Sudden: The Marshal of Lawless

by Oliver Strange

  “That means waitin’—which I can’t do. Why not see Potter? He’ll let yu have the ready on yore ranch, an’ that’ll give yu time to turn round; yu can easy get clear when yu sell yore cows. I don’t want to ride yu, Andy, but I’m bein’ rode myself.”

  So because it seemed the only way out, and to avoid letting down one whom he deemed to be a friend, Andy went to the bank, and the man who had advised him to do so grinned felinely when he was gone. Once he held the mortgage, he would see that Bordene got deeper in the mire, and in the end the Box B would his. Things had not quite come out as he had planned, but perhaps it was as well. It meant some delay, but his Indian blood had endowed him with patience. Andy had been profuse in his praise of his preserver, and presently the saloonkeeper went in search of him. He found the marshal and his deputy lolling in the door of their dwelling.

  “Any news, marshal?” he asked.

  “Bordene came from the Red Ace a piece ago, so I’m figurin’ yu musta heard it all,” Green told him.

  “I got his account, but I thought yu might ‘a’ noticed somethin’ he missed,” Raven replied.

  “Andy didn’t miss nothin’ ‘cept a visit to the next world, an’ not that by so awful much,”

  Green smiled. “Them war-whoops had it framed up pretty neat.”

  “Yu reckon it was Injuns?” the other asked casually.

  “Seemed so, didn’t it, Pete?” the marshal said.

  “Shore did,” the deputy lied with ready alacrity. He did not know what Green’s game was, but he was prepared to back it to the limit.

  “It’s rough on Bordene, comin’ on top o’ the old man bein’ rubbed out,” the saloonkeeper said reflectively. “Yu ain’t struck the trail o’ Mister Sudden yet?”

  “Somebody musta told yu,” the marshal said satirically. “Me an’ Pete was tryin’ to keep that a secret.”

  If Raven appreciated the pleasantry his wooden face did not betray it. “What’s come o’ that no-‘count Injun yu fetched in?” he enquired.

  “Oh, he’s around,” the marshal said carelessly.

  “Send him on his way; this town don’t want his kind,” Raven growled harshly.

  At this order—for it was nothing else—the marshal’s lounging form straightened. “He’s workin’ for me,” he said quietly.

  For an instant the black eyes tried to stare down the grey-blue ones—and failed.

  Nevertheless, no trace of rancour appeared in his voice as he replied:

  “Oh, well, if yu can use him—but yu’ll be responsible.”

  Pete spat disgustedly as his gaze followed the saloonkeeper down the street. “That damn war-whoop is shore gettin’ yu some friends,” he said. “What is he a-doin’ anyways?”

  For immediately they had reached Lawless again the Mohave had vanished, taking his horse and gun. The marshal’s grin was provoking.

  “Curiosity brought sin into the world, Tubby,” he said. “If Eve hadn’t wondered about that apple—”

  “Oh, go to blazes,” the deputy rudely retorted, and stamped into the kitchen to make coffee. He was enjoying this half an hour later when his friend strode into the office.

  “Come an’ get yore hoss. Black Feather is back an’ we got some ridin’ to do,” the marshal told him.

  “Ridin’? This time o’ the day? Why, it’ll be dark in two-three hours,” the other expostulated. “Where we goin’?”

  “All the way there an’ back again,” was the non-committal explanation. “Yo’re gettin’ fatter’n a hawg, loafin’ around; yu want exercise.”

  “Yo’re a trifler with the truth—I don’t want nothin’ o’ the kind,” Pete said. ” ‘Cause yu look like a scraped shin-bone yu think everybody oughta.”

  They found the Indian waiting for them at the corral, and having secured their own mounts, set out. Keeping, at the marshal’s suggestion, behind the houses, they slipped out of town unobserved. The redskin led the way due west, riding at a smart clip. Several miles of semi-desert were covered in silence and then Pete’s patience came to an end.

  He shot an oblique glance at the long, silent figure riding beside him, and said: “S’pose yu spill some o’ the beautiful thoughts millin’ in yore majestic mind, an’ tell us where we’re at?”

  “I’m hopin’ to find some o’ Bordene’s cows for him,” the marshal said. “Black Feather don’t talk much.”

  “Yo’re damn right, he don’t,” Pete agreed. “Yu’d think words was a dollar each he’s that sparin’ of ‘em, an’ yo’re pretty near as bad.”

