Sudden: Outlawed

by Oliver Strange

  “Glad yu put brother Baudry back a bit. What yu think of him?”

  “I don’t,” Sudden grinned. “But—I’m goin’ to.”

  Chapter XX

  THE cattle, rested by the stay in the valley, made good progress, and the tally of the miles covered grew as the peaceful days passed. The members of the outfit, living in their saddles through the long, lazy hours, became jubilant at the thought that their tremendous task might soon be accomplished. Jed, .true to his nature, was pessimistic.

  “It’s too easy,” he complained. “Like slidin’ down a steep hill, yu gotta watch out for the bump at the bottom.”

  Sandy too was not of the cheerful ones, but for a different reason. Baudry’s monopoly of Carol was so complete that the young man rarely had an opportunity of riding with her.

  Moreover, the gambler, as a guest, ate with the women and Eden, a circumstance which did not lessen Sandy’s resentment.

  “Cuss it, he’s got all the chances,” he grumbled.

  “Too bad,” Sudden commiserated. “Now if yu could show her that red head o’ yores …”

  The boy had to laugh. “yu misbegotten son o’ misfortune. Someday I’ll tell her all about yu,” he threatened.

  Sudden’s hands went up. “Keno!” he cried. “Wait till I’m outa the country.”

  Sandy’s soreness over the situation would have been diminished had he known that Carol was beginning to find the constant company of the visitor irksome. Hitherto it had never occurred to her to regard him as a possible suitor, but his attentions and rather fulsome compliments were forcing her to face the fact. She had never liked him; but Baudry, with all his astuteness, had not discovered this.

  Like most of his type, he held a poor opinion of the other sex; they were all alike, save that some were more desirable than others. The budding beauty and dewy freshness of this prairie flower had aroused in him a physical intoxication which he called love, but was little more than lust. He wanted, and would have her, and if marriage was the price he would pay it, but …

  In the cowboy, Sandy, he recognized an obstacle to his hopes, just as in the fellow’s friend, Green, he saw a menace to his other plans. Bitterly he cursed Rogue for releasing them.

  Somehow, they must be got out of the way.

  Camp was pitched on the tree-fringed bank of a widish ver, but the fact that it had to be negotiated on the morrow gave them no uneasiness. They had crossed several streams of varying size during the past weeks and had come to regard the operation as of no more than ordinary moment.

  The herd was bedded down and the crooning voices of the watching riders came faintly to the rest of the outfit loafing and smoking round the fire.

  To Sudden, as they went to take their trick of nightriding, Jeff addressed a query: “Can yu make any sort o’ guess where we’re at?”

  “Never been north,” Sudden told him. “This river might be the Wichita, but that don’t mean we’re clear o’ the redskins; they hunt all over.”

  “I ain’t worryin’ much about the war-whoops—it’s that lousy outlaw loses me sleep—not knowin’ when he’s goin’ to strike.”

  “I’m allowin’ it won’t be yet,” the cowboy assured him. Pacing slowly around the slumbering herd, under a star-specked sky, he found himself thinking of Rogue. An odd mixture, this miscreant who robbed and killed without compunction, yet retained a respect for women. An outcast, leader of a band recruited from the scum of the settlement, afraid to show his face in any decent community, that, for such a man as Rogue must once have been could only mean hell on earth. It was easy to understand how, whipped by his degradation, in savage disdain, he plunged more deeply into the mire. Sudden knew the feeling, had experienced and almost yielded to it.

  But for this drive to a new country where he might start afresh…. A wise Providence veils the future; Sudden could not know that events were even then shaping to hurl him back into the quicksands of shame and danger. Two men, seated out of hearing of the camp, were discussing him.

  “Those cowboys have to be got rid of, Davy,” the gambler said. “They’re liable to make things difficult. Why in hell Rogue let them go I can’t guess. What’s his game?”

  “I’d say he’s tryin’ to double-cross us,” was the reply.

  “If he does, I’ll kill him,” Baudry said. “No man ever did that to me and got away with it.”

  There was no anger, no boastfulness in the low, even voice, and well aware that it might be a warning to himself, Dutt, toughened as he was, was conscious of a slight shiver which was not due to the night air. He had no illusions regarding Jethro Baudry, knowing that he would slay his best friend if it suited his purpose.

