“Hell, that boy must ‘a’ bin loco,” was his comment.
It was only after she had ridden a mile or more that Joan awoke to the fact that she was travelling in the direction of the Glue-pot.
“Sugar, you must be a mind-reader,” she told her mount laughingly. “It’s a good thing you haven’t the gift of speech, too, or you might betray secrets.”
She pulled up as she saw a rider approaching, a mere lad of eleven or twelve, astride the back of an unkempt, shaggy pony. He stopped when he reached her and dragged off his wreck of a hat. He was not prepossessing, his thin features having a crafty expression out of keeping with his age. “I reckon yo’re Miss Joan Keith,” he said.
“Your reckoning is correct,” she smiled. “And where do you come from?”
“Way over,” he replied, jerking a thumb to the northward, and she knew that was all she would learn. “I got a letter for you —a stranger asked me to fetch it; said for me to give it to yoreself.”
He dived into the pocket of his ragged overalls. Joan took the envelope and one glance at the superscription quickened the beating of her heart. But she would not open it yet.
“What was he like, this stranger?”
“Dressed like a cow-wrastler, with blue eyes an’ a mark on his chin,” the boy replied. “He gimme four bits.” The girl’s face was flushed, her eyes sparkling. She had been sure before—the writing had told her, but she could not resist the desire to prolong her pleasure. “So if I give you another four you will have a whole dollar,” she said.
“Betcha life,” he agreed, and putting the coins carefully away, banged his heels against the ribs of his steed and scampered off. Only then did she open the envelope.
DEAR JOAN, I shall be at the mouth of Coyote Canyon about three today. I must see you. Don’t fail me.
YOUR JEFF.
Not very romantic, perhaps, but what young girl ever criticized her first love-letter? She read it three times, tucked it into the pocket of her shirt-waist, and turned towards the rendezvous.
“Joan Keith, you are an idiot,” she assured herself with mock severity. “Sugar’s hoof-beats are not saying `Your Jeff.’ “
She reached the spot in good time, but it appeared to be deserted. After waiting a little while, it occurred to her that she might be seen by one of the Double K riders, and not wishing this, she rode a short way up the ravine, where the undergrowth would screen her from view. No sooner had she taken up this new position than she became aware of movement and five horsemen burst from the bushes and encircled her. A look sufficed to show that she was in the hands of Satan’s infamous “Imps.” That she had been trapped was not at first clear to her.
“What does this mean?” she asked indignantly.
The leader, whom she now recognized as the brute who had insulted her at Black Sam’s, rode forward, a smirk on his disfigured countenance.
“Jeff, the Chief, that is, couldn’t come hisself so he sent us to take you to him,” he explained.
The statement almost stunned her. So the treasured letter was no more than a bait to lure her into the clutches of the Boss of Hell City. Furtively she crushed and let it fall; she could not keep such a vile thing. Then the horror of her position swept over her, and, spurring her pony, she made a desperate bid to break through, hoping they would not dare to pursue into the open. But ere she had gone a few feet, two of them grabbed the reins and jerked her horse back on its haunches.
“None o’ that,” Scar said savagely. “Come quiet an’ you’ll be treated decent; if you don’t, I’ll hawg-tie you.” The girl gave in; black despair descended upon her. Roden issued an order, they closed round her, and set off along the canyon. The roughness of the trail made speed out of the question, but presently they climbed out of the dismal gorge into the hills. There was a certain fierce grandeur in the peaks and precipices, tree-clad slopes, rocky defiles, and cascading torrents, but Joan—lover of Nature as she was—had no eye for them; fear for the future was all-absorbing.
Her escort took no notice of her, but chatted in low tones among themselves. Once she caught a fragment of the conversation.
“The Chief’ll have a couple of ‘em now,” one said. “Yeah, safety in numbers,” chuckled another.
“That rule don’t work with women. No, sir,” Scar contributed. At which they all laughed.
