Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938)

by Oliver Strange

  “Yo’re ruinin’ my night’s rest,” was the facetious rejoinder. “What we doin’ tomorrow?”

  “Dunno, but I’ll lay we have the rottenest an’ riskiest work he can find.”

  Chapter VI

  Breakfast at the Double K was a serious business, and there was little of the gaiety which enlivened the evening meal. Its place was taken by the rattle of knives and forks and picturesque appeals to the badgered cook for the replenishment of quickly-emptied platters. A long day in the saddle had to be prepared for, and—as one jocularly expressed it, “Starvation is a horrible death, Cookie darlin’.”

  The perspiring purveyor promptly countered with, “How many weeks d’yu expect to be away?”

  Going to the corral for his horse, Sudden encountered Lagley.

  “I wanted a word with yu,” the foreman said. “So far, the cyards have come yore way; don’t overplay ‘em. I ain’t the fella to nurse a grudge; an’ if yu do yore work an’ don’t chatter, yu an’ me’ll git along fine.”

  “Suits me,” the new hand replied.

  Frosty, red-faced and profane, emerged from the corral leading a wiry, wicked-eyed dun pony. “C’mon, Cactus, ain’t yu ever goin’ to git any sense?” he panted. “One o’ these bright mornin’s I’ll take an’ bust yore slats in.” He looked at Lagley. “What yu want me to do?”

  “Yu an’ Green ride the northern line. I was along there yestiddy an’ it struck me cows was missin’.”

  “Right, git yore bronc, Jim,” Frosty said, and as Sudden stepped forward, added, “Don’t yu want yore rope?”

  The reply was a low whistle, and instantly the big black separated itself from the milling band of horses. Sudden lifted down the top bar of the entrance, Nigger leapt lightly over the others and stood, thrusting a velvety muzzle forward for the customary biscuit.

  “Trick horse, huh?” the foreman sneered.

  “Yeah,” its owner replied. “One of ‘em is pretendin’ to lose his footin’ on a slope; yu did oughta see him do that.”

  He cinched his saddle, got up, and sat watching the battle between Cactus and its master. “Want any help?” he asked solicitously.

  Frosty did not, and said so, with emphasis. “This chunk o’ mischief has gotta learn I’m boss,” he gritted.

  Presently he was ready and they loped away. The look Lagley sent after them was the reverse of pleasant. “An’ I shore hope them fellas got my message,” he muttered.

  Turvey strolled up. “They make a fine pair, ridin’ side by side, don’t they?” he queried, his eyes full of malice.

  “They’d be just as fine lyin’ side by side,” Lagley retorted.

  Turvey’s bent shoulders went up. “I don’t give a damn either way, but I would like to find that black hess.”

  “An’ be pitched into hell the first time yu straddled him.”

  “Don’t think it, Steve; I ain’t so easy got rid of,” was the meaning reply.

  The foreman scowled, saddled his own beast, and rode to the ranch-house to report the day’s work he had set in motion.

  “What have you done with the new man?” Keith enquired. “Sent him an’ Homer to look at the northern boundary. We’ve bin losin’ cattle there lately.”

  “Lately?” repeated the rancher scornfully. “You speak as if it were something new.”

  “That’s the roughest part o’ the range,” Lagley reminded. “Steers are bound to stray.”

  “Especially with riders behind them—riders who are allowed a free hand.”

  “We lost one man an’ had two others crippled out there,” the foreman protested. “Yu ain’t forgettin’ that?”

  “I am not likely to, with the bill still unpaid,” Keith said bitterly.

  Meanwhile, the two cowboys were heading steadily northwards. The first few miles, over the open, rolling grassland, were covered in silence. Then Frosty spoke.

  “Didn’t I tell yu we’d git the worst job?”

  “What’s the matter with it? Routin’ out strays ain’t so much.”

  “It is when there’s a chance o’ runnin’ into hot lead any minute.”

  “How come?” Sudden demanded. “We’ll be on our own range.”

  “Yeah, but that scum in Hell City figure it belongs to them, an’ act accordin’.”

  “Meanin’?”

  “One of our boys—Tim Jellis—was wiped out an’ two more wounded less’n three months back doin’ the very thing we’ve bin sent to do,” Frosty explained. “Rustlers? Yeah, an’ wearin’ the devil’s own brand.”