  “I’ve got the glimmerings of a scheme,” the gambler resumed. “Let you know when it’s worked out. In the meantime, keep a close eye on those fellows.”

  At dawn they crossed the river without mishap and resumed the long trek northwards across a plain which spread out before them as far as the eye could reach; there were no trees, no hills, and the foreman—fearing the next stream might be far away—took care that the beasts were well watered before a start was made. The air was cool yet, but the sun, thrusting up into a clear sky, promised plenty of heat presently.

  Baudry, as usual, had loped his horse to Carol’s side. The gambler’s greedy eyes gloated over the girl’s slim, supple form as it swayed easily to the paces of her pony. Schooled as he was by his profession to conceal all emotion, and cold-blooded as a fish, her beauty and desirableness turned the ice in his veins to fire. He bent low over his horse’s neck lest his look should betray him.

  “You get more charming every day,” he murmured. “This nomad life seems to suit you.”

  “I love it,” she smiled.

  “The West is wonderful,” he said, “but don’t you ever have a hankering to see the real big cities of the world, New York, London, Paris, Rome, with their fine streets, famous picture-galleries, palaces, cathedrals, theatres, and to join in the whirl of pleasure they offer?”

  “Why, certainly, that would be great, and I expect every girl has such dreams,” Carol confessed. “But after a while I would want to come home to Texas.”

  “Just to go on raising cows,” the gambler said, a suspicion of contempt in his tone.

  It brought a faint flush to the girl’s lightly tanned cheeks. “Just to go on raising—a new Empire,” she said quietly Her shining eyes and low voice proclaimed her earnestness. This was a phase of her he had not suspected, but—though he might inwardly sneer at her vision—he was quick to take his cue.

  “You’re entirely right, Miss Carol, though I’ll admit I hadn’t looked at it quite that way,” he responded. “And I’m proposing to do my share by starting a ranch not very far away from the S E—just to raise cows.” He smiled, hesitated a moment and then, “But first, I’m taking a holiday, to see all the places I mentioned, and others.” He leant across and laid a hand on one of hers.

  “Will you come with me—Carol?”

  Completely taken by surprise, she could only stare at him. He did not wait for a reply.

  “I want you for my wife, girl,” he said hoarsely. “I’m mad about you—have been since we first met. I’ll give you everything you ask for. We’ll see all the world can show us and then come back—to Texas. I’m planning big, my dear, but I can swing it; the West is going to hear of Jethro Baudry, believe me.”

  Carol’s eyes opened wide and she shrank from him, dragging her hand from his hot clasp.

  His gaze enveloped her avidly, yet she could scarcely credit she had heard aright. To her youthful mind the idea of a husband nearly twice her own age seemed preposterous.

  “But I’ve no intention of marrying yet, Mister Baudry, and I don’t like you—in that way,” she stammered at last. The gambler’s face showed his chagrin. Women were usually kind to him and he had flattered himself that the dazzling prospect he had held out, combined with his own power of attraction, would be more than sufficient to win this unsophisticat
ed girl of the wilds.

  “Perhaps I’ve spoken too soon. Will you try to care for me, Carol?” he urged. “There isn’t anyone else, is there?” He saw the warm colour steal into her cheeks again at that and his lips bunched in an ugly pout.

  “No, of course not,” she protested.

  “You haven’t got notions about any of these scarecrow riders, have you?” he asked keenly, and instantly saw that he had made a slip.

  The impertinence angered her. “These men may be poor and ragged, Mister Baudry,” she retorted, “but there is not one of them who would do or say anything to hurt me, or who would not risk his life for mine.”

  “I know it—I’m all wrong,” he said contritely. “It’s pure jealousy, girl; you’ve got into my blood. Promise me you’ll think it over.”

  “I would much rather forget it,” she replied. “We can be friends.”

  “No,” he cried passionately. “It’s all or nothing with me. I’m not taking your answer yet.

  I’ll make you care. Do you know what they say of me in the settlements? `Jethro Baudry always wins—sooner or later.’ That’s my reputation, and by the Lord, it shan’t fail me now.”

  Wounded pride, desire, and disappointment transformed his usually immobile face into that of a savage beast, but in a moment the smiling mask was back.

