`Sounds fierce.'
`That's how it is. Coupla years back, when the Judge was appointed, the decent citizens looked for better things, an' they built him a fine new court-house an' calaboose--hopin'. But the cattlemen got hold of him an' like the sheriff, he wants to keep his job.'
`But that depends on the Governor,' Sudden objected.
`Who wouldn't have any use for a dead judge,' was the grim retort.
`The ranchers must be pretty strong.'
`Their custom means a lot, an' they have the lawless element with 'em. How many? Well, there's the S P, north; the Big C--Cullin's, south-east; the Double V--Vic Vasco's, southwest; the 8 B--Bardoe's, due west; so I've got em all round me. It's a swell nest o' yeller-jackets you've stepped into.'
`My hide is thick,' the puncher smiled.
To the unaccustomed eye, Midway could only appear as a blot on the landscape. A few of the buildings boasted a second storey, some were false-fronted to convey that impression, and others were just cabins with sodded roofs. As they entered the town, Drait pulled up, and pointed.
`There she is,' he said. `Midway's pride.'
It was a big building, standing back from the others. Substantially constructed of squared logs, it had a second floor, and three doors, the boards above which told that here was congregated, in the court-house, gaol, and sheriff's office, the whole machinery of the Law.
`Looks fine from here,' Sudden said. `Seen the inside?' `Not yet,' the nester grinned. `There's Judge Towler.'
Sudden saw an oldish man passing on the other side of the street. Even without his battered high hat he would have been tall but for a pronounced stoop. A full-skirted shabby black coat flapped about his thighs, his boiled shirt was wrinkled and soiled, and his grey beard unkempt. Nevertheless, he still presented a kind of decayed distinction. Eyes bent, he seemed to be choosing his steps carefully, and twice they saw him stumble.
`I'm told he's hittin' the bottle pretty constant,' Drait remarked. Pity--he's got brains; if he on'y had courage too....' They went on to dismount at a saloon which announced itself as `Merker's.' Underneath was the statement, `No Fancy Names and No Funny Business.'
`An' that's no brag,' Drait said. `If you lose here, you have lost, an' if you win, yo're paid.'
The company within was small--less than a dozen men were seated at the tables in front of the bar, and the various games of chance were idle. Behind a barrier of polished mahogany stood a dark-haired, smooth-chinned man whose face would not have appeared out of place above a clerical collar.
`Glad to see you, Nick,' he greeted, and when the nester presented his companion, added, `You too, Mister Green.' He set out the inevitable bottle and glasses, and in a lowered tone, said, `The sheriff is makin' a big talk an' is lookin' for you.'
`Now if that ain't lucky,' Drait replied. `I came a-purpose to see him; get a bit further away, Jim; you don't know me till we hear what he has to say.'
A moment later, the swing-door was thrust aside, and the officer entered. Short, barrel-like in body, with stumpy, powerful legs, he waddled rather than walked in. Meanness was evident in his puffy cheeks, slit of a mouth, and cunning eyes, which gleamed for a moment when they rested on the nester, and then almost vanished, as though a light had been lowered inside him. He had been given--but did not rejoice in--the nickname of `Stinker,' owing to a reputed adventure with a skunk.
Pompously throwing out his huge chest, on which his badge was prominently displayed, and hitching his gun-belt so that the butt was handy, he growled, `Drait, I wanta see you.'
Nick turned slowly. `Help yoreself,' he said. `But don't come too close--my nose is a mite sensitive.' A chuckle from an onlooker did not improve the officer's temper. `Funny, huh?' he sneered. `Well, laugh this one off : I'm arrestin' you.' `Is--that--so?' the young man queried. `I've often wondered how it felt. Seems simple. What d'you do next?'
The sheriff ignored the question--an evasion which made some of those present smile, but their faces became serious enough when he continued. 'Yo're charged with stealin' four hosses from the S P.'
The accused grinned. `How on earth did you find that out, Stinker?' he wanted to know.
`That's my business.'
`Shore it is, but you never do it, an' didn't this time. You had yore information from a cow-thief named Lanty.'
`That amounts to a confession,' the sheriff said eagerly.
`How d'you figure it?'