  “Why not build a line-house an’ have a coupla men stay out there allatime?”

  “We tried it, but the durned place catched fire an’ burned down—green wood at that.”

  They had left the open range and were traversing a sandy waste broken only by patches of scrub and bunchgrass. In front of them the ground rose gradually towards a range of barren hills, the slopes of which were gashed by steep-sided gorges. Sagebrush, mesquite, and an occasional juniper were the only trees; here and there a giant cactus flung wide its arms as though to bar their progress. Frosty pointed to the grey, forbidding heights ahead of them.

  “Somewheres in there is Hell City,” he informed.

  “Too far for a visit?”

  “No, too dangerous,” was the reply. “Also, we got work to d Hullo, what’s that mean?”

  Sudden followed the levelled finger; less than a mile away a tiny column of smoke was spiralling into the clear air, and then came a faint bellow.

  “Damnation!” Frosty swore. “They’re swappin’ brands right under our noses. C’mon.”

  He dragged his Winchester from the sheath under the fender of his saddle, and was about to spur his pony when Sudden interposed:

  “Wait, we’ll take a peek at these hombres first; that smoke might be there for us to see.”

  Crouching in their saddles and keeping, when possible, under cover of the scrub, they rode to within a couple of hundred yards of the telltale fire. Here they left the horses and stole forward on foot until they reached the mouth of a shallow gully, the wall on one side of which afforded an excellent view. One glance told the story. Two riders were holding a bunch of twenty steers, from’ which a third was clumsily roping and dragging one at a time to the fire, where another pair awaited it. One of these, when the animal had been thrown, tied it, and his companion, drawing a glowing iron from the embers, bent over the prostrate beast. The pungent smell of burning hair assailed the nostrils of the watchers.

  “This is a trap we mighty near ran our fool heads right into,” Sudden said. “On’y them two at the fire know anythin’ ‘bout cattle. They were waitin’ for us, an’ where’s the other jasper?”

  He pointed to three saddled ponies standing apart. The spiteful crack of a rifle, the bullet from which perforated the crown of his hat, provided the answer. A spreading puff of smoke from the higher ground on the other side of the gully completed their information. Sudden flattened himself behind a slight upward slope and swore when a second shot hummed past his ears.

  “Hell’s bells, he’s above us an’ we can’t see him,” he said. “But we can stop the brand-blottin’.”

  He pressed the trigger as he spoke and the man with the iron spun round and dropped. His companion was already running when Frosty fired and whooped when the target stumbled and pitched headlong, to move no more. At the first shot, the three with the herd abandoned their charge and spurred their mounts up the gully, leaving their look-out to fend for himself. A steady stream of lead showed that he was still attending to business.

  “He’s behind that big stone on the point,” Sudden decided. “First, we’ll set him afoot.” A thought came. “Any chance o’ them others circlin’ round an’ takin’ a hand in the game?”

  “Not one,” Frosty assured. “Thisyer gorge is ‘bout three mile long an’ the sides is straight up.”

  A couple of bullets into the ground beneath their feet sent the ponies careering wildly out across the plain, and
the hidden rustler expressed his opinion of the proceeding with a miniature hurricane of lead which tore up the ground all round the cowboys.

  “I’m suspectin’ he ain’t fond o’ walkin’.” Sudden remarked, adding grimly, “Well, mebbe he won’t have any to do. See that rock to the right o’ the one he’s usin’? The face slopes back towards him an’ there’s just a chance a slug might angle off in his direction. Let’s try her out.”

  They made the experiment, painstakingly bespattering the stone Sudden had pointed out. The unknown replied vigorously, but the two men had dug themselves in and he did no damage. From time to time, a jeering shout commented upon what the utterer evidently regarded as poor marksmanship. Then one of these was cut short by an oath and the bombardment from the boulder ceased. For a while they waited, suspecting a ruse, and then Sudden cautiously pushed his empty hat into sight; no shot came.

  “We might ‘a’ got him, or mebbe he’s slipped away,” he said. He rose to his feet and nothing happened. “We’ll take a look.”

