and then, “So he lets yu ride his hoss? He’s a beauty—the hoss, I mean.”

  He leant over and stroked the shiny muzzle, his hand straying upwards, pushing the short hair aside to find traces of white paint at the roots.

  “I tried to see the Chief night afore last,” he said casually. “Silver said he warn’t there.”

  She looked sharply at him. “What are you trying to find out?”

  He shrugged. “Just whether it was an excuse or not. There can’t be any mystery ‘bout his movements, anyway, an’yo’re forgettin’—this.” He pointed to the badge he had donned after leaving Dugout.

  “He was abroad,” she admitted. “If you had any sense at all you’d throw that thing away and—ride.”

  “Why not take yore own advice?” he smiled. “What keeps yu in Hell City?”

  “The reason we all have—necessity,” she replied, and in a burst of bitterness, “I killed a brute, and because I was a woman, they called it murder and would have hanged me; at the best, it meant a life sentence. Jeff contrived my escape, and brought me here.”

  “One good deed to his credit.”

  “Don’t think it. Many of his men owe him the same debt, and that gives him absolute power over them.
”

  “Ever seen him without the mask?” Sudden asked casually.

  “No, but once he showed me a photograph; it was signed `Jefferson Keith.’ “

  “Odd that a fella should hide his face from the woman he cares for,” the puncher murmured. “Shucks, I shouldn’t ‘a’ said that; musta been thinkin’ aloud.”

  Her laugh did not ring true. “If you’re meaning me, you’d better think again,” she said scornfully. “I’m just his property, to pet or punish at his pleasure. He is incapable of any passion, save hate, and to satisfy that will stoop to the vilest deeds, and yet …” she broke off with an impatient gesture, and then, “In some way you have offended him.” She saw his little smile of tolerance, and touched her horse with the spur. “Oh, well, a wilful man must learn his lesson.”

  “I’m shore grateful, ma’am,” he said gravely, and resumed his journey.

  Apart from proof that Satan was in the plot to discredit him at the Double K he had discovered nothing. Belle Dalroy he had already classed as a fugitive from the law. Wayward, impetuous, and quick-tempered, she was not to be trusted. He smiled thinly at the thought that in this place to which he was going there was not one person on whom he could rely. The woman, Anita, perhaps, but promises made in the stress of emotion were not wont to be lasting. He consoled himself with a philosophical reflection:

  “Playin’ a lone hand has one good point—yu on’y got yoreself to worry about.”

  Chapter XV

  Satan welcomed the puncher with a satirical smile. “Back so soon?” he cried.

  “Yeah. Don’t tell me yo’re surprised.”

  “I said yesterday that you would be. I take it they were not pleased to see you at the Double K?”

  “Pleased don’t express it; I was a dream come true. I had to tear myself away,” Sudden told him. “Why, Steve wanted to waste a new rope on me.”

  He gave an account of his escape, and the change in the masked man’s expression was amazing.

  “I told him you were not to be harmed,” he rapped out. “Damn his soul, he’s getting ” He stopped, conscious of betraying himself, and then, “Well, it doesn’t matter, no hurt was done. Still, it’s a pity you stole those cows.”

  “So I did take ‘em?”

  “Certainly, so far as the country round is concerned, and my men believe the same,” came the cool reply. “You see, I wanted to make sure of you, Sudden, and as this is now the only place where you will be safe, I think I’ve done it. Do you follow me?”

  “I’m treadin’ close on yore heels.”

  “I credit you with courage and intelligence. I need such a man to be my

  “Pardner?”

  “Right hand, I was about to say, but it may lead to the other. Those animals outside can execute but are incapable of thinking, for me or for themselves. You will take orders from me, and they from you.”

  “I’m a stranger; mebbe they won’t stand for that.”

  “Are those guns of yours ornaments?” was the cynical query. “There is only one man who may prove really awkward, since you will be succeeding him.”

  “Ain’t meanin’ Steve, are yu?”

  “That clod?” Satan sneered. “No, this is a fellow called `Butch’—short for butcher, I imagine, he being a slayer of some note. Have you heard of him?”

  Despite the indifferent tone, the puncher was aware of the other’s scrutiny.

  “Not any,” he replied nonchalantly.

  “I shall leave you to deal with him, as you choose,” the bandit said meaningly. “He is in the town now. You understand?”

  “Why don’t yu tell him to pull his freight?” Sudden asked bluntly.

  “Knowing what he does, he would be a menace. Also, I need someone to take his place, and that someone must be the better man. Now do you see?”

  Sudden did, all too clearly; he had again been jockeyed into false position. Butch, a dangerous tool who had transgressed, must be got rid of, and he—probably regarded in the same light, was to do the work. He could see no way out, save to abandon his mission.

  “I get yu,” he said.

  “Right. How about quarters?”

  “The saloon ain’t so bad. Don’t cotton much to these holes in the ground; make me feel like a gopher.”

  “One gets used to them.”

  Sudden glanced round. “Yu oughta be middlin’ comfortable,” he said. “That’s a han’some picture.”

