by Matt Rand
The two men looked at her. “That’s sound reasonin’, but could he get at ’em?” Sarel asked.
“Of course he could—he’d be the first sent for, in the marshal’s absence,” Tonia pointed out. “And, anyway, he could buy the soul of that clerk of Potter’s for a few dollars.”
“I’m bettin’ yo’re right, Tonia, but what can we do?” Andy said. “He’s got the town eatin’ outa his hand now.”
The girl smiled at him. “I’m going to pay off your mortgage, Andy; the Double S will be good enough security for that amount.”
“No, I won’t have you involved in this,” the young man protested. “I’d sooner let him have the ranch.”
Sarel slapped his knee in delight. “She’s right, boy,” he cried. “The Box B at twice the sum is a bargain; why shouldn’t Tonia have it instead o’ that schemin’ skunk, huh? Only point is, where we goin’ to borry that much coin?”
“From the bank at Sweetwater,” Tonia told him. “It’s no use your saying anything, Andy; I’m going to beat that beast if it takes every dollar I possess.”
The flushed cheeks, flashing eyes, and firm lips depicted a new Tonia, one neither of the men had seen before. Reuben Sarel chuckled as he looked at her.
“She’s powerful like Anthony,” was his unvoiced thought. “The Vulture ain’t goin’ to have such easy pickin’s as he figured.”
In the face of the girl’s decision and her uncle’s reasoning Andy was brought to agreement, little as he liked the plan.
“It’s just a business deal, Andy,” she argued. “We’re going into partnership.”
“You providin’ the assets an’ me the liabilities,” the young man said ruefully. “That ain’t right, nohow.”
“As if it matters,” she retorted. “The great thing is that together we can turn the tables.”
CHAPTER XXI
Breakfast was over at the Double S, and Reuben Sarel had climbed into the buckboard and set out to interview the manager of the Sweetwater bank. Tonia, having seen him off, went about her household duties, a tender smile on her lips at the thought that Andy’s troubles would soon be overcome. She was in the midst of a gay little song when a rattle of hoofs outside brought her skipping to the veranda; she was not expecting her lover, but… The song ceased and her face hardened when she saw the lank, stooping figure of the saloon-keeper, head forward, his coattails suggesting the wings of the carrion-eating bird to which men likened him.
“Mornin’, Tonia, yo’re lookin’ right pert,” he commenced. “Reub around?”
“My uncle has gone to Sweetwater,” she replied, flushing at the caller’s familiar manner.
“Well, I guess we can get along without him—two’s company, ain’t it?” he said with a smirk, as, not waiting for an invitation, he stepped on the veranda and sat down.
“If your business is with my uncle—” she began.
“Take a seat, Tonia. My business—though I shore wouldn’t call it that—is with you,” the visitor told her. “An’ I’m bettin’ you can guess what it is.”
The girl sat down. “I haven’t the remotest idea,” she said.
“I’ve allus understood that a pretty gal is wise when a fella comes a-courtin’,” he leered.
“Courting? You?” Tonia cried.
“Why not? I ain’t so old,” he urged. “See here, gal, I don’t have the trick o’ pretty speeches, but I’m askin’ you to marry me. As my wife you’ll be somebody; I got the dollars.”
“You can leave that entirely out of it,” Tonia said quietly. “For the rest, I don’t like you, Mr. Raven, and I am already promised.”
“To Andy Bordene, huh?—the half-wit who, when I say the word, won’t be worth ten cents.”
The sneering allusion to her lover stung the girl to fury. “And even then preferable to one who makes his money by selling poison to poor fools, cheating at cards, and stealing other folks’ cattle,” she flamed.
“So you think I’m a rustler, huh?” he said. “Well, I’ll tell you somethin’. When I shot Jevons, it was for yore sake.”
“Really?” she replied incredulously.
“Yeah. The cattle he was charged with stealin’ were handed over, on the quiet, by yore manager.”
“At your demand, to make good money you cheated him of.”
“At his suggestion, to repay fair losses at cards. If that had come out, it would ’a’ meant a rope an’ a tree for Mister Sarel.”
“Nothing of the kind. The cattle were mine, and he had my permission to take them,” she said hotly.
“After he had crawfished, mebbe,” the man said shrewdly. “That wouldn’t ’a’ saved him; this country don’t stand for rustlers.”
