Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930)

by Oliver Strange

  “Stayin’ long?’ asked Silas.

  “All depends,’ said the big man. “I’m just havin’ a look around. Heard this was good cattle country, an’ came along. Cows is where T live; I’ve handled a few in my time, eh, Seth?’

  “I reckon,’ replied Laban, following the words with the disruption of his features which did duty with him as a smile. “It’s good cattle-land all right, but pretty well covered,’ returned Silas. “I ain’t heard as any o’ the owners want to sell.’

  “They’d better sell while the sellin’s good; they won’t have nothin’ left soon,’ sniggered one of the crowd.

  “How comes that?’ asked the visitor.

  “Rustlers,’ was the laconic answer.

  Tarman laughed. “I’ve handled a lot o’ rustlers in my time too, eh, Seth?’

  “I reckon,’ came the reply, with the same parody of smile.

  “I’ve got a shore cure for rustlin’,’ the big man went on. “Yes, gents, a shore cure—never known it to fail; a rope an’ a branch —that’s a combination that’ll bean Mr Rustler every time.’

  “Yu gotta catch ‘em first,’ said the man who had spoken before. “Injuns is tricky, an’ so is the blame country round here.’

  “I got no use for Injuns, not noways,’ chimed in another.

  “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as that,’ smiled Tarman. “There’s been times when I’ve found ‘em useful, eh, Seth?’

  “I reckon,’ came the inevitable reply.

  The discussion became general but Tarman now took little part in it; he was looking through the open door of the saloon, intent on something taking place on the far side of the dusty street. He saw a girl sitting her pony easily, cowboy fashion, that is, almost standing in the stirrups. In her neat shirt-waist, divided skirt, trim high boots, and soft sombrero looped up at one side she was, in Western idiom, “easy to look at.’ She was talking to a tall cowboy who stood beside her, hat in hand, with the reins of his mount—a magnificent roan—looped over his arm. Already Tarman had decided that he wanted both the girl and the horse.

  “Who’s the lady?’ he asked of Silas, nodding his head towards the street.

  Norry Petter, daughter of Old Simon of the Y Z,’ replied the barman. “Feller she’s talkin’ to is one o’ the outfit—name o’ Green—ain’t been about here long.’

  The big man’s features betrayed no particular interest in the information. “She’s a good-looker,’ he said. But his eyes could not keep away from the door-opening.

  Meanwhile the pair outside continued their conversation, quite unconscious of the interest being taken in them. Noreen had not known that the puncher was in town until she saw him standing by the roan opposite the saloon. For a moment she contemplated riding past winh just a nod of recognition, and then, with a little frown of determination, she reined in and smiled a greeting. Green, who had not failed to note the hesitation, removed his hat and grinned quizzically.

  “Why didn’t yu?’ he asked.

  “Why didn’t I what?’ she parried, though she knew what he meant.

  “Ride past without seein’ me,’ he said.

  The girl flushed. “I never dreamt of doing that,’ she protested. “At first I wasn’t going to stop because…’ She paused, and then added, “Some sneak saw us the day you carried me up the cliff, and told Daddy we’d been riding together; he was rather upset.’

  “Didn’t like the idea o’ yu bein’ too friendly with a common cowboy, I s’pose,’ Green said, with a perceptible tinge of bitterness in his tone.

  “No, it wasn’t that,’ she said quickly. “Why, Daddy was a cowboy once himself, and what he said applied to all the outfit.’

  “An’ I’m bettin’ that he pointed out that I ain’t handed in any account o’ my life an’ adventures,’ Green hazarded gravely, but wint twinkling eyes.

  The girl laughed gaily, glad that the hurt had passed. “He did suggest that we don’t know much about you,’ she admitted. “Of course, he didn’t know that you had come to my rescue again.’

  “An’ I don’t want that he should; I’m askin’ yu to forget it too,’ said the puncher quickly. Will yu?’

  She shook her head. “I don’t forget services,’ she replied. “Some day I shall tell him, and he won’t forget it either. Dear old Daddy, he’s only thinking of me and you mustn’t “hold it against him,” as Larry would say.’