  Standing on the floor, where the light was poorest, he had not noticed it on his previous visits. A large canvas, depicted the life-size figure of a gunman. The half-crouch pointing pistol, and malignant expression on the face, produced an amazing effect of reality.

  “The subject should appeal to you.”

  “Yeah,” Sudden agreed. “The gun is wrong—he’d be dead afore he got it that high. Allasame, it’s mighty clever–I could ‘a’ sworn I saw the eyes move.”

  Satan laughed. “That’s a common illusion,” he returned. “Well, I wish you luck.”

  “The fella who depends on luck has a poor pardner,” the cowboy said, and went out.

  A few moments passed and then the masked man said quietly, “You can come out, Butch.”

  In response to the invitation, a man emerged from behind the picture. His appearance was not formidable. Untended, greying hair showed beneath his slouched hat, a black coat hung loosely from his rounded shoulders, giving him a pronounced stoop. But his lined, dissipated face, with its bloodless lips and heavy-lidded eyes, told a different tale. Here was one to whom cruelty was a commonplace, who would slay without compunction.

  “So that’s the pilgrim?” he asked. “Why didn’t you let me salivate him right away; it would ‘a’ bin easy.”

  “Yes, too easy—for him,” Chief retorted. “I could have done that myself, but I want him shamed before others, beaten at his own game. Let him see death coming, and wait for it, suffering those few seconds of agony which turn a man into a white-livered cur and make him sweat blood. Do you understand?”

  His voice trembled with the virulence of his passion, and it made Butch think a little. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “You mean you don’t like him—much, but has it occurred to you that he might get me?”

  Satan’s expression was an insult. “You don’t expect to pick up five hundred dollars without some risk, I suppose?” he said coldly. “Of course, if he’s quicker than you …”

  The gunman leered. “I guess not, but you hadn’t mentioned the dinero,” he replied. “Well, that’s fixed; I’ll be on my way.” He had a word as he went, “Hell, t’o’re a good hater, ain’t you?”

  Had he heard the valediction which followed him he would have been less satisfied with the vile bargain he had made.

  “Yes, I’m a good hater,” Satan repeated. “Go, you dog, and kill or be killed; either way, I gain.”

  Sudden was glad to find himself in the sunlight; he had meant what he said—these dismal caverns in the rock, the homes of a dead and gone race, depressed him, and the interview had intensified this feeling. He smiled mirthlessly as he recalled the incident of the picture; there had been no illusion, the moving eyes were those of a hidden marksman, ready to shoot him down at a sign. He did not suspect it was the man he had to meet, and—subdue, but it warned him that the bandit was not taking risks regarding his own safety.

  “An’ two-three times I came near to puffin’ on him,” he reflected ruefully. “Oughta guessed that dealin’ with the scum he has to he’d have a card up his sleeve. If `fools for luck’ is right, I must be a prize specimen.”

  He spent the rest of the day loafing about the town, watching, listening, but he learned nothing until the evening when, returning to the saloon, a whisper came to him out of the gloom.

  “A bad man is here. If he falls foul of you, remember that his right hand is the dangerous one.”

  The voice was Anita’s, and he realized that he was passing the place where she lived. But he could see no one, and with a word of thanks, he went on. The
caution could only refer to Butch.

  He entered the saloon from the rear, and in the seclusion of his room, examined his guns, reloading them with fresh cartridges from his belt, and spinning the cylinders; his life might depend on their being in perfect order. He did not want to kill this man, and if possible, he would avoid the encounter, but ..

  The bar was well patronized, most of those present being men. The few exceptions were of the type common in the cattle-towns, brazen, loud-voiced, gaudily attired creatures who had followed hunted men into hiding, or had been driven into it by their own misdeeds. The atmosphere was hazy with tobacco smoke and reeked of liquor and kerosene.

  With his back against the bar, Sudden surveyed the scene with apparent indifference, but his eyes were alert. Most of the faces were unfamiliar, but in one corner, Scar and his cronies were playing poker. He could see no one likely to be the man he was expecting.

  “Business ‘pears to be boomin’,” he remarked to the proprietor. “Any particular reason?”

  At that moment, a half-tipsy reveller raised his glass and shouted, “Here’s to the Double K.”

  The toast produced a burst of raucous laughter, and a cry of “Don’t forget the Twin Diamond.”

  “There’s yore answer,” Dirk replied. “The Chief pays prompt.”

  Nevertheless, the cowboy had a conviction that this did not explain things; an air of expectancy, frequent furtive glances at the door and himself, suggested that the crowd had not come solely to spend ill-gotten gains. The saloon-keeper’s wife called her husband from the exit leading to the rear of the premises. When he returned he said: “There’s a fella at the back askin’ for you.”

  Sudden went out, but not too hurriedly, for it might be a trap. He found young Holt, alone, and bursting with his news.

  “Bin lookin’ for you all over,” he began. “They aim to git you tonight in there—a gunman named Butch has come a-purpose. Muley got drunk this afternoon an’ he’s bin tellin’ everybody to come to yore funeral.”