They entered Hell City by the western gate, and despite her danger, the girl could not but be interested in the place which the country-side held in awe. In the afternoon sunlight, it appeared innocent enough. At first, seeing so few buildings, she wondered where the inhabitants lived, and then she noticed the tunnelled openings in the rock walls, and understood. The people who stopped and stared as she passed seemed no different from those of any frontier settlement. But a shock awaited her at the whipping-post. Hanging slackly from it by his bound wrists was an oldish man, his bared back raw and bloody, and round him, a dozen or more loungers. Scar asked a question.
“Ol’ Benjy,” he told the others. “So that was why he warn’t on the gate. Well, here we are.”
He got down and turned to help the girl, but she had already dismounted, and obeying his gesture, proceeded along the passage. Silver opened the door, and his brutelike appearance made her recoil. Scar chuckled.
“Go ahead,” he said. “He won’t bite yer.”
She stepped into the room and again paused, this time in astonishment at the bizarre yet costly furnishings. But from these her gaze went almost at once to the owner, devouring her triumphantly through the slits in his mask. He made a too elaborate bow and pushed forward a chair.
“Good of you to come, Joan,” he greeted, and the irony of the remark stung her.
“I had no choice,” she replied hotly. “That—beast threatened to hog-tie me.”
“She tried to break away,” the “beast” said sullenly.
“My fault,” Satan explained. “I was so eager to see you that I promised to hang the poor fellow if he failed.” He smiled at Roden. “It appears we had a difference last night, and that you wounded me and I killed you.”
Scar looked at him dubiously. “I don’t get you,” he said. “I’m feelin’ middlin’ healthy for a dead man. Who put it around?”
“Sudden, and on the plea that he was going to Red Rock for a doctor, the fool at the gate let him pass, against my express orders.”
“So—that was it?”
“Yes. I don’t—think—he’ll do it—again,” Satan said slowly. He tossed over some bills. “Your men will be thirsty.”
Having thus dismissed the man, he turned to the girl. “Sorry I couldn’t meet you myself, Joan, but a little matter prevented me.”
“The thrashing of that unhappy wretch outside?” she asked.
“Oh, that,” he replied carelessly. “Just a question of discipline. They are a rough lot, these people of mine, and need an object lesson from time to time.”
“You mentioned `Sudden.’ Was that the cowboy who came to the Double K?”
“Yes, and you are well quit of him; an arrant rascal.” Perilous as her position was, she could not keep back the retort: “He should have suited you.”
She saw his mouth harden, and then he laughed. “You still have your tongue. Well, a woman without brains, however pretty, is no more than a doll.”
She was silent, considering him. Though she knew the truth, the impersonation was so complete that, but for having recently seen the real Simon Pure, she might still have doubted; a warm-blooded youth, harshly treated—as he believed—by the world, might well have become such a man as this. He fell to pacing up and down, hands behind his back, an old habit of Jeff’s, she remembered, when he wished to talk.
“Fine to see you here, Joan; I have much to say.”
“Then please say it and let me go home,” she replied. “I have been absent too long already.”
“You are not going. Where I am will be `home’ for you from now on,” he told her. “You are to be my wife, or my woman, which you w
ill, but—one or the other.”
She sprang to her feet. “Are you mad?” she cried.
“Yes, about you,” he smiled. “Once, I let you go; this time, I hold you until eternity.”
The note of finality in his voice left no room for doubt; the fate she had feared from the moment of her capture had become a hideous reality. Sick with horror, she sank back in her seat and strove to rally her scattered senses. She must fight this monster, and above all, never let him suspect that she knew his secret. She too had a part to play.
“I never thought you would use me so, Jeff,” she said quietly. “If you really care for me, you will let me return to the ranch; the Colonel will be anxious.”
His astonishment was real. “The Colonel? Why, he’s dead.”
“No,” she corrected. “There was an accident, and he was badly hurt, but he still lives, and needs all the care and attention I can give him. I beg you to let me go.”
“No, I need you, too.”
“The shock of my disappearance may prove fatal to—your father,” she pleaded.
“A convincing reason for keeping you,” he replied brutally.
He called Silver and gave him an order which Joan could not hear. In a while, the dwarf ushered in Miss Dalroy. The bandit spoke brusquely.
