Sudden Takes The Trail (1940) s-6

by Strange, Oliver

  "That's the loot from the bank," he said. "Let's have a look at the fella they trusted with it." The man was lying on his face, but one glance told that he was dead; the bullet had broken his spine. Sudden turned the body over and removed the improvised mask.

  "Dutch ! " he exclaimed. "Well, that's somethin' else I might 'a' guessed."

  "Sorta points to Mullins, huh?"

  "Yeah, but yu couldn't prove it. They left Welcome together, but it don't follow they stayed that way; Dutch may've gone to the hills on his own account. Well, gotta take him in, I s'pose." Roped across the back of his own horse the dead robber returned to Welcome. They stopped at the bank, where they found Nippert.

  "We never saw hide nor hair of 'em," he said, in answer to the marshal's question. "An' when we lost the trail, there was nothin' for it but to come home."

  "How's Bob?"

  "He's got a busted head, but that'll mend, if he gives it a chance."

  "I got the medicine to cure him," Sudden said. "They say money talks. Well, it shore does. Listen ! " He lifted the leather bag and smote it, once, twice. "Hear it?" The saloon-keeper's eyes popped out. "If you ain't the shinin' limit! This'll save Morley's life."

  "Take it in to him," the marshal smiled. "Me an' Dave ain't slept since the last time--'bout a week ago, it seems. We'll see the of boy later." As he went out, a chalk-faced youth was climbing back on to his stool in the office. Sudden guessed he had seen the grisly sight outside, and went to him.

  "Don't worry, son," he said. "I've fetched the stolen money back, an' yore boss will get well. Stay with yore job --there's worse ways o' earnin' a livin' than bankin'." Dumb with amazement and relief, Evans watched the tall, lithe figure swing into the saddle and ride down the street.

  "Gawd, what a man," he murmured.

  Chapter XI

  JAKE and his band, having succeeded in eluding pursuit, made a wide detour to avoid the Bar O range, and reached the gully about the same time as the marshal and his deputy returned to Welcome. The absence of Dutch astonished them.

  "What in hell can have delayed him?" Mullins muttered. "He's had time to cover the ground twice." Javert's face took on an ugly sneer. "Yeah, time to git to the California border, pretty near," was his reply.

  "I've knowed Dutch a-many years an' he's straight," Jake defended. "He wouldn't play no pranks on me." None of the others appeared to partake of his confidence. In the excitement of carrying out the raid, Jake's plan for getting rid of the tell-tale spoils had seemed good, but now they began to doubt its wisdom; it was a temptation not one of them could have resisted. Nothing further was said, however, and having eaten, they waited sullenly for the advent of the missing messenger.

  As the day wore on and brought no sign of him, the fear that they had been duped deepened. It was a bitter dis-- appointment; the whole enterprise had gone smoothly; a single coup had given them more wealth than a year of rustling would produce, and now . . .

  "I hope yo're right," Javert shrugged. "Me, I'm goin' to catch up some sleep." He got his blanket, and, one by one, the others followed his example. Jake alone remained sitting by the fire, gazing into it morosely. Despite his bold front, he was desperately uneasy. What else could have happened? A rogue himself, he read the minds of his men, and was even now bitterly reproaching himself for not having done what they suspected.

  It would have been simple, and with only two to share. ... The scrape of a hoof, and rattle of a rolling stone, recalled him to realities. He sprang up, crying :"He's here. What did I tell you?" The others flung aside their blankets and stood up, but the man who stumbled through the shadows and stepped into the glow of the fires was Pinto, the Bar O rider.

  "Thought you was Dutch," Jake said disgustedly. "Hell ! "

  "That's where you'll have to go if yo're wantin' him," the cowboy replied.

  "You sayin' that Dutch is--dead?" Jake asked.

  "Hope so, seem' as they've buried him," was the callous answer.

  "Let's have a plain tale," Javert cried impatiently.

  "Well, the marshal didn't fall into yore trap an' stayed to home. When you punched the breeze, he sent the posse after, but him an' his damned deputy made for the Silver Mane, shot down Dutch, an' toted his remainders, with the coin, back to Welcome. Who put him wise?"

  "Nobody," Jake told him. "I didn't git the idea till we was in the bank; it seemed a good way o' playin' safe." This for the benefit of the Bar O man, whose face bore a palpable sneer. "How d'you hear?"

  "Reddy brought the cheerful tidin's."