“Then you ought to be anxious,” she told him.
“I don’t scare too easy,” Raven said; and then, “Shucks! War talk won’t get us anywheres. What you gotta understand is that it depends on you whether Bordene gits another chance.”
To his astonishment she laughed outright. “I am quite aware of it,” was her reply. “That is why Uncle Reuben has gone to Sweetwater.”
“If he’s expectin’ to git a loan at the bank on the Double S he’s due for a disappointment,” he stated.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“You will,” he sneered. He waved a hand at the range lying before them. “You think you own all this?” he asked, and, when she nodded, “Well, you don’t, an’ that’s why the Sweetwater bank won’t lend you money on it.”
“You must be crazy,” Tonia said.
He grinned wolfishly. “Not any.” He drew a paper from his pocket. “This is a deed o’ mortgage on the Double S, executed by yore father shortly afore he—died, an’ given to me as security for sixty thousand dollars lent by me. Look for yourself.” He held the document out and she saw that he was speaking the truth. For a moment the revelation stunned her and then she rallied.
“That is not my father’s writing.”
“No, Potter drew it up an’ witnessed yore dad’s signature. Nothin’ crooked ’bout that, huh?”
She could find no answer; the news had hit her like a landslide, sweeping away all hope.
“Why have you kept silent about this?”
“Didn’t wanta worry you, Tonia,” he replied, and his voice was less harsh. “Hoped I’d git the Double S in a pleasanter way, an’ tear this up.” He tapped the deed. “I’m still hopin’,” he added.
Tonia drew herself up, and the look that had been her father’s shone in her steady eyes.
“Please remember that I am ‘Tonia’ only to my friends, Mr. Raven,” she reminded. “As for your proposal, why, I’d sooner marry a Gila monster.”
The bitter scorn and contempt stung him like a knotted whiplash, rousing the dormant savage in his nature. Leaping to his feet, his face a mask of fury, he poured out a stream of threats and curses, his clenched fist raised as though to strike her.
“You damned Jezebel,” he raved, “I’ll tame you—I’ll lower yore pride. I’ll get—”
“Outa here, if yo’re wise.”
An iron hand seized his collar, shook him like a rat, and flung him backwards so violently that he catapulted over the veranda rail and spread-eagled, face downwards, in the dust. Looking up, he saw the marshal above him, a gun in his hand, and death in his eyes. Visiting Renton, he had walked up from the bunkhouse and come upon the scene unobserved.
“Fade, you yellow dawg,” Green rasped, and kicked the man’s hat towards him. “If I catch you speakin’ to Miss Sarel again I’ll make you dumb for keeps.”
“Plenty plucky, ain’t you, knowin’ I don’t pack a gun?” he gibed.
“Take yore choice o’ mine, an’ I’ll thank you,” the marshal offered.
“I ain’t a gunman, but I’ll get you for this, Green,” the half-breed promised viciously.
“Have to hire somethin’ better’n ‘Split’ Adam,” Green said. “Pay a bit more, Raven, an’ get a good man. Now, climb that bronc an’ vamoose; y
ou don’t improve the scenery, none whatever.”
Seth Raven picked up his hat, dusted himself, and moved towards his mount.
“What’s the coyote been doin’ to upset you, Miss Sarel?”
“He wants to marry me,” she told him.
“Wish I’d broke his neck. Well, I’m bettin’ he won’t bother you no more.”
“But he will—both Andy and myself are in his clutches,” she said miserably, and related the rest of her conversation with Raven. The marshal’s face lengthened.
“That’s bad—that’s awful bad,” he admitted, when he had heard it all. “Raven’s playin’ a deep game an’ coverin’ his tracks mighty well. No reason to doubt the genuineness o’ that paper he showed you, I s’pose?”
“It looked like Daddy’s signature.”
“Potter is the king-pin,” Green mused. “If he could speak—”
“I’m sorry to have made trouble for you.”
“Don’t you worry yore head about that. Trouble an’ me is old acquaintances, an’”—he smiled at his own thought—“I never was a popular fella anyways. I’m on my way to Sweetwater to see Strade. Keep a-smilin’; Raven ain’t got yore ranch yet.”