“Belle, this is Miss Keith; she will share your room for a time. I want you to take good care of her.”
The adventuress had expected to find a contemptuous adversary, but she found only a distraught and despairing girl. The sight aroused no compassion in her selfish soul; willing or unwilling, Joan Keith was a formidable rival.
“I understand, Jeff; she will be safe with me,” she said. “Come, Miss Keith.”
Joan did not move, and Satan’s lips tightened. Stepping to her side, he said savagely, “Go, before I repent of my weakness. Remember, I am master here.”
With a heart heavy as lead, she obeyed, conscious that she was completely in his power. It was but a few steps, for Belle’s abode was next the Chief’s, a similar cave, though not so large or luxuriously fitted. But it was comfortable.
“Well, here we are,” Belle said, “and let me tell you, Hell City has worse prisons.” She looked curiously at her guest, sitting limply, staring with arid eyes at the carpeted floor. “You were fond of Jeff one time, weren’t you? I expect he’s altered.”
The girl was on her guard. “Yes, into a beast,” she replied.
“All men have a lot of beast in them,” Belle shrugged. “Civilization smothers and keeps it under, but out here in the wilds it comes to the surface.”
Joan changed the subject. “Is there no way out of this awful place?”
“Three,” was the cynical reply. “Jump through the hole behind that curtain and you’ll land on the rocks eighty feet below. The other two are the gates of the town: the cowboy, Sudden, went that way last night, and the man who let him pass was beaten to death this afternoon. You can reckon your chances.”
“What had Sudden done?”
“I don’t know, but if he hadn’t escaped—well, judge for yourself,” Belle said, and gave an account of the gunman’s arrest and subsequent torture. The listener’s ashen face rather amused her; she had purposely painted the bandit leader as black as possible.
“Diabolical!”
“Oh, Jeff’s all that; sometimes I think he really is—possessed. I was glad Sudden got away—he saved my life, and yet, I fear him.”
“I would say he is not the type to harm a woman.”
“It is not for myself,” the other admitted, and laughed. “One gets these foolish fancies; probably he is fifty miles away by now.”
Joan was speculating about her companion. What dire distress had driven her, young, beautiful, to this sink of iniquity? At the risk of a rebuff, she asked the question.
“I had to choose between hanging and—this.”
Joan looked aghast. “Hanging?” she repeated. “But what—?”
“Oh, I just killed a cur,” Belle said brazenly. “He deserved to die, but your man-made laws don’t take that into account.” With a bitter grimace, she pointed to the bed. “Sleep sound. Hell City has had a taste of its master’s medicine to-day and will be quiet.”
The assurance was of no avail, and it was long ere rest came to the overwrought girl. Fears for her father, and forebodings as to the future kept her staring for hours into the blackness. There seemed to be no hope. Even if her whereabouts became known, what could a handful of cowboys do against Satan’s well-armed horde of desperadoes, entrenched in this rock citadel.
Consternation reigned at the Double K that evening, and each rider as he came in from his day’s work was met by a worried foreman and received the same order.
“Change yore hoss an’ git busy. Miss Joan rode out around two an’ ain’t showed up. We gotta find her.”
From all he got “Hell!” and prompt obedience. He despatched the last of them and went into his shack for his rifle. As he came out, a warning voice said: “Keep yore han’s mighty still, Steve.”
He looked round. Sudden, sitting on his black, gun drawn, was just behind him.
“I’ve come to talk, not fight,” the visitor went on. “What about it?”
The foreman propped his rifle against the side of the hut. “Come inside,” he invited.
Sudden slid down, without losing the drop, and followed him into the shack. “Why are yu sendin’ the boys out?” he asked.
Lagley told him. “She’s a good rider, but a hoss can find a hole an’ break a leg. What’s yore guess?”
“That she’s in Hell City.”
The foreman looked relieved. “If that’s so, she’ll be all right; Jeff would never let her come to harm.”
“That’s comfortin’,” the puncher said sarcastically, and then, “Steve, I’m goin’ to put some straight questions an’ I want the same sort o’ answers. Just why are yu doublecrossin’ yore boss?”