  "Damnation! That tacks a label on us," Javert said.

  "Not any," Jake corrected. "It ain't knowed where we are, or that Dutch stayed with me. I'd ride into Welcome to-day if I felt like it; they can't prove a thing."

  "If you do, take a squint at yore of shack," Pinto advised. "Widow Gray is runnin' it, an' Reddy sez it's swell." The other's eyes narrowed. "So," he said harshly. "I shore will; in fact, I'll feed there."

  "Step careful then. Reddy said Sark paid a visit, got fresh, an' was throwed out, neck an' crop."

  "By that slip of a female?" asked an incredulous listener. "No, by young Masters, an' as him an' the marshal are ace-high about now, it might be dangerous." Jake frowned. "Sark, huh? What's his game?"

  "She's a relation, an' quite a few think she oughta be ownin' the Dumb-bell. Marriage with her would stop that talk." This appeared to give Mullins food for thought; he was silent for a while. Then he dismissed the subject with a lift of his shoulders, and said briskly:

  "Well, boys, I was right 'bout Dutch, you see--he played fair. We've lost this time, but there'll be others. What are the chances for a worth-while gather, Pinto?"

  "Mighty slim--at present; the outfit is right on its toes, an' I have a hunch that cussed marshal has ideas 'bout me. I don't like them cold eyes--they gimme the feelin' he can read what's in my mind."

  "He must be a medicine man to have knowed about Dutch," Pock-mark put in.

  "Kid's talk," Jake said scornfully. "He guessed right, an' that's all there is to it. Awright, Pinto, we'll lie doggo till the Bar O is feelin' easy again. Better git back in case yo're missed."

  "I'm night-ridin'--watchin' for you fellas," the man grinned, as he prepared to go. "Hang the luck! I'd bin hopin' to tell John Owen what I think of him, an' git my time."

  "Which would 'a' showed pore sense," Mullins remarked. "Even if the bank deal had come off, we've a soft thing here, an' when the Bar O is good an' thinned, we'll have Sark where we want him."

  "Hadn't looked at it thataway," Pinto admitted. "You got a head, Jake, but I'd like to see the last o' that marshal."

  "He'll be taken care of," was the sinister assurance.

  The men retired to rest again, but for some time the scheming brain of the bandit chief was busy, and not on their account. The result of his deliberations was a shave, and an attempt to smarten his appearance in the morning, an unusual proceeding which inevitably provoked curiosity.

  "Who's the dame, Jake?" one asked.

  "Dame Fortune, the on'y one o' her sex worth troublin' about," was the cynical reply. "I'm goin' to Welcome.""Ain't that a risk?" Pocky inquired.

  "Not to you, anyways. I'm ridin' in from Drywash, to see Dutch."

  "But he's cashed."

  "News to me, an' I'll be the most astonished fella in the place when I hear it." Javert nodded. "He's right; it's a good bluff, an' oughta lay out any suspicion of us bein' mixed up in that bank affair." It was not until early afternoon that Mullins reached Welcome. The visitor rode to his late abode, dismounted with a sigh of relief, and after a peep through the neatly-curtained window, entered. His step on the board floor brought the Widow from the kitchen. Astonishment checked the customary greeting.

  "Howdy, ma'am, I expect yo're s'prised to see me," Jake said, as he removed his hat and sat down.

  "What--do you want?" she stammered.

  "I'm peckish, an' not partic'lar; I'll leave it to you," he replied.

  She served him in sil
ence, and he too had nothing to say until he had done full justice to the food, but his eyes were busy and found her more desirable than ever. When she came to remove the empty plates, he was rolling a smoke.

  "That was bully," he complimented. "I once said you couldn't cook; I was wrong."

  "Thank you," she replied quietly.

  "You've made a new place o' the shack," he went on. "Curtains, tablecloths, everythin' clean, it's a dandy layout, an' good grub. I allus said it takes a woman to make a go of a joint like this. I hope the hawgs appreciate it." A tiny frown creased her brow at the epithet, but all she said was, "My customers seem to like it."

  "Trade good, huh? Makes me feel 'most sorry I sold out. There's possibilities here. Build an extension--a dance-hall, freight in a pianner, an' have social evenin's, mebbe a game or two. It'd need capital, but I could find that"

  "I have no desire to sell."

