Sudden: Outlawed

by Oliver Strange

  Having watched the herd depart and waved an ironical farewell, Baudry turned his horse’s head towards San Antonio. Five miles along the trail, squatting with his back against a spreading cedar, a man was waiting. Baudry got down, glad to avail himself of the shade.

  “Well, Navajo, the S E drive has started,” he said. “What are Rogue’s plans?”

  The half-breed grinned unpleasantly. “Yu better ask him,” he retorted. “His word was that he’d do the job—his own way.”

  The gambler’s face reddened but he summoned a smile. “Suits me, so long as it’s done,” he replied. “Sam seems pretty confident.”

  “He ain’t got a chanct,” the other stated.

  “I think he has,” Baudry said coolly. “In fact, I have so strong a belief in my friend Eden’s courage and determination that I’d be willing to wager that he’ll take his cattle through and return safely to his ranch.”

  The ruffian laughed evilly. “Shore yu would,” he sneered. “How much?”

  “One thousand dollars.”

  “I’m takin’ yore bet. Give it me in writin’—I got a shockin’ memory.” The jeer in the man’s voice was insulting but Baudry chose to ignore it.

  “You needn’t worry, I always pay my debts,” he said. Nevertheless, he wrote a few words in a notebook, tore out the page and passed it to the other. Navajo grinned as he tucked it away in a pocket.

  “Money from home,” he chuckled. “This ain’t nothin’ to do with Rogue, yu savvy? So long.”

  The gambler stood watching his receding form, his thick lips set in grim threat.

  “There’s more than one way of paying a debt, you scum,” he snarled. “When you’ve served your purpose …”

  Chapter VIII

  THE Colorado River had been reached without any untoward incident, and the S E drive was camped on the south bank waiting for daylight to make the crossing. So far, everything had gone well, and, with perfect weather, the herd had made good time. Supper was over, and ‘the foreman, Sudden, and several others were smoking beside the fire, for, though the days were hot, the evenings were chill. There was a thicket to the right of the camp—the first timber they had seen for days—and the cook was busy chopping wood and loading it into the rawhide slung beneath the wagon, for his store of buffalo “chips”—the only fuel to be found on the plains—was getting low.

  “Well, trail-drivin’ suits me. Why, it won’t be no trick a-tall to push the bunch into Kansas.”

  This from the gangling youth known as “Infant.” The foreman surveyed him sardonically.

  “Bein’ a kid I s’pose yu gotta talk like one,” he said. “If yu think it’s all goin’ to be like this yu got another guess comin’. An’ that kind o’ yap is shore unlucky. 01’ Man Trouble allus camps on the tail of a trail-herd, an’ we’ll hear from him soon enough without askin’ for it.”

  “That’s so,” agreed another, who, being reputed to be the biggest liar in Texas, was called

  “Truthful.”

  “I remember once—”

  “Forget it twice,” Jeff snapped. “What’s come o’ Sands? He ain’t with the herd.”

  No one seemed to know. He had eaten with the rest of them and then slipped away.

  Sudden had seen him go and smothered an impulse to follow because he had a feeling that the boy had avoided him of late. He glanced round the camp, but there was no sign of the missing man. Against the dark background of the trees the little tent used by the women gleamed whitely.

  A few yards away from it, Sam Eden leaned on the wagon-tongue and chatted with the cook.

  Then, out of a thick tangle of bushes some forty paces from the wagon came a spurt of flame, followed by the vicious crack of a gun, and the sturdy figure of the rancher staggered and fell.

  “Hell’s bells!” Jeff cried, and ran to the stricken man.

  The others followed, ail save Sudden, who raced tor the spot whence the shot had come.

  Noiselessly he searched, peering into the gloomy depths of the brush, listening for the snap of a breaking twig which would tell of a stealthy retreat, but he saw and heard nothing. Then came a careless footstep, a slouching figure swung into view and halted at Sudden’s curt command.

  “‘Lo, Jim. What’s the bright idea, stickin’ up yore friends?” asked a familiar voice.

  It was Sandy, and despite himself, a note of suspicion crept into Sudden’s question,

  “What are yu doin’ here?”

  “Goin’ back to camp; what yu reckon?”

  “Where yu been?”

  “Pickin’ flowers,” came the ironic reply.