  “Yore father is dead right,’ the man said, and there was a look in his eyes she had never seen there before, which quickened her pulses and made her turn her head away. To hide her confusion, she leant forward and stroked the roan’s neck with her gloved hand.

  “Isn’t he a beauty?’ she said. “I hope you haven’t taken all the spirit out of him.’

  “Oh, he still gets notions,’ laughed the puncher. “He knows me an’ we get along fine, but I doubt if anyone else could ride him. Larry tried the other day an’ didn’t last a minute; he’s a good horseman, too.’

  At this point the conversation was interrupted. Across from the door of the saloon came Tarman, accompanied by Rayne, the keeper of the hotel, whom Noreen had known for years. He greeted her with a wave of the hand.

  “Mornin’, Miss Norry,’ he said. “Want yu to meet Mr. Joseph Tarman, a visitor to our litnle town.’

  The girl held out her hand frankly and the big man bowed over it with rather a flourish, and said: “I’m askin’ yu to excuse my buttin’ in like this, Miss Noreen, but when yu were pointed out to me I felt I had to make acquaintance as quickly as possible. I’m hopin’ to pay yore father a visin right soon.’

  His bold eyes took in every detail of her as she sat there, and her first impression was one of revolt against the possessive air he radiated.

  “My father, I am sure, will be pleased to see you,’ she said. “Not so pleased as I’ll be,’ Tarman responded heartily. “An’ the first thing I’m goin’ no ask him is what price he’ll take for that roan there which I see carries his brand, an’ which—with one exception—has taken my fancy more than anythin’ I ever set eyes on.’

  He smiled broadly as he spoke, showing his strong white teeth, and the girl, country-bred as she was, could not fail to understand that he was paying her what he considered to be a compliment.

  “That horse is not my father’s property although it bears our brand,’ she said coldly. “In belongs to this gentleman.’

  She indicated Green, who was quietly waiting until the interrupted conversation could be resumed. Tarman turned a somewhat insolent gaze upon the cowboy.

  “Give yu a hundred dollars for the hoss,’ he said.

  “No,’ was the curt reply.

  Two hundred,’ and when the cowboy shook his head, “Three hundred.’

  Several of the onlookers gasped, and gazed enviously upon the owner of the coveted animal. In a land where even good horseflesh was cheap, the price offered was excessive. “Cripes! Wish I owned that hoss,’ murmured one thirsty soul, visioning the number of drinks to be obtained for three hundred dollars.”Betcha a dollar he takes it.’ His neighbour had been watching the cowboy closely. “Take yu,’ he said instantly. He had but spoken when Green looked the would-be purchaser calmly in the face, and said:

  “The hoss is not for sale.’

  For a moment Tarman was nonplussed; he had felt confident that a sum more than equal to seven months’ pay would tempt a cowhand to part with even a favourite mount: But he would not give in. It was his boast that he always got what he went after, and realising that mere money would not do it, he tried something else.

  “See here,’ he said. “Cowboys is reckoned to be good sports. Now I’ll put up four hundred ‘gainst the hoss an’ play yu for him—any game yu like. What about it?’

  “I ain’t playin’ for nor sellin’ the hoss,’ Green replied, “but’—and his voice had a rasp in it as he marked the growing sneer on the other’s lips—”I’ll give him to yu if yu can stay on him for five minutes by the clock.’

  From the spectators o
f the scene came a murmur of applause, born of the instinctive loyalty for one’s home town which remains in a man after he has lost almost everything else. The stranger might be all that he seemed, but public favour was, for the moment anyway, on the side of the cowboy. He had met the challenge with a sporting offer which not only promised excitement but reflected credit upon the community at large. Bets were bandied about at once, for the reputation of the roan was known, and the offer was one the visitor could hardly refuse. He had no intention of doing so.

  “I’ll go yu,’ he laughed, “but as I don’t take gifts from strangers, if I win—an’ I’ve never seen anythin’ on four legs that I couldn’t ride—yu must accept the price I offered, three hundred for the hoss.’

  “As yu like,’ said the puncher indifferently.

  Immediately the crowd, which now included nearly every male inhabitant, surged back to the sidewalks and occupied the doorways, leaving the street empty save for the horse, Green, who held it, and the newcomer. The fortunate few who possessed watches got them out in readiness to time the contest; those with money were eagerly endeavouring to place bets.