  "I ain't suggestin' any such thing," lie continued. "You'd run the show, just exactly as you pleased, understan'? Yo're the king-pin; I put up the dollars an' be sort o' pardner." He paused for a moment. "Why, what's the matter with makin' it a real pardnership?" He bent forward, his eager eyes devouring her, and she realized that, for the time being, at least, he was in earnest.

  "Are you, by any chance, asking me to marry you?" she said coldly.

  "Shore I am--I've allus wanted you," he cried. "I ain't no good at makin' fancy speeches, but I'll treat you right. Mebbe I run a bit wild after you took Gray; that's all over. Girl, we'd have a shore-enough bonanza in this of barn. What d'you say?"

  "No, now and always," she replied steadily.

  The low voice carried conviction, and the crash of his new-born hopes aroused his anger. Thrusting a threatening face near to her own, he spoke through his clenched teeth:

  "I'm not yore class, I s'pose? One o' these days I'll make you ask for what you just turned down. I'll "

  "Why, Mister Mullins, what brings yu amongst us again?" The ruffian turned round. Dave Masters was smiling, but his eyes were flinty. Entering from the rear, he had approached unnoticed. Jake had his answer ready :

  "I come to see Dutch--heard he was here."

  "Yu heard correct; we'll go find him," Dave remarked cheerfully. "All yu've gotta do is pay for what yu've had." He looked at the used crockery. "Steak an' fixin's, pie, cawfee--that'll set yu back one dollar. Ante up, an' we'll be goin'." Jake's expression was one of irate doubt; he did not know how to deal with this apparently good-tempered young man, who had, however, handled Sark--a big fellow--capably.

  Outside, the deputy looked at his companion with twinkling eyes. "We'll need a spade," he said.

  The visitor's start of surprise was well done. "You tellin' me Dutch is dead?"

  "Adam ain't no deader. Didn't yu know?"

  "Ain't seen him since the day I left Welccme--we fell out," Mullins lied. "How did it happen?"

  "He was ridin' in the dark, got throwed, an' hurt his back," was the somewhat incomplete explanation.

  "Talked some, before he passed out--wild stuff 'bout a bank hold-up, an' mentioned yore name." Apprehension came and went like a flash, but Dave saw it. "Must 'a' bin out'n his head," Jake replied, the mask of indifference back again. "I don't take no stock in the ravin's of a dyin' man. Now, if you've finished shootin' oft yore mouth, I'll be on my way."

  "Just one more thing," Masters returned. "I heard yu raise yore voice to Mrs. Gray. That ain't allowed, an' I'm servin' notice on yu to get out an' stay out o' this burg, or by the livin' God I'll send yu to join Dutch. yu sabe?" The careless, bantering youth had gone, and in his stead was a hard-faced man, with a jutting jaw and hostile eyes, who clearly meant what he said. So swift had been the change that for one bewildered moment, Jake stared at him in silence. Then he remembered that he had been given an order.

  "This ain't finishin' here," he warned.

  "I'd noticed that," came the gibe. "Split the wind, yu misfit." With studied deliberation, the ruffian rode down the street, and the young man's eyes gleamed mischievously. Pulling his gun, he sent a couple of bullets under the pony's pacing feet, flinging the frightened beast into a mad gallop, and nearly unseating the surprised rider. Then, with a contented grin, he went into the restaurant, just as its owner, white-faced, appeared.

  "I heard shots," she said.

  "His hoss was lazy--I just livened it up some," he explained. "What was he after?" The colour came back into her cheeks. "He was after--me," she replied demurely.

  "The devil he was?"

  "Your astonishment is hardly a compliment," she smiled. "Yu know I didn't mean it thataway."

  "You only make it worse; I'm afraid you'll never be a success with the ladies."

  "I don't aim to be, 'cept with one," he said warmly.

  She changed the subject. "I haven't seen the marshal to- ay.

  "Gone to the Bar O; told me to stay an' keep shop," Dave informed. "Said there might be another unruly customer to chuck out. Now how in blazes could he know that?" She shook her head. "He is a clever man; if I had any secrets I should be afraid of him. Did he say anything else?" Dave grinned gleefully. "Shore, he reminded me to make the fella pay first, an' I did--this time." The subject of their conversation was certainly on his way to the Bar O, but the route he had selected was by no means the nearest. In fact, he had gone straight to the Silver Mane. The place had a fascination, and he was convinced that it held a secret. But he failed again to find anything, and after a patient search, he gave up and rode along The Step until he came to where it dipped down and could be crossed.