She watched him swing up into the saddle with the easy grace of the born horseman, and ride away. Halfway to Sweetwater the marshal met Reuben Sarel. The fat man’s fleshy face bore an unwonted expression of anger, and the savage jerk of the reins which stopped the buckboard bore eloquent testimony to his state of mind.
“’Lo, Marshal,” he said. “If yo’re goin’ to Sweetwater yo’re wastin’ yore time; she’s a dead town—no business, no cash, an’ the chump in charge o’ the bank didn’t oughta be trusted with a kid’s money-box.”
“Mebbe there’s some excuse for him,” Green replied, and told of the happenings at the Double S.
Reuben’s face grew redder and redder as the recital proceeded. “By God!” he bellowed, “I wish I’d been there; I’d ’a’ blowed him apart. I will yet. I’m obliged to you, Marshal; damn me if you don’t seem to be johnny-on-the-spot every time.”
“What’s yore idea o’ this mortgage?”
“Somethin’ crooked ’bout it, I’ll risk a stack. Anthony warn’t the kind to borrow a lot o’ money like that an’ say nothin’.”
“I’m aimin’ to talk things over with Strade,” the marshal said.
“I’m streakin’ for home to load a scatter-gun, an’ if that reptile comes pirootin’ round again he’ll get the whole damn issue,” Sarel threatened.
When he reached Sweetwater he rode along the street and a shabby, hard-featured woman came out of a store, and at the sight of him, stood staring.
“Say, mister, who’s that fella?” she asked of a passerby.
The Parson, for him it was chance that had thrown in her way, pulled up and eyed her curiously. “Town marshal o’ Lawless—calls hisself Green,” he replied. “Why, do you know him?”
“Not by that name,” she said. “Over to Texas they used to call him Sudden.”
The passerby became alert. “The outlaw?” he queried.
The woman nodded. “He had a hard reputation, but I reckon it warn’t deserved; he did me a mighty good turn once, an’ I’ve heard of others.”
The gambler’s cunning eyes watched her hurry away, and saw the subject of their conversation enter the sheriff’s office. Then he slid into the nearest saloon, bought a drink, and sat down to think things over, keeping a wary eye on the sheriff’s door.
“Knowed I’d seen him some place,” he muttered. “Drift over here an’ butt into the only damn person what could put me wise. Luck ain’t no word for it.” His malevolent gaze traveled across the road. “Yo’re playin’ a clever game, Mister Sudden, an’ if you hadn’t lifted my roll, cuss me if I wouldn’t lift my hat to you. If I take you in Raven will be tickled to death,” he reasoned. “Make me marshal, likely, and mebbe I’ll find where you cached the plunder.” The matter satisfactorily decided, he absorbed another drink, and departed by the back door to make the necessary preparations.
* * * *
The sheriff leaned back in his chair and regarded his visitor thoughtfully. He had just heard the latest news from Lawless, and his frown showed that he did not like it.
“He certainly ’pears to have them two ranches roped.” Green asked an apparently irrelevant question: “Was it ever found out who bumped off Anthony Sarel?”
The sheriff shook his head. “No evidence a-tall,” he replied.
“Where was Raven at the time?”
“Couldn’t say—no one knowed quite when the killin’ took place. Tony left town ’bout midday an’ he warn’t found till evenin’. You don’t think—?”
“I’m shootin’ in the dark; but, holdin’ that mortgage, he had a good reason for wantin’ Sarel out o’ the way, an’ he wasn’t in town when the stage was held up nor when Bordene was bushwhacked. Then there’s the hoss.”
“What hoss?” the sheriff asked.
Green told of the tracking of Andrew Bordene’s murderer over the Border and back again, and the finding of the hidden black in the little valley. Strade’s eyebrows went up.
“Odd, that,” he admitted. “Near the 88 too. You figure that Raven is yore double?”
“Can’t go as far as that, but you gotta allow that if he’s tryin’ to corral the ranches, Sudden the Second has helped him a whole lot. O’ course, it might be someone workin’ for him. I thought o’ Leeson but he ain’t got the guts, an’ Jevons—wish I knew what he was goin’ to tell us.”
“Five minutes’ talk with Potter would clear the air some, I’m thinkin’.”
“That’s the cussed luck of it—every leak stopped,” the marshal grumbled, and suddenly sat up. “Hell’s bells, he mighta robbed the bank hisself.”