  “I’ll not bother you any more now, Carol,” he said. “I fancy Dutt is in front; I have a word to say to him.”

  He rode off, raking his mount ruthlessly with the spurs, a fact which did him no good with his lady-love; Carol loved horses, and distrusted those who ill-treated them.

  Scarcely had he gone when his place was taken by Sandy—one of the “scarecrows”—and the girl could not but mentally compare them. Certainly the boy’s attire was shabby and worn, but the lithe body, poised so easily in the saddle, and the deeply-tanned, youthful face, with impudent eyes which always dropped before her own, more than swung the balance in his favour.

  “Don’t often get this chance nowadays,” he greeted. “How come the guardian angel ain’t ridin’ herd on yu?”

  “You ought not to speak so of my father’s friend,” she reproved, but there was a demure twinkle accompanying the words. “Mister Baudry wanted to find Mister Dutt. I expect he thought there was no danger of Indians stealing’ me again just now.”

  “Sometimes I ‘most wish they would,” Sandy told her. Not daring to ask the obvious question, she changed the subject. “Are we nearing the end of the drive?”

  “I dunno, but I’m hopin’ there’s quite a ways to go yet.” Once more she felt she was on dangerous ground, but her eyebrows rose. Sandy’s explanation was glib enough: “When the herd is sold, I figure we won’t be wanted, an’ I’ll be out of a job.”

  Her face was turned away; truth to tell, she was afraid to look at him lest he should see her fear. For his words had brought a sudden realization of what parting with him would mean, and with it all -thought of Baudry vanished like smoke before a puff of wind. Her voice shook a little when at length she spoke:

  “Dad will need you all at the ranch. He won’t let any of you go—unless you want to.”

  “Then here’s one he can’t lose—I’ll stick closer to him than his own skin,” the young man replied gaily.

  “And Mister Baudry is starting a ranch near the S E.” Sandy whistled softly. “Is that so?” he said, and then, “I wouldn’t ride for him.”

  There was no rancour in the remark and she knew that she herself had nothing to do with his decision; the gambler—as a man—had been weighed and found wanting, in the cowboy’s estimation.

  Chapter XXI

  THE man was sitting, his back against a tree, his eyes closed. By his side lay a rifle and a saddle, while round his middle was slung a heavy revolver. His thin, harsh face, from which jutted a beak of a nose, gave him a predatory expression, and a straggling, uncared-for beard lent an appearance of age which his wiry frame belied. It was Jed, riding point, who discovered him.

  “Hey, stranger, yu have shorely picked a port place for a nap,” he called.

  The man opened his eyes. “Hell!” he said weakly, “I was beginnin’ to think I was the last fella left in the world. Ain’t got a shot o’ licker, 1 s’pose? I’m about all in.”

  “Friend,” the cowboy grinned, “I’ve helped hustle these yere longhorns from near San Antonio. If yu think a Texan would carry painkiller all that way yu don’t know the breed. I figure yu lost yore bronc?” The stranger nodded. “The chuck-wagon an’ remuda’ll be along presently; they’ll fix yu up.”

  In camp that night the stranger told his story. His name, he said, was “Rollitt,” and he was horse-wrangler to the trail outfit they had followed. One morning he had missed several horses, set out to track them, and had been surprised and chased by Indians.

  “Kiowas, they were, I guessed, but I didn’t wait to make shore” he said. “I’ve got used to my hair bein’ where it is an’ didn’t nohow fancy it as a decoration for a brave’s bridle, so I scratched gravel plenty eager. By bad luck they was between me an’ the camp, so I had to run west. Well, I lost them war-whoops, but I killed my hoss doin’ it—just dropped under me—an’ then I discovered I’d lost myself. That musta bin near a coupla weeks ago, though I lost count o’ time too—I’m a good loser, yu see. Wanderin’ around, totin’ a saddle ain’t so funny, ‘specially when yo’re outa grub. I was afraid to shoot, case them red devils was about, so I lived mainly on berries an’ nuts. Once I knocked a sage hen over with a rock, an’ I got a rattler—after he come close to getting me an’ skinned an’ et him.”

  Aunt Judy uttered a grunt of disgust. “Lawry me, man, yu must ‘a’ bin hard put to it,” she said.