  They descended to the floor of the gully, where the body of the brand-blotter sprawled unnaturally by the fire, the running-iron still clutched in his hand. A few yards away was his assistant, and both had ceased to breathe. They were Mexicans of the peon class, and on the breast of each was Satan’s sign, the little red imp. Sudden drew his knife and cut the stitches which secured the symbol.

  “Get the other,” he told Frosty. “Might come in useful one time.”

  They climbed laboriously to the top of the bluff, only to find the boulder which had sheltered the enemy deserted. The ground behind it was littered with cigarette stubs and empty shells, while the other stone was splashed with the marks of their bullets.

  “We scared him out, anyways,” Frosty decided.

  Sudden was staring at a red stain some paces away; there were others further on, with zigzagging footprints and an uneven furrow which might well have been made by a trailed rifle-butt. He did not follow them.

  They went down, fetched their horses, and rounded up the steers, on four of which the brand had already been changed.

  Frosty surveyed them with lifted eyebrows. Diamond,” he said. “That’s odd.”

  “Shore is,” Sudden agreed gravely. “But why?”

  His friend laughed. “We fit so well together that I keep forgettin’ yo’re a stranger,” he explained. “Yu see, there is a Twin Diamond range, an’ part of it runs cheek by jowl with our’n south-west o’ here. The odd thing is that the owner, Martin Merry, is mighty fond o’ Keith, an’ the least likely to rustle his cattle.”

  “It could be an attempt to make trouble atween ‘em,” Sudden surmised, and pointed to one of the altered brands. “Pretty raw work; even when it’s healed up, a kid could see it had been tampered with.”

  “I reckon yu got it,” Frosty assented. “Merry’s cows never stray this far—the feed is poor—an’ his men would have to do some explainin’. What’s our move?”

  “Drive these four to the Twin Diamond an’ let ‘em see we ain’t romancin’. That’ll put a crimp in the game.”

  The idea seemed sound, and having bunched the four animals which had been operated upon, and sent the others scampering into the open, they set out. To a question about burying the dead rustlers, Sudden replied harshly, “D’yu reckon they’d ‘a’ done that for us? Besides, buzzards has to live.”

  One look at the stern face and Frosty said no more. Brief as was their acquaintance, he had already divined that here was a man who, though not much older than himself in years, was immeasurably so in experience. Hazing their little herd ahead of them they rode in silence for a while. Then Sudden spoke:

  “Them three skunks who skedaddled were Scar an’ two o’ the fellas I flung outa Black Sam’s. How did they know I was comin’ here?”

  “They couldn’t have—it just happened so,” the other replied. “Though it is claimed that Satan hombre is a wizard.”

  Sudden grinned in derision. “Yu ain’t believin’ it, are yu?”

  “Mebbe not, but it’s amazin’ the things he finds out,” was the dubious answer, and then, “Why, damn it, nobody ‘mowed till we started out this mornin’.”

  “On’y the man who sent us,” came the sardonic reminder. Frosty’s eyes widened. “Oh, hell, Jim. I don’t like Steve, but he wouldn’t …”

  “Mebbe not, an’ then again, lie might. Worth rememberin’, anyways. What’s Merry like?”

  “Short, fat, an’ got the easiest laugh I ever heard—might ‘a’ been made to fit his name. He’s ‘bout the on’y fella around here who can talk back to the Colonel, but when he scores yu he does it with a smile that takes the sting out. His outfit swears by him.”

  “That tells me plenty,” Sudden said.

  Two hours later they halted their charges in front of a long, squat timber edifice which was sadly in need of repair. Cracked, even broken, curtainless windows gaped at them, and in several places the roof quite evidently was a poor protection from the elements. The bunkhouse, barns, and corrals were in little better shape. Frosty noted his companion’s surprise.

  “One o’ these days the scrap-heap will tumble in an’ Merry will crawl out’n the ruins an’ just tell the boys to build another,” he said. “No, there ain’t a female on the premises, as yu might guess; he’s got a Chink cook.” He raised his voice in a cry of “Hello, the house!”

  In response, a man nearly as broad as he was high, with a huge sombrero tilted back from his round, red face, came waddling out. His mouth split into a wide grin when he saw the visitors.

  “Why, Frosty, what’s fetched yu here?” he bellowed. “Light an’ rest yore saddles.”