  The approach of night found them threading a tumbled tract of country which was new to both the white men. Their guide rode stolidly on, twisting and turning without hesitation, though they could see no trail. At length they emerged from an arroyo and saw a trampled track stretching away to the right and left. Black Feather slid down and examined the ground closely in the fading light. He rose with a grunt of satisfaction.

  “No come—yet,” he said. “We wait.”

  He pointed to the thick underbrush at the mouth of the arroyo out of which they had ridden, and, leading the horses, they ensconced themselves behind it. An hour passed and Green was beginning to fear that the Indian had made a mistake when the distant bellow of cattle broke the silence. The moon was rising now, and peering through the bushes, they could see on the plain a dark blur which was coming nearer. Then came the dull tramp of hoofs and the low calls of the riders. Mounting their horses, the watchers waited until the herd began to file past at a tired trot. The man riding point on the left of the cattle was Leeson. The marshal forced his horse into the open.

  “‘Lo, Leeson,” he said.

  Like a flash the man twisted in the saddle, his hand streaking to his hip, but it came away as quickly when he recognized the officer. Under the flapping brim of his hat the narrowed eyes looked vicious, but for the moment he could find nothing to say. Then reflecting that the newcomer was apparently alone, he blurted out:

  “What the hell yu doin’ here?”

  “I’m good an’ lost,” the marshal smiled. “Yu see, I ain’t very acquainted with these parts yet.” He raised his voice: “Yu can show yoreself, Pete; it’s some o’ the 88 boys.”

  Leeson’s face lowered as the deputy and the Indian appeared. “What’s the bright idea, hidin’ yoreselves an’ bustin’ out thisaway?” he growled.

  “We didn’t know who yu was,” the marshal explained sweetly. “Yu mighta been Greasers or—rustlers.”

  The cattle were still moving slowly on. There was a rider on the right point and two more behind. The marshal cast a casual glance at a passing beast.

  “Box B, huh?” he commented. “Where’d yu find ‘em?”

  “Spraddled all over our range,” the man said sullenly.

  “An’ yo’re takin’ ‘em back to Andy, huh?” Green continued. “Well, that’s right kind o’

  Jevons, I gotta admit, but ain’t yu goin’ a long ways round? Yu’ll be over the Border ‘fore yu know it.”

  “Thought yu didn’t savvy the country,” sneered the 88 man.

  “Oh, I got a sort o’ general idea. The Box B, I figure, lies well to the left o’ here, don’t it?”

  Leeson nodded sulkily. “We turn off a piece along. This is an. easier way if mebbe a bit farther.”

  “Tricky drivin’ at night,” the marshal pursued, and his tone conveyed a question.

  “I reckoned to make it in daylight, but we had trouble,” the other explained. “Well, I gotta be movin’. So long.” He spurred his horse after the herd, but in two jumps the marshal was beside him.

  “We’ll come an’ give a hand,” he said. “Four ain’t enough for a bunch this size—must be all four hundred.”

  “We can handle ‘em,” Leeson said, his tone expressing anything but gratitude. “Yu needn’t trouble.”

  “No trouble a-tall, ol’-timer,” Green said pleasantly. “We’re goin’ yore way.”

  With a muttered curse the 88 man rode to the head of the herd. He
had sensed that the marshal was playing with him, that his presence there was not accidental, but he could see no way of ridding himself of the unwelcome assistance. The cows must now be taken to their rightful owner instead of being handed over to El Diablo, whose men were waiting for them just across the line. Had the interloper been alone—His brows met in a heavy frown.

  “Head ‘em for Bordene’s ranch,” he called out to the man on the right, and gritted out an oath as he saw the marshal and his companions helping to swing the cows round so that they faced east instead of south.

  “This’ll shore be a joyful surprise for Bordene,” Pete said genially. “He oughta be real grateful to yu fellas.”

  The journey was resumed in a silence broken only by the bawling of the cows and an occasional curse from one of the drivers when an animal tried to break away. But there was little of this, the poor brutes being too footsore and weary to do more than lurch along. Faint streaks of light behind the hills heralded the dawn, and the sun was rimming the ridges of the distant ranges with gold when the Box B was sighted. Leaving the herd in charge of the others, Leeson, with Green and Barsay, rode up to the ranch-house. A hail brought out the owner.