  “Quit foolin’,” Sudden said sternly. “Sam Eden was shot from ‘bout here less’n a quarter of an hour back.”

  “Sam—Eden—shot?” Sandy repeated. “God! An’ yo’re guessin’ I did it?”

  “I ain’t doin’ any guessin’,” Sudden told him. “I came to catch the skunk an’ bump into yu. Come clean.”

  “Is he hurt bad?”

  “I didn’t wait to see; Jeff an’ some o’ the boys is there. yu ain’t answered my question.”

  “I had nothin’ to do with it, Jim,” the boy said hoarsely, “but it’s likely I saw the fella.

  Mebbe ten minutes or so ago, a mere shadow, slippin’ through the bush. I didn’t give it much attention—reckoned it was Lasker, goin’ after his hosses—but it may not have been him a-tall.

  Hell! it’ll break his gal’s heart.” Sudden’s silence told him there was more to say. “yu hear an owl hootin’ while we fed?” he asked.

  “Yeah, an’ judged he was a pretty early bird,” Sudden said.

  The other nodded. “Overlookin’ details like that’ll land Rogue’s neck in a noose some day,” he remarked. “yeah, I saw him.”

  Sudden’s eyes narrowed. “When did he leave yu?”

  “Pretty near half an hour back—I didn’t hurry.”

  “Then he mighta done the shootin’?”

  “Could have—he had time, but it don’t fit with his plans.”

  “We better get back—it won’t look too good for us to be absent, an’ together,” Sudden suggested. “We’ll have a powwow later.”

  They had almost reached the camp when Lasker pounded en up wail a strung of night-horses. He stopped on seeing then “Heard about the ol’ Man bein’ bushwhacked, Lasker?”

  Sudden asked.

  The man’s surprise seemed genuine. “Hell, no; who done it?”

  “Yore guess is as good as mine,” was the reply.

  “With him cashed the drive ends, I s’pose,” the wrangler offered.

  “Who told yu he’s dead?” Sudden asked quietly, and then, “Well, mebbe he is; we’ll soon know.”

  The camp was very still. The other men had sought their blankets but the foreman sat near the fire, rifle beside him, and his face a mask of worry. He looked up as the two friends approached; the horse-wrangler was seeing to his charges.

  “This is a turr’ble business, Jim,” he said, and sensing the question uppermost in their minds, “No, Eden ain’t cashed—yet. We got him bedded down in the wagon, an’ I’ve tended the wound—it ain’t the first time I’ve played doctor by a-many. The slug went clean through an’ ‘pears to have missed the vital parts. Plenty desperate, but it might be wuss; he’s got a fightin’ chance.”

  “Then he’ll make it,” Sudden said confidently. “He’s the fightin’ sort.”

  “Beats me who the murderin’ houn’ could be?” Jeff pondered.

  “I went to see if I could catch him but didn’t have no luck.” Sudden explained. “Sandy saw someone hot-footin’ through the brush an’ figured it was Lasker.”

  “Lasker, huh?” the foreman muttered. “Well, he’s a new hand, but there ain’t no reason.

  Yu boys better turn in—I’ll be needin’ yu presently; gotta have four men watchin’ the herd tonight.”

  It was two hours later when Jeff’s low voice awakened them —in those dangerous days it was unwise to arouse a sleeper
by touching him. They approached the slumbering herd slowly, exchanged a few words with the men they had come to relieve, and separated.

  Sudden was riding Nigger, for the night-horse has to be the surest-footed, clearest-sighted, most intelligent of the cowboy’s string of mounts. Knowing that the black would give instant warning of anything wrong, the rider allowed himself to think. The cold-blooded attempt to remove Eden had brought him definitely to the parting of the ways. He had little doubt but that the outlaw chief had been concerned in it, and the thought of working with men capable of such a deed sickened him. The world had given him the name, but not the stomach, of a desperado.

  Another point which worried him was the attitude of Sandy. “The girl has him spell-bound, an’ yet he’s runnin’ with Rogue,” he mused.

  The two things did not seem to jibe and he resolved to clear the situation at the earliest opportunity. This came when, relieved in their turn, they were riding slowly back to camp.

  “I’m puttin’ a plain question,” Sudden said. “Are yu workin’ for Rogue, or ain’t yu?”

  “I’m given’ yu a plain answer,” Sandy replied. “To hell with Rogue, an’ yu can tell him I said so. yu may be in his debt but I ain’t. Sabe?”