The veins on Lagley’s forehead swelled up, he shut his jaw, and for a moment it seemed there might be trouble. Then he said angrily, “It’s none o’ yore damned business.”
goin’ to be ,” Sudden replied sternly, and reading the desperate thought, “Don’t gamble, Steve; yu’ll be outa luck.”
Lagley hesitated; this man was his master with a gun, and there was no help within miles. He made his decision.
“Because o’ the way he served young Jeff,” he burst out. “I’m admittin’ the boy was skittish—what colt that’s worth anythin’ ain’t?—but he never give him a chance. Whipped him allatime with that sharp tongue o’ his, like he does all of us, an’ fair drove him to rebel. I wanta see him an’ Miss Joan runnin’ this ranch, that’s what. So now yu know.”
Sudden nodded. “An’ if another fella was tryin’ to grab it vu wouldn’t help?” he queried.
“Anybody but a Keith at the Double K?” Lagley snorted. ‘I’d help him into the next world with a slug in his gizzard.”
“Good. yu an’ me haven’t been too friendly—I expect we got off on the wrong foot—but I’m beginnin’ to like yu a lot better. Now, get ready for a jar: that masked fella in Hell City is not Jefferson Keith.”
The foreman gazed at him, eyes and mouth wide open, and exploded in a guffaw. “Yu ain’t expectin’ I’ll swaller that, are yu? Me, what’s knowed the boy sence he was knee-high, an’ made him the good cattleman he is. I wouldn’t reckernize him, huh? A fine joke that.”
“Is it?” the puncher asked. “Well, laugh this one off, too: the Colonel’s hurt was no accident, he was deliberately shot by the man yu claim is Jeff Keith.”
“But Jansen said—”
“What he was told to say; the 0I’ Man would not have it knowed.”
The derision died out of the foreman’s face. “Jeff would never do that,” he muttered perplexedly.
“He was miles distant from Dugout when it happened.”
“Where is Jeff now?”
“I ain’t sayin’—yet,” was the reply. “But he ain’t in Hell
City, nor coverin’ up his face. I came over because I guessed yu were on the wrong trail. How many Double K men will line up to smoke out that thieves’ nest?”
“If what yu say is true, all of us. That is—”
“Except Turvey.”
Lagley looked uncomfortable. “It’s a fact he’s different,” he confessed. “Kind o’ new, bin here less’n twelve months.”
“Wasn’t it Turvey who suggested yu should get in with Satan?” Sudden asked, and when the other assented, “I found out that he was in Hell City afore he came to yu.”
Lagley swore forcibly. “He gits his time in the mornin’.”
“No, that will tell them too much; we gotta lie low till we’re ready to strike. Don’t whisper a word to anyone ‘cept Frosty —he’s wise.”
“I’ll be dumb as the dead,” the foreman promised, and awkwardly, “Green, I’ve treated yu mean, that bill ‘bout yu, an’ the frame-up, but honest, I thought I was helpin’ Jeff. That devil had his tricks o’ speakin’, movin’, an’ remembered happenin’s when he was a li’l lad that on’y Jeff could ‘a’ knowed. Anyways, I’m sayin’ to yu that I’m sorry, an’—”
“Forget it, Steve, he fooled us all, even Miss Joan,” the puncher said. “Now I’ll fade, in case any o’ the boys drift in; it won’t do for them to see yu shakin’ han’s with me.”
The foreman did not comprehend at once, but then he saw the proffered fist and took it eagerly. “Yo’re a good fella, Green,” he said. “Wish I’d found it out earlier.”
He waited until the visitor had disappeared in the dusk and then sat down to digest the astounding news he had received. Looking back, he could see nothing which might have raised real doubt. The perpetual mask was typical of one prone to extremes, and the harsh, insulting manner merely an accentuation of the father’s caustic habit. One thing he had never been able to explain; why the regard he felt for the boy he taught to ride and throw a rope should be, akin to fear in the presence of the man.
“Steve Lagley, if any hurt happens to that gal yu’ll deserve to be roasted at a slow fire,” was his final decision.
Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) Page 22