`Because' he paused, suddenly aware of an obstacle, and Drait finished the sentence :
`Lanty won't like bein' dragged into it, but he's goin' to be. Yestiddy, he an' three o' Bardoe's bullies ambushed, an' were just about to string me up when a couple o' strangers happened along an' interfered. The Bardoe men were usin' S P broncs, an' claimed to be ridin' for Gilman. I didn't believe it, an' set 'em afoot. So Lanty tries to come back at me by tellin' the sheriff he'll find stolen stock at Shadow Valley. Sent there yet, Stinker?'
`Yeah, an' if my fellas do find 'em you'll swing yet, for all yore fairy tale,' was the answer.
Drait, leaning comfortably against the bar, glanced round at the audience. `A hard man, our unworthy sheriff,' he remarked, and passed a piece of paper to the saloon-keeper. `Suspicious, too. Tell the company what that is, Sol.'
Merker read aloud : `Received from Nick Drait, four S P horses he had reason to believe stolen from this ranch.' He paused a moment. `It bears today's date, an' is signed by jack Gilman.'
Open sniggers greeted the discomfiture of the officer, who was by no means popular with some of the townsfolk upon whom he had been forced. He glared at the offenders, but could conjure up no retort to the blow. The nester spoke, contemptuously:`So you see, Stinker, I gotta decline yore invitation to the calaboose, but if I'm robbin' you o' one job, I'm givin' you another. When I reached home in the afternoon, I found Eddie Olsen--dead, an' hangin' from a limb. That don't seem to surprise you.'
The sheriff's unhealthy face had become a shade paler, and his attempt to depict astonishment was a poor effort. He lifted his massive shoulders.
`Nothin' that happens in Shadow Valley surprises me, 'cept that a damn fool should try to live there,' he sneered. `Gimme the facts an' I'll look into it.'
`As you did the murder o' young Rawlin?'
`That was self-defence, an' I'll bet this was too.'
`You'd lose; Eddie was crippled, an' he didn't tote a gun. He was hanged just as a warnin' to me.' A long-faced, bearded man at one of the tables looked up. `Why, there wasn't no harm in Eddie,' he remarked. `Hanged, huh?'
`Yeah, Pilch,' Drait replied. `Nine full-growed, masked men to murder one disabled, unarmed lad.'
`Yore chaps reckernize any of 'em?' the officer asked.
`Do you think I'd be here if they had?' Nick said savagely. The reply seemed to relieve the questioner. `Cattle-thieves, I reckon,' he said. `There's plenty about.'
'Yo're right, an' all of 'em own ranches. But these houn's warn't after cattle, but me, an' this proves it.'
He read out the notice the killers had left, and the sheriff shut his teeth on an oath; why did the cursed fools have to be so theatrical?
`What you expect me to do?'
`I ain't expectin', Camort,' Drait told him. `You'll do what yore masters' tell you, like any other tame dawg.'
Hard-boiled as he was, the bitter taunt stung, and the sheriff's face purpled with passion. But the flinty-eyed man who had hurled it at him was an unknown quantity, and Camort had a fondness for certainties. Remembrance came that, by virtue of his office, he was a privileged person. An ugly light in his slitted eyes, he ordered a drink, and turned on his tormentor.
`That'll be all from you, Drait,' he said furiously. `Pull yore gun, you...'
As the last word left his lips, he grabbed the glass on the bar, flung the contents full in the nester's face, and reached for his hip. Drait was helpless, blinded by the fiery spirit, and it seemed the dastard design must succeed. Camort's gun was out, and his finger actually pressing the trigger
when flame jetted from the left hip of the strange puncher, now standing clear of the bar; the threatening weapon clattered on the floor, and with a yelped oath, its owner clutched a ripped fore-arm. Before he could move, iron hands gripped his throat, shook him like a rat, and flung him away. Against the power in those long, muscular arms the sheriff's bulk availed him not at all. The astounded spectators saw him stagger backwards, crash into a table, and lie prone amidst the ruins. The puncher stepped towards him.
`Stinker is correct,' he said. `Of all the rotten skunks I ever met--an' that's quite a few--yo're the meanest. I oughta blowed yore light out; if yu get in my way again, I'll do it--that star yu disgrace ain't a circumstance to me.' Camort, understanding that he was safe for the time, ventured a threat : `I'll git you both for this.'
Sudden laughed, and looked at the company. `Make a note o' that, gents. If we're found shot from behind, yu'll know who did it.'