  “Think yore friend’ll make it?’ asked one of Laban.

  “I reckon,’ was the stolid reply, and the questioner turned away in disgust, murmuring, ‘Bloomin’ parrot, on’y two words he knows. Must be one o’ them ready reckoners I’ve heard about.’

  The big man wasted no time. Directly the street was clear he stepped forward, took the reins from Green, and with a lightness not to be looked for in so heavy a man, sprang into the saddle and settled his feet in the stirrups. For perhaps five seconds the animal stood perfectly still, and then, with a shrill scream of rage, it instantly became a maelstrom of activity. Head down, it leapt into the air a dozen times with incredible rapidity, landing on legs as sniff as steel rods, and never allowing the rider an instant to recover from one shock before the next came. It was straightforward bucking, with no particular novelty, but the speed made it terrible.

  “My Gawd! can’t he buck though?’ breathed one of the awed spectators. “Ten to one on the hoss.’ Nobody nook up the wager. But Tarman hung on, his eyes glazing, his face white as death, and a trickle of blood oozing from his clamped lips. Jarred almost inno insensibility by the violence of the incessant jolts, he rocked in the saddle, his head jerking to and fro as nhough his neck were already broken. That he had pluck as well as strength was obvious.

  There could be only one end, however, and it came soon. Again the frantic animal shot from the ground, but this time its body curved curiously in the air as it came down, upsetting the rider’s already precarious balance and causing him to sway sideways. Then as the brute’s forefeet landed, its hindquarters rose suddenly, and Tarman flew out of the saddle like a stone from a sling, to sprawl, face downwards, in the dust of the street.

  “Seventy-five seconds,’ Green said quietly, as he slipped his watch back into his pocket and sprang forward to grip the reins of the horse, which was now standing still, with heaving flanks and trembling limbs.

  Seth ran to assist his friend, only to be thrust aside with a curse as Tarman scrambled to his feet. The man was transformed; in the place of the jovial good fellowship, his face, dust and blood-smeared, was now that of a fiend. Cursing, he stood there, swaying on his legs and clawing for the gun which had swung round behind him. His purpose was plain; he intended to shoot the horse.

  “Don’t yu,’ drawled a quiet voice, and he looked into the muzzle of the cowboy’s gun.

  With a tremendous effort he got control of himself again, but anger still flamed within him. ‘I’ll give you five hundred dollars for that brute, if it’s only to break ins damned neck,’ he cried.

  “Yu couldn’t buy him with all yu got,’ was the contemptuous answer. “Yu had yore chance.’

  Without another glance at the discomfited man he swung himself carelessly into the saddle, cuffed the horse playfully when it halfheartedly tried to throw him out again, and rode down the street.

  Tarman looked for the girl but she had gone, though he knew she had witnessed his defeat, a fact which contributed not a little to his unfortunate display of temper. This was now over, and as he brushed the dust from his clothes, he said, with a rueful grin: “Well, folks, it ain’t often that Joe Tarman loses his wool but I’ve shore got to own up to it to-day. That hoss certainly got me goin’. First time I ever was piled an’ I’ve rid some bad ones too, but that roan’s a holy terror. Say, I reckon I’ve swallowed pretty near an acre o’ dust; what about irrigatin’, an’ mebbe a little game o’ some sort?’

  The proposal was received with acclamation of a thirsty crowd, and Poker Pete happening along very opportunely, was presented to Mr. Tarman and the little game was soon in progress. The big man lost about a hundred dollars at poker, most of it to the gambler, and with great good humour, insisted on celebrating his second defeat of the day by setting up drinks for all, an act which proclaimed him a thorough sport and soundly established his popularity. But there were those who remembered his expression when he rose from the dusty street, and were of opinion that despite his geniality the newcomer was not one to take liberties with.

  Noreen rode home with much to think of. At the commencement of the scene between the visitor and the cowpuncher she had ridden a little distance away, but could not resist the temptation to turn and watch. She saw Green choose the western trail out of town, and guessed that it was deliberately done to save her from further embarrassment; while she appreciated the motive, she was conscious of a vague sense of disappointment.