“But he’s returnin’ the money,” the sheriff protested.
“Not Andy’s thirty thousand, the loss of which practically gives Raven the Box B,” Green pointed out. “An’ if Potter was gettin’ dangerous—” He ruminated for a moment. “It was only Raven who saw a fella on a black hoss sneakin’ outa town that night.”
The sheriff whistled softly. “Puttin’ her thataway, it seems you might be right,” he agreed. “But provin’ it is somethin’ else.”
The marshal nodded moodily. “Most o’ them damn fools in Lawless wouldn’t hear a word against him just now. Can you imagine Raven givin’ money away?”
“He’s gettin’ good value,” Strade said. “He’d sell what he might call his soul for power, that’s the kind o’ man he is.” Which showed that the sheriff had gauged the saloon-keeper correctly.
“You’ll need to watch out now you’ve shown yore hand,” Strade warned. “A fella who don’t pack a gun may be able to use one.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” the marshal said grimly. “I saw Jevons die.”
The sheriff held out his hand. “So long, you blame’ outlaw,” he smiled. “Send when you want me. By the way, there’s a Lawless man here today—they call him the ‘Parson.’ Know him?”
“Yeah, tin-horn cardsharp,” Green said scornfully. “He ain’t dangerous—even at poker.”
CHAPTER XXII
Some two hours after the marshal, Pardoe effected an inconspicuous return to Lawless and made his way to the Red Ace. Having first peeped in and ascertained that Green was not present, he entered the bar.
“Where’s the boss?” he asked.
“In his room, an’, if yore business ain’t pressin’, I’d postpone it,” Jude told him. “He’s ’bout as sociable as a grizzly b’ar with the bellyache.”
“I gotta see him,” the gambler said.
“I ain’t helpin’ or stoppin’ you,” he said.
Pardoe stepped to the door of the office, opened it, and walked in. The saloon keeper was sitting in the chair behind the desk.
“What the hell d’you want?” he growled. “I told that fool out there—”
“Jude tried to head me off, but I had to see you,�
� Pardoe replied.
“Come to pay back that five hundred?” Raven asked sneeringly.
“Yeah,” he said. “What I gotta tell you oughta be worth that—an’ more.”
“I’m the judge o’ that,” was the retort. “Spill it.”
“The marshal ain’t no particular pet o’ yores, is he?”
At this question the saloon-keeper sat up and glared at his visitor. “How did you know—?” he began savagely, and paused.
The gambler looked surprised. “Aw right, don’t lose yore hair. I ain’t the marshal—yet,” he remonstrated. “I’m on’y guessin’.”
“I hate him,” the half-breed hissed.
“Seen him visitin’ the sheriff in Sweetwater today,” Pardoe went on. “You send him there?”
“No,” snapped the other. “But I’m goin’ to send him to visit the Devil one day.”
“Don’t like the jigger, for one thing, an’ you can add to that he’s holdin’ down a job I could fill pretty comfortable my own self,” Pardoe said.
“There’s no vacancy.”
“There will be soon,” he said quietly. “See here, Seth; the whole blame’ country will have the laugh on Lawless when what I’ve found out in Sweetwater today gets around; the marshal has shore run a raw blazer on you an’ this township. Do I git his job if I wise you up?” Raven nodded, and the gambler went on: “Do you know what they call yore marshal over to Texas?”
“How the hell should I?” Raven asked.
Pardoe laughed maliciously. “You wouldn’t, o’ course. Well, he’s known there as ‘Sudden,’ the outlaw.”
The half-breed sprang to his feet. “What?” he cried, and, with an incredulous shrug, “You been feedin’ on locoweed, ain’t you?”
“It’s true enough,” Pardoe assured him, told how he had come by the information.
“Mebbe she’s mistook,” Raven doubted, but his eyes glistened with satisfaction.
The gambler shook his head. “She ain’t; I remember him myself now. Knowed I’d seen him before, but couldn’t fix him. No, sir, he’s the one an’ only original Sudden, an’ you may lay to it.”
The phrase brought a half-grin to Raven’s face, and a point to decide. Pardoe did not know that since the marshal was undoubtedly in Lawless when the stage was robbed there must be a second “Sudden” in the field. This was the reason for his enmity—he believed Green had stolen his money, and it suited the saloon-keeper that he should go on thinking so.