`You betcha,' Pilch replied. `An' don't judge this town by that fella, Mister--he warn't no pop'lar selection. If he'd downed Drait by that trick I'd 'a' laid him out too, an' that's whatever.'
`Good for yu,' the puncher smiled, and seeing that his friend now had the use of his eyes again, added, `Comin', Nick?'
When they were in the saddle again, the nester said, `That's the second time in twenty-four hours you've saved my life. Hell, I'll be scared to go about without you soon, but if the ante is too big, I ain't holdin' you.'
`Shucks!' the other said. `Why, that two-bit imitation peace-officer would say I'd run away from him. No, sir, I'm seein' this game through to my last chip.'
`I'm shore obliged,' Drait said, and meant much more.
Chapter IV
A week passed uneventfully. Every morning Mary rode up the valley with her husband for a lesson in shooting, only to come back with a sense of frustration. He was a considerate, attentive companion and nothing more; all her advances failed to penetrate the armour of bluff good-fellowship in which he seemed to have encased himself. At times, she wondered if he suspected her design and was also playing a part--a thought which only stiffened her resolve to punish him. But nevertheless, she enjoyed the jaunts, the valley had an endless variety of interest. So she was conscious of real disappointment when Nick announced he could not accompany her.
`Gotta go into town,' he explained. `O' course, you could take Beau.'
The suggestion was casually made, but there was an expression on his face she could not read. `I shall be quite all right by myself,' she replied.
`I dunno--that end ain't plugged yet,' he said doubtfully. `Have yore gun along.'
She promised, and then remarked, `The sheriff of Midway doesn't think much of you, does he?' This brought the ghost of a grin. `I wouldn't wonder if he's thinkin' quite a lot o' me,' he drawled. `Are you taking Mister Green?'
This time there could be no evasion. `Who's been talkin' outa turn?' he asked.
`I don't know,' she told him, adding softly, `I only want you to be careful.'
In the case of nine men out of ten, her apparent solicitude would have produced some sign, but the nester's face remained unchanged. Muttering something about chattering chumps, he went out. At the corral he met Yorky and gave him instructions, concluding with, `Don't show yoreself 'less you have to; guess there ain't any real risk, but till that far end is corked up ...'
Yorky nodded; he would have liked to ask a question, but had been well-schooled by Sudden, and knew when to keep his mouth shut. As Drait rode away, the boy's approving eyes followed him. Two of a kind--Jim an' him,' he informed the air. `Gosh! Glad I'm on their side.'
Nick found the rest of his outfit busy at the wall, which was now a formidable obstacle. Calling Quilt aside, he explained about Yorky, and added a word of praise. `We'll finish her today, an' she ain't no slouch of a job,' the foreman said. `If yo're needin' Jim....'
`Why should I be?'
`Headin' for town, ain't you?'
`Well?' Sharply.
The sheriff is shootin' off his mouth quite a bit. Shore, he's still crippled, but he has friends.'
Drait frowned. `Who's been yappin' around here?'
`I can tell you one who ain't an' that's the fella what knowed all about it--reckon he was raised among Injuns,' the little man grinned. Was you expectin' to keep it secret?'
`Beats hell how the news gets about in this country,' the nester grumbled.
`Little birds certainly ain't scarce,' Quilt agreed, and when the other was out of hearing, added, `Nick, if you wasn't more generous with yore dollars than yore words nobody'd work for you 'cept damn fools like me.' He pondered a moment. `An' I shore am one; if I hadn't mentioned Jim, mebbe you wouldn't 'a' gone alone; I oughta be booted.'
Mary, riding slowly along the valley, was thinking much the same thing. The rebuff she had received still brought the colour to her cheeks. She had learned from Lindy of the bearding of the sheriff. Brutal, unscrupulous the nester might be, but she had to admit that he had the quality most esteemed in the West--courage. Fight--that was Nature's universal law....
An amused voice broke in on her meditations. `You didn't oughta be all alone this bright mornin'.'
She turned to find Beau Lamond pacing just behind, hat in hand, a confident gleam in his dark eyes. She drew rein. `Did Mister Drait ask you to ride with me?' she enquired. `Why, no, must 'a' forgot,' he smiled.
`On the contrary, he offered me your company, but I told him I preferred my own.'
His conceit would not accept this. `Say, but that was real cute of you,' he complimented.