  On the far side, he found a wide slope of sparse grass, and presently he came upon cattle, grazing in twos and threes. Acting on an impulse, he chased one group, and when sufficiently near, whirled his rope. The loop dropped neatly over the head of a steer, and Nigger sat back on his haunches. The running beast went down as though its feet had been snatched from under it, with a jar which knocked the breath out of its body. Ere it could recover, the horseman was by its side.

  He needed but one look; true, it was a Dumb-bell brand, but one half was inflamed, having evidently been recently added. To make sure, he ran down several other bunches, and without troubling to use his rope again, found further damning evidence.

  "Reckon this will interest Owen," he said grimly. "I'll have to go to the Bar O after all." But he was saved the trouble, for on covering only a few miles, he heard a hail, and saw the rancher coming towards him.

  "'Lo, Jim," he greeted. "Seen any cattle-hungry hombres around?"

  "No, but I'd like to show yu somethin' if yu ain't in a hurry."

  "I got all the time there is."

  "C'mon then," Sudden invited. He swung his horse round and the other followed.

  "Smart work snatchin' the pot from those bank-breakers," the rancher remarked. "You must 'a' been born lucky, Jim." Sudden did not reply, save by a smile, bitter, without mirth. He was thinking of the youth--not then twenty--who, on the flimsiest evidence, had been branded thief and murderer, a price put upon his head, driven to herd with outlaws and fight for his freedom.1 Lucky? Well, perhaps he was--to be alive.

  They crossed The Step and soon came upon the cattle. The marshal roped and threw one, Owen watching the operation with appreciative eyes; rarely had he seen such skill and precision; he said as much.

  "Punchin' is my business," was the reply. "Take a squint at the brand, an' give me yore opinion." One look sufficed, but one word did not. "Sark?" Owen cried. "So he's the damned, dirty, thievin' dawg? Of all the ..." A string of blistering, vitriolic terms tripped from his tongue in swift succession until, invention and breath failing, he stopped, looked at the marshal--and laughed.

  "Damn' silly, but if I didn't cuss I'd just naturally explode," he excused. "But that's enough to make any cattleman mad, ain't it?"

  "Shorely, but there's one thing I can't understand," Sudden replied. "The brand is badly botched--a kid could do better, an' I reckon Sark's hands are cowmen."

  "Some of 'em are better
gunmen," Owen responded. "I'm needin' an explanation right now. Let's go." Driving their captive before them, they set out.

  As they drew near the forest, they could see the ranch-house standing clear of the trees, with the other buildings and corrals a little distance away. Constructed mainly of 'dobe, it was larger and more pretentious than the Bar O. It had the usual raised terrace in front, giving access to the dwelling, and below this, flower-beds had been laid out, but these now showed every sign of neglect.

  "Amos had 'em made for Mary Gray," Owen said. "It's a blazin' shame they should belong to this coyote."

  "I'm agreein' with yu. He's comin' to meet us. Keep yore wool on, John; we're an easy mark." In fact, Sark was swinging towards them, but presently he stopped and waited for them to ride up. His expression of insolent surprise was not one of welcome.

  "Well, well, the last two people I'd expect to bring me a present," he began, his gaze on the steer, still held by Sudden's rope.

  "Look at the brand," Owen said curtly.

  Sark stepped closer. "Ragged work," he replied coolly. "If I can find out who did it, he gets his time. I'm obliged to you."

  "Quit stallin'," Owen rapped out.

  "You suggestin' I'm stealin' yore cattle?"

  "What else? Here's a beast with my iron altered to yores an' there's others where we found it, just this side o' The Step, on yore range." Sark glared. "A part I don't use," he said, "but no matter. Listen: when I want the Bar O, I'll take it--hook, line, an'sinker, not a few measly cows at a lick. Get that? Now, make tracks, afore I have you run off my land, an' take yore hired killer with you." He had raised his voice, and several men--appearing from the outbuildings--drew nearer. Sudden saw the backward glance and spoke for the first time :

  "I wouldn't crow too loud, even if yu are on yore own dung-hill. An' don't rely on that bunch o' bush-whackersyu'd be buzzard's meat when they started anythin'. That"--he pointed to the steer--"needs explainin'; I've seen men hanged on slimmer evidence." The cold, passionless tone brought Sark up with a round turn. He spat disgustedly.