  Sudden’s laugh was bitter. “I’ll tell yu what I owe him,” he said slowly.

  Pacing side by side in the ‘starlight, he could not see the listener’s face, but the muttered exclamations the story evoked showed his interest. When it was ended, Sandy drew a deep breath.

  “My Gawd, yu have shorely had a tough break, Jim,” he said. “I reckon all that’s due Rogue from yu is a slug o’ lead.”

  “Well, he got me in a jam unmeanin’ an’ he certainly took a risk to get me out again—which some wouldn’t,” Sudden replied. “Anyways, it’s past mendin’; even if I could prove I didn’t kill Judson, the San Antonio affair an’ this other, would hang me. yo’re ridin’ with a shore-enough outlaw, Sandy.”

  “An’ damn glad to be,” the boy said impulsively, thrusting out a fist. “I’m with yu to the finish, Jim, whatever it may be.” Sudden gripped the hand; it did him good to feel that he had a friend who, knowing all, trusted him.

  “I’m obliged,” he said simply. “When I joined this outfit my mind was all twisty-ways an’

  I didn’t know what I was goin’ to do. Now, I’ve got things straightened out; I’m on Sam Eden’s pay-roll.”

  “That goes for me too,” Sandy rejoined. “We’ll beat that gang o’ chaparral thieves yet.”

  Immediately after breakfast, the foreman called a meeting of all the men in camp to discuss what should be done. Lasker was the first to speak:

  “Nothin’ for it but to turn back, fur as I c’n see.”

  “Then yore eyesight ain’t what it oughta be,” Sudden put in. “I’m for goin’ on; the

  Ol’ Man’ll want. that, I’m bettin’.” Other opinions, for and against, were expressed and in the middle of the argument a hail from the cook apprised Jeff that his employer wanted him. From his bed in the wagon the rancher glared at his foreman.

  “What’s all the chatter about?” he asked in a weak but angry voice. “Why ain’t yu startin’ the herd?”

  “We was sorta settlin’ which way to go,” the foreman excused.

  “There’s on’y one, yu ol’ fool—north’ards,” Eden snapped, and then, as comprehension came to him, “Yu wasn’t thinkin’ o’ goin’ back?”

  Jeff looked uneasy. “Well, yu see, Sam, we figured yu oughta have proper medical attention,” he explained.

  The patient’s pale face grew red with rage. “Medical attention, huh?” he sneered. “yu talk like a perfessor, an’ a damn silly one at that. D’yu reckon I’ve never been shot afore? Pretty fine outfit I got if yo’re goin’ to turn tail an’ run at the first bit o’ trouble.”

  “That’s not fair, Dad,” Carol reproved. “They are thinking of you.”

  “Yo’re right, honey,” Eden said. “I didn’t mean that, Jeff, but yu can cut out the doctor-talk—I don’t need no help to die. An’ let me hear no more o’ goin’ back; we’ll take this herd through come hell or high water. Now, git them cows movin’, or I’ll be up an’ see to it my own self.”

  “An’, by Christmas, he’d ‘a’ tried it,” Jeff said, when he reported the conversation to the others. “Stubborn as two mules, ol’ Sam is, an’ tough as rawhide. They say he once rode fifty miles with a busted leg—tied hisself to the saddle, knowin’ if he fell off he’d never git on again.”

  The only man who did not seem pleased was Lasker. “It’s a fool play,” he said sullenly.

  “He’ll never make the trip—we’ll have to plant him.”

  “Awright, we won’t ask yu to dig the hole,” Jeff retorted. “Take care o’ yor hosses—we’re shorely goin’ to need ‘em.” Sudden had a small investigation to make. In a patch of bare earth in the brush from whence the shot had come he found clear prints of a pair of moccasins, and scorched shrivelled leaves showed where the weapon had been fired through the foliage. With a strip of rawhide he measured the marks, making knots to indicate the width and length. His search for further footprints proved fruitless.

  “Either made his getaway over grass or wanted them tracks to be seen,” was his muttered conclusion.

  Dismissing the matter for the moment he rode to the river, where preparations for crossing were in full swing. Conditions were favourable, shelving banks, and not much current.

  Already the cattle, grazed and watered, were being strung out and headed for the stream. Jeff, bawling orders right and left, was watching the operation.