`Not at all, it was true,' she returned icily, and rode on.
He made no attempt to follow her, save with his furious gaze.
`So that's the way of it, huh?' he growled. `Well, it takes two to make a game, an' I can wait.'
Savagely he wrenched his horse about and spurred to the gate. Smoky read the flushed features aright.
`Sorta took the wrong turnin', Beau?' he queried.
`Mind yore own damn business,' the other snapped.
`Somebody just bin tellin' you that?'
Before the incipient quarrel developed, Quilt crushed it. `Better both try it,' he said sharply. 'Git busy.'
The girl did not look round. Her anger was not all caused by the cowboy's presumption, some of it being due to the unwelcome feeling that she was missing the big, taciturn man who had been her daily companion. Resentfully, she told herself that it was absurd, but nevernheless, the valley did not seem quite the same. She passed the pool, almost without a glance, dismounted and fired twelve shots at the tree, hitting it twice. This would please Nick, at which thought she straightway resolved not to tell him.
On reaching the end, she faced round and sat drinking in the scene. The green oval, with its mirror-like pool and frame of grey, toothed rock, seemed utterly peaceful. The bulge in the cliffs prevented her from seeing the ranch-house, or the entrance where the men would be working. The sun's rays, growing stronger, were licking the diamond drops from the grass. Mary breathed deeply.
`Brownie, it's--just--Eden,' she told her pony.
`Needs an Adam though,' chuckled a gruff voice.
She turned her head; a big man on a horse was just at her shoulder; it was Bardoe. Her cry of astonishment and attempt to back away brought suspicion. Grabbing her rein, he bent and peered closely; recognition dawned in his eyes.
`So it's you? Well by Gawd, that's luck I warn't lookin' for,' he cried. His gaze travelled over the trim figure gloatingly. `I knowed you was a pretty piece, but duds shore do make a difference.'
He leaned nearer and she tried to sway away. `I thought you were killed,' she said.
`Near thing,' he replied, tapping the soiled rag twisted about his head. `Creased me, that's all. I was out for a coupla days, an' them cussed idjuts o' mine had me all ready for plantin'. Funny to come to life in yore coffin. You don't seem overjoyed.'
`Why should I be?' she retorted. `I'm glad you escaped, but
`One man's as good as another,
huh?' he sneered. `Mebbe better, if he buys you fine fixin's. Allasame, yo're wrong--Drait ain't goin' to last ten flicks of a cow's tail. He makes mistakes; the man who steals my hoss, money, an' woman, has gotta take my life too.'
`I was not your woman,' Mary said furiously. `And
`Don't say it,' he grated. `We're startin' for the 8 B right now.'
He dragged her pony's head round. Suddenly she remembered, drew her revolver from the holster, and levelled it at his head. `Get away from me or I'll fire,' she threatened.
For an instant he paused, staring, and then, with a grin, came closer. She pulled the trigger, but only a click resulted; she had neglected Drait's instruction to always reload at once. In anger and disgust she flung the weapon to the ground. Bardoe's laugh was torture.
`I like 'em with guts,' he said. `Yore man should 'a' told you that an empty gun is more dangerous than no gun a-tall.' `He did,' she muttered miserably. `I forgot.'
`Well, well, you'll know better next time--mebbe,' he jeered, and jerked at the rein of the unwilling Brownie. `C'mon, lift yore damn legs, you.'
`Lift yore damn paws, you,' echoed a rather high-pitched but very steady voice.
Bardoe dared not disobey; one glance at the girl's face told him he was trapped. As he made the movement, he risked a lightning peep over his shoulder but got no satisfaction. The newcomer was young, little more than a boy, but there was nothing juvenile about the Winchester he held, finger tight against the trigger; the slightest increase of pressure.... Like most of his kidney, Bardoe was a willing gambler, but here he had no chance; long before he could start anything, hot lead would be boring his body.
`Shuck yore shootin'-irons--all of 'em,' came the curt order. `An' make it snappy.'
The ruffian obeyed; with the enemy behind him, even a gun in his hand was of no use. A pair of revolvers and a rifle dropped to the ground. Lynx-eyed, Yorky watched the operation.
`You all right, ma'am?' he asked.
`Yes,' she replied. `Please let him go.'
Sudden Plays a Hand (1950) Page 4