  They got down and seated themselves on a bench by the ranch-house door. The cattle, tired by the long tramp, were contentedly cropping the sparse brown herbage. Frosty duly presented his companion. The rancher studied the young man in silence for a moment, and then, with twinkling eyes, remarked:

  “Pleased to know yu, Green. Yu got the second best boss in the country; if he don’t treat yu right, come an’ see the best.”

  The Double K puncher chuckled. “I told yu he was a modest fella, Jim,” he remarked.

  “Well, boys, spill the beans, or mebbe yore throats need irrigatin’,” Merry said, and when Frosty promptly retorted that they did, he shouted, “Hi, Chang, there’s a couple o’ thirsty gents here; fetch a jug o’ water.”

  For a moment the cowboy’s face fell, but resumed its grin when he saw that the water was accompanied by a bottle. They sampled the contents, and then Frosty told his story. Merry spoke only when it was ended.

  “Good notion o’ yores to bring ‘em here. I’m obliged.”

  “Warn’t mine—Jim thought o’ that. He figured that if the rustlers were aimin’ to put yu in wrong with Keith, that would crab the deal.”

  The fat man nodded. “I’m obliged to both o’ yu. If Green could rope an’ throw one o’ them cows …”

  He watched narrowly as the puncher stepped into his saddle and walked the horse towards the grazing brutes. At the moment they began to move, the black leapt forward, the rope circled through the air, the loop dropping neatly over the horns of the nearest steer. A flip of the lariat to the right and a swerve to the left by the horse threw the captive on its side and a turn of the rider’s wrist sent a couple of coils along the rope which effectually snared the kicking hind legs. “Knows his job,” the rancher remarked to his companion, as they stepped to where the victim of the cowboy’s dexterity awaited them. “It ain’t every wrastler can throw an’ hobble from the saddle.”

  One glance at the altered brand and Merry’s laugh rang out. “Clever work,” he said. “Even a tenderfoot could see that cow ain’t wearin’ its proper monogram, an’ that’s what they wanted. Tell Ken I’m buyin’ these beasts—that’ll save yu the trouble o’ drivin’ ‘em back, an’ put things straight.”

  Leaving Sudden to release his prisoner, they returned to the ranch-house, for a thrown steer is apt to be r
esentful and has no fear of a man on foot.

  “Hear about the stranger rough-housin’ four o’ them Hell City outlaws at Black Sam’s?” Merry asked, and without waiting for an answer, “I sent word I’d like to see him, but he’d went, cuss it.”

  “Allasame, yu’ve got yore wish,” Frosty grinned, his eyes on Sudden, who, having deftly freed and coiled his rope, smacked the outraged beast on the rump, and swung round to rejoin them.

  “Yu tellin’ me that’s the fella?” the rancher demanded. “Well, I’ll be tee-totally damned. So Ken got ahead o’ me? What was his idea takin’ on a stranger?”

  “First off, he wanted to thank him, I expect,” the other replied, and told how the trouble at Black Sam’s had started.

  Merry nodded, and when Sudden returned, said, “Green, it ‘pears I’m more obliged to yu than I guessed. Miss Joan is a particular friend o’ mine, an’ if I hadn’t been born so darned early, I’d be ha’ntin’ the Double K pretty persistent. I ain’t forgettin’ what yu did for her, an’ I’ll be pleased to see yu here any time, which, o’ course, goes for yu, too, Frosty.

  Tell Ken to keep me posted. I’ll bet that hell-hound in the hills is plannin’ some devilment right now.”

  On the way back to the Double K, Frosty was inquisitive. “What d’yu think of him?”

  “He keeps good whisky,” was all the answer.

  Chapter VII

  Hell City was difficult of access. A rough, narrow wagon-way, winding serpent-like among the foothills, ever climbing, and walled in by rock on one side and—towards the end —a precipice on the other, formed the only approach from the direction of Dugout. It terminated in a heavy gate of timber which was always guarded. Within was a kind of street running between vertical cliffs which bulged out and then curved in again, almost meeting. Here was another gate—the western entrance. In the stone walls of this oval an ancient people had fashioned a place to live. The present inhabitants had, in fact, adopted and adapted a Hopi Indian cliff-settlement. There were a few wooden buildings scattered about, among them a store and a saloon, but most of the newcomers were content with the caves they had found there, which required no more than the provision of door or window to make them habitable.