  The riders who had to guide the herd across the stream had stripped to the middle, also removing boots and saddles, and were shivering in the keen morning air. One of them had already made the trip, returning with the tidings that the bed of the river seemed fairly firm and the deep water not too extensive.

  “Don’t rush ‘em, boys,” the foreman instructed. “Haze ‘em along gradual-like but keep ‘em movin’. We want to be over before the sun gits too high, an’ these damn streams is liable to rise mighty sudden.”

  There was little trouble; the leading steers, when they felt the cold water sweeping beneath their bellies, tried to retreat, but the watchful riders, with quirts and the ends of their ropes kept them from turning and soon they took the plunge and swam steadily for the opposite bank.

  The crossing took time but went without a hitch, and Jeff breathed a sigh of relief when the last steers climbed the far bank, shook themselves, and went to peacefully grazing. The remuda followed, and then the wagon came lumbering up, a sizable, trimmed tree-trunk lashed along each side. Drawn by its full team of six mules, it rocked and slithered down the slope to the stream. The leaders baulked at the water but the biting lash of the long whip stung their flanks and threw them into the collars again.

  With a couple of riders on either side steadying it with their ropes, the wagon proceeded slowly but majestically across, to be greeted with a cheer when the dripping team hauled it safely up the bank.

  The foreman, who had followed the vehicle over, poked his head through the flaps at the back. “How d she go, Sam?” he asked anxiously.

  “Fine—never jarred me none,” the invalid lied stoutly. “Get agoin’ soon as yu like; it does me good to feel we’re movin’.” Jeff was not deceived; he knew quite well that the crossing must have caused intense pain to the wounded man, but he also knew Sam Eden. As he turned away, Carol jumped down lightly from the wagon.

  “Jeff, you’re a dear,” she said impulsively. “Of course it hurt him terribly although we did all we could to spare him the jolts, but he bore it without a murmur. We must push on; he’ll fret himself into a fever if we delay.”

  The foreman made unintelligible noises in his throat and was obviously glad when Sandy rode up leading Carol’s pony. “Thought yu’d mebbe like a ride after the boat-trip, ma’am,” he grinned.

  She thanked him, swung into the saddle, and loped along the trail. T
he cowboy’s eyes followed her, until a slight cough from his companion recalled his wandering thoughts.

  “She shore can ride,” he remarked hastily, and then, “How’s the ol’ Man makin’ it?”

  “Pretty good, considerin’,” the foreman told him, “an’ liable to raise Cain if that wagon ain’t on the move pronto.” Sandy took the hint and found himself a job.

  Chapter IX

  THE long straggling line of men and beasts moved like a sluggish stream over the apparently unending area of brown, sun-dried earth, cracked and fissured by the fierce heat, and covered, for the most part, by short curly grass which, the colour of hay, needed only rain to transform it into a carpet of brilliant green. No tree, save an occasional thicket of stunted mesquite or live-oak, was to be seen.

  Uneventful days had slid by since they crossed the Colorado, and the outfit was making the most of an easy time. Lolling in their saddles, the riders had little to do save check the ambition of any steer who seemed disposed to stray too far. Even the foreman’s lined, leathery countenance wore an un wonted smile as he rode to Sudden’s side and nodded at the surrounding scene.

  “All like this an’ it’d be easy, but it ain’t goin’ to be,” he remarked. “We got most of our troubles ahead of us.”

  “Yu can say that any time, any place,” the cowboy grinned. “How’s the Ol’ Man?”

  “He’s a flamin’ merricle,” the foreman replied. “It’s a wonder that bullet didn’t bounce off’n him.” Then his voice sobered. “I’d like to know who done it. Got any ideas?”

  Sudden told of the moccasin marks and mentioned the Indian who had escaped when he rescued Carol. Jeff shook his head.

  “Might be, o’ course, redskins is vindictive devils, but I don’t think it an’ neither do yu,” he said shrewdly.

  To this the other made no reply. He was studying the broad, trampled track they were following.

  “Yu figure this is Chisholm’s trail?” he asked.

  “I’m hopin’ so. Anyways, she’s good goin’ an’ pointin’ north, which is all we want,” Jeff told him. His gaze travelled forward along the line of cattle to where Sandy and Carol were riding together, and his eyes twinkled. “Yore friend is cuttin’ yu out.”