  “Well, damn me!” he cried. “Whatever are yu doin’ here?”

  “I’ve fetched back some o’ yore cattle, Bordene,” the 88 man told him. “Found ‘em mixed up with our’n. We picked up the marshal on the way.”

  The young rancher’s face lighted up at the sight of the herd. “It’s mighty decent o’

  Jevons,” he said. “If he’d let me know I’d ‘a’ sent for ‘em, an’ glad o’ the chance. ‘Light an’ eat, all o’ yu; my boys’ll take care o’ the herd.”

  Green, his deputy, Leeson, and their host took breakfast at the ranch-house, the rest eating with the Box B riders. During the meal the 88 man gave again the explanation he had already given the marshal. Bordene was warm in his thanks.

  “I’m a lot obliged to yu, Leeson,” he said.

  “Shucks! Couldn’t do nothin’ else,” that worthy replied uncomfortably, and Green smothered a chuckle; the fellow was, unintentionally, speaking the sober truth.

  “Yu ain’t struck the trail o’ any ‘Paches, I’m guessin’?” the marshal asked.

  Leeson looked at him with sudden suspicion. “Yore guessin’s good,” he returned.

  “Reckon they’d get away with the beef plenty quick.”

  As soon as the meal was over Leeson got up. “Have to be p’intin’ for home—Jevons’ll be lookin’ for us,” he said, and with an unpleasant grin, “an’ we’ll take the old road; them round-about routes don’t seem to pay.”

  “Crooked trails rarely do, Leeson,” the marshal told him.

  They watched the 88 men disappear in the distance, and then the marshal leaned back in his chair and laughed. Barsay caught the infection, and the rancher regarded them in blank amazement.

  “Let me in on the joke, boys,” he pleaded. “I ain’t had much to be merry about lately, yu know.”

  “Sorry, Andy, but it was just too funny to see yu squanderin’ gratitude on that fella an’ rubbin’ a sore spot every time yu thanked him,” Green explained. “Fact is, if it hadn’t been for me, Pete, an’ the Injun, yore cows would ‘a’ been over the Border hours back. Runnin’ across Leeson an’ that handful o’ steers put the idea in my head, an’ I sent Black Feather to keep an eye on the 88. He fetched us just in time.”

  “The damned skunks!” Andy exploded. “Do yu figure Jevons is in it?”

  “Can’t say,” the marshal admitted. “Don’t see how Leeson an’ his men could get away with such a herd without the foreman knowin’.”

  “Seems hardly possible,” Bordene agreed.

  “Raven owns the 88, don’t he?” Pete asked meaningly.

  “Yeah, but I can’t believe he’d have any hand in this,” Andy replied. “Lots o’ people don’t like him, but he’s my friend, an’, besides, there was a good reason for him wantin’ my drive to go through; I was sellin’ to pay a debt to him, an’ he wanted the money.”

  “Then he’s still shy of it?” Green asked.

  “Nope. I borrowed from the bank an’ paid him,” Bordene said. “He told me he had to have it.”

  The marshal was silent for a while, and then he said, “So he’s got his coin, an’ if he was in this steal he’d be the value o’ those steers to the good, huh?”

  “That’s so, of course, but I can’t think it of Seth,” the young man replied. “He’s hard, an’ he wants his pound o’ flesh, but he ain’t crooked.”

  Green let it go at that. After all, he had no proof that the saloonkeeper was anything but what he seemed. He had plenty to think about on the journey back to Lawless, and Pete did not enjoy the ride.

  CHAPTER XII

  The marshal’s doubts as to Raven’s participation in the attempted rustling would have been speedily dissolved had he been present when the news arrived at the 88. Jevons was angry—for his own pocket was affected—but he was also alarmed. Two hours’ riding brought him to the Red Ace. Entering by the back door, he sent in a message to the proprietor, who was playing poker. Raven rose instantly.

  “Leave me out for a spell; got somethin’ to ‘tend to,” he excused, and went to his office.

  Here he found his foreman waiting, and it needed no second glance to see that he had come in a hurry and on no pleasant errand. The cards had proved unkind to Raven and he was in an ill mood.

  “What’s the matter now, Jevons?” he growled.

  The man told the story just as he had it from Leeson, and the saloonkeeper’s usually impassive face grew stormy as he realized the possible consequences of the disaster.