  “Shore was, ma’am,” Rollitt replied. “But that rattler was good—nice white meat like a chicken; I’ve had wuss eatin’.”

  Listening to the story, Sudden had studied the man closely but could call up no recollection of him. A whispered question to Sandy brought only a shake of the head. Rollitt’s explanation seemed likely enough and yet Sudden had a feeling that something was wrong.

  Eden, however, seemed satisfied.

  “Yu’ve had a tough time, stranger, an’ I reckon there’s small hope o’ joinin’ yore own outfit yet awhile,” he said. “We lost our wrangler back on the trail; one o’ the boys has been deputizin’, but I guess he’d be pleased to hand over the job. What do yu say?”

  “Well, I’m shorely a maverick an’ I’m thankin’ yu,” the newcomer replied, and, as the cattleman put a question, “This country is new to me but I figure yu should be north o’ the Wichita. We kept a straighter line, but we got held up an’ had to hand over cash or cattle. I’d say the longer trip’ll pay yu in the end.”

  So it was arranged. Rollitt took over the remuda and appeared to know the work. He did not mix much with the men but was frequently seen in converse with Dutt, who explained that both of them hailed from Missouri. Sudden saw little of the man, but, as he confided to Sandy, that little was enough.

  “What’s the poor devil done to yu?” the young man asked. “Nothin’—yet,” was the reply.

  “Yu didn’t see all Rogue’s men, did yu?”

  “Less’n half, I’d say; he had a biggish crowd—scattered too. yu ain’ thinkin’ this jigger was planted there to wait for us? His tale seemed straight enough.”

  But Sudden was serious. “I’ve a hunch he’s here to make trouble—mebbe for us.”

  “Well, 0I-timer, man is born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward,” Sandy quoted. “We’ve met the gent afore an’ we’re still here, ain’t we?”

  He was in a gay humour these days. His lady smiled upon and permitted him to ride with her again, for Baudry—though he accompanied her now and then—deliberately absented himself in the hope that she might miss him.

  It was nearly a week later that Sudden’s forebodings were justified. The foreman, distress signals flying in his face, strode over to where the men were breakfasting and called Sudden aside.<
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  “The Ol’ Man wants yu an’ Sandy, pronto,” he said.

  The cattleman was sitting with his back to a wagon wheel. Carol, Baudry, and Dutt were seated near, and standing by was the new hand, Rollitt. Eden’s brows bent in a heavy frown when he saw the men he had sent for. He wasted no time.

  “Green, how long yu been one o’ Rogue’s riders?” he rasped.

  “I ain’t,” the cowboy said coolly.

  “Don’t lie,” the old man roared. “Rollitt here saw yu in Rogue’s hide-out just before yu come to the S E.”

  Sudden looked at the wrangler. “So yu are one o’ his men?”

  “Nope, I happened to drift in,” the fellow said sullenly. “He made me an offer an’ I refused it.”

  “My own case exactly,” Sudden said dryly.

  “Yu were seen workin’ with the outlaws, brandin’ stolen cattle,” Eden went on.

  “Those men were feedin’ me; I gave a hand,” Sudden explained. “I was told the cows were mavericks.”

  “Yu were mighty friendly with Rogue, an’ after yu’d gone he gave out that yu were on an errand for him.” ‘Sudden’s eyes sought the informer again. “For a casual stranger yu seem to have been pretty deep in Rogue’s confidence,” he said acidly.

  Eden ignored the comment. “An’ yore èrrand’ was to get into my outfit an’ help wreck the drive,” he said bitterly.

  “I ‘pear to have failed down on that,” the accused replied.

  “Yeah, for yore own reasons,” Eden sneered. “No wonder yu could round up them stampeded steers. Easy, warn’t it, when yore boss—gettin’ a better idea—told yu to do it. An’ then, for some devil’s purpose, he lets yu fetch my daughter back.”

  “Make a job of it,” Sudden urged with savage sarcasm. “Say. 1 was in cahoots with the Comanches too.”

  “Yu went after yore fellow-thief—I’ll give yu that much credit,” the cattleman snapped.

  “I’m obliged,” the cowboy countered.

  Baudry drew a paper from his pocket, unfolded, and held it up. “Isn’t this your description?” he asked.