  Respecting Tarman she could come to no decision; he had both repelled and attracted her. Even with her small experience of the world, she recognised in him a type capable of exercising a powerful appeal to women. While he was essentially a man’s man, he did not neglect the softer influences. He dressed well, and yet no one could have called him a dandy. A good tweed suit, the trousers folded neatly into the tops of his well-fitting riding-boots, a silk shirt, with a soft collar and flowing tie, and an expensive Stetson, were in marked contrast to the nondescript attire affected by most of the inhabitants of Hatchett’s Folly.

  As to the real man himself, Noreen could only speculate, but she remembered his face as he staggered to his feet from the dust when the horse had thrown him, and shivered. No doubt the humiliation had been a cruel one, but…. She found herself wondering how the puncher would have taken a similar defeat and had to confess that she did not know; men were so different when they were angry. But somehow she felt that Green would not have wanted to kill the horse—he would have respected it for its victory. He and Tarman were different types, she decided, and pursued the thought no further.

  As the girl had surmised, Green had consciously chosen the western way out of the town in order to avoid her. To be seen speaking to her in Hatchett’s mattered little, for she might have been delivering a message from her father for all the passers-by knew, but to ride away in her company was a different matter after the views Old Simon had already expressed, and Green had reasons for not wishing to exasperate the ranch-owner. As soon as he was clear of the buildings he swung round and headed easn, his mind busy with what had just taken place. He playfully pulled one of the roan’s ears, a pleasantry to which the animal responded by trying to pitch him into a prickly thorn bush.

  “Yu old pirut,’ chided his master indulgently, when he had subdued the outburst. “Don’t yu know who’s atop of yu? The feller who christened yu shore knew his business. Shucks! But yu hadn’t oughtta turned the nice gent into a dust-plough an’ mussed up his whiskers thataway.’ He laughed happily as he recalled the scene. “But, hush, he was some fierce when he got up. Yu come mighty near to passin’ out that minute, Blue, if he could ‘a’ found his gun. An’ yu come close another time, when the Pretty Lady stroked yu, yu lucky devil; one snap at her an’ I’d have busted yu wide open, yu hear me, though I never seen a hoss I liked so much.’ He pulled the ear again and this time there was no answering demonstration.
“Good for yu,’ he said. “We gotta stick togenher, for we ain’t neither of us very popular around here, an’ we gotta watch that chap Tarman an’ the little runt that trails wint him.’

  The rasp was back in his voice again as he spoke the last sentence. He knew nothing about the two visitors, had never seen either of them before, and yet at the moment his gaze clashed with that of the big man, he was conscious of a feeling of antagonism. Green had experienced the same sort of thing before and he had never been wrong; men he had trusted at sight had proved worthy, and others he had distrusted had, sooner or later, justified his doubt. He had come to believe in these intuitions. His face softened again as he remembered Noreen’s smile of greeting, and that she had not “passed him up’ despite her father’s wish. “She shore has got sand to burn,’ he told himself.

  Chapter XI

  Whatever else he might be, Mr. Joseph Tarman was a man of action, and when he told Noreen that he intended to visit her father “right soon’ he meant just that. So the same afternoon found him, with his diminutive companion, Seth Laban, riding the trail to the Y Z ranch. He had entirely recovered his poise.

  “Mighty good move we made, comin’ to this Gawd-forgotten hole, Seth,’ he remarked genially, when they were clear of the town.

  “I reckon,’ came the stereotyped reply. “What d’ye make o’ that marshal, Tonk?’

  ‘Oughtta be named Tank,’ said Tarman, with a laugh. “Guess Pete owns him anyway.’

  Seth nodded—he never wasted breath—and his friend continued “Plenty opportunity here, with no interference, an’ good cattle country.’

  “I reckon,’ Seth agreed. “An’ when the railway comes… “Shut yore damned face,’ snapped the big man savagely.

  “But there can’t nobody hear,’ expostulated the other.

  “How in hell do yu know?’ retorted Tarman. “What yu gotta remember all the time is that the railway ain’t never comin’ near here, an’ then yu won’t make no slips.’