  “Yu blunderin’ fool,” he hissed. “Why didn’t vu go yoreself instead o’ sendin’ that mutton-head?”

  “What difference would that ‘a’ made anyhow?” Jevons retorted. “Lookit, the marshal finds us drivin’ four hundred Box B steers; what else was there to tell him? Let’s hear what yu’d ‘a’ done; shoot ‘em down, huh?”

  Raven sensed that he was going too far; the man was too useful a tool to lose. Moreover, looking at the problem Leeson had to face more coolly, he could not but admit the only possible solution had been found. Tactfully he turned his wrath in another direction.

  “Blast that marshal, he’s allus hornin’ in on what don’t concern him,” he snarled. “What was he doin’ over there?”

  “Waitin’ for the herd, Leeson reckons,” the foreman said. “Some way he got on to it, though I’m blamed if I know how.”

  Raven was silent, remembering something. “I can tell yu,” he said. “That pesky Indian nosed it out; Green said he was usin’ him.”

  “Yu don’t often make a mistake in pickin’ a man, boss, but yu shore slipped up on that marshal,” Jevons said acidly.

  “Mistakes can frequently be rectified,” his employer told him. “Leeson don’t like Green much, does he?”

  “Not that yu’d notice,” returned the foreman, adding with an ugly smile as he read the other’s mind, “I’m bettin’ he’d like five hundred bucks a good deal more.”

  “He can choose between ‘em,” the saloonkeeper said meaningly. “Tell him I said so.

  Anybody see yu ride in?” The foreman shook his head. “Slip out quiet an’ get back to the ranch,”

  Raven added, and returned to his cards.

  The 88 man was wrong in supposing he had not been seen. A pair of black, vigilant eyes, from a little depression fifty yards to the rear of the Red Ace, had watched both his arrival and departure. Black Feather was still working for the marshal.

  Early on the following afternoon a musical call of “Hello, the house,” appraised Bordene that he had a visitor. Stepping out on the veranda, he saw Tonia, astride a mettlesome little mustang. She jumped down and trailed the reins when he appeared.

  “Why, Tonia, what good angel fetched you?” he cried.

  She sat down in the chair he pushed forward, accepted a glass of water from the olla hangin
g in the porch, and then turned a serious face to her host.

  “I haven’t seen you since your drive failed, Andy,” she said. “It was bad luck.”

  “Might ‘a’ been worse—barrin’ Tod,” the young man replied. “I got nearly two-thirds of

  ‘em back in the end,” and went on to relate the story of the strays from the 88.

  “So your cows were headed for Mexico,” she said thoughtfully. “Andy, what do you think of the marshal?”

  “I reckon he’s white,” Bordene replied.

  “I like him too,” she said. “I went in once or twice to see that sick Indian he rescued; the man just worships him.”

  “Hey, Tonia, don’t yu go lavishin’ too much affection on Green,” Bordene cried; and though he spoke in mock alarm, there was again an undertone of concern in his voice.

  The girl detected it and was thrilled. Adopting his own manner of speech, she said teasingly, “I shorely gotta be grateful when a fella helps yu, ain’t I?” Before he could reply, she was sober again. “Andy, how much do you owe Raven?”

  “Who’s been tellin’ yu—” he began, and paused.

  “The same little old bird,” she smiled.

  “Reg’lar poll-parrot, that bird,” Bordene commented. “Well, here’s the straight of it, Tonia. I did owe Seth money an’ was aimin’ to pay when I sold the herd. When the drive was busted I had to borrow from the bank on mortgage.”

  “I don’t like that,” she said. “Why didn’t you come to us?”

  Bordene shook his head and she rose to go. “It’ll be all right, Tonia,” he assured her.

  “Potter is straight, an’ when I’ve sold my cows I can square up. I’ll see yu a piece on the way.”

  The girl laughed at him. “Do you think I’m an Eastern miss to want shepherding?” she asked. Then she held out her hand. “Don’t trust Raven too much, Andy,” she said earnestly.

  With a wave and a smile, she wheeled the pony and was off. The young rancher watched her, something more than admiration in his eyes. Then he looked at his dwelling-place and spoke aloud:

  “It ain’t good enough for her, an’ I ain’t good enough neither, but, by God, we’re agoin’ to be, both of us.”