Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940)

by Oliver Strange

  “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 Welcome—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’ off 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 Dumbbell 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 fore
st, 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-whackers yu’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.

  “My fellas would do a better job than that, an’ wouldn’t leave the cattle where you could find ‘em till the wounds were healed,” he pointed out. “I’d say someone is doin’ this to throw suspicion on the Dumbbell, an’ cover their own tracks.”

  “If you’d said that right off we might ‘a’ believed you,” was Owen’s comment. “If you ain’t liftin’ the cattle, I’ll bet a blue stack yo’re buyin’ ‘em. It wouldn’t be the first rotten trick you’ve turned, you—jail-bird.” Sark’s face became livid. Dumb with rage, he made a movement towards his gun.

  “I—just—wouldn’t,” the marshal said.

  Simple as the words were, they carried a threat which penetrated the mind of the half-demented man. His hand stopped, and then, with a furious wave of dismissal, he turned and walked back to his ranch-house. Owen had a parting shaft:

  “We’re leavin’ the cow you paid for.” No response coming, they rode unhurriedly away.

  For a while neither spoke; the marshal was the first to break the silence.

  “Has he really been a guest o’ Uncle Sam?”

  “Yeah, it ain’t generally knowed, but he got two years in the pen; that finished him with Amos.”

  “Yet he leaves him practically all his property. Odd, ain’t it?”

  “So damned odd I can’t believe it, but the will seemed straight enough. O’ course, Amos was queer in some ways, but he thought a lot o’ Mary.” Another silence ensued, and then the rancher remarked, “Well, I got troubles o’ my own. What am I to. do ‘bout this brand-blottin’?”

  “Yu can’t move till yu know for shore,” Sudden told him. “It might be a frame-up like he claims.”

  “I’ll stake my life he’s mixed up in it,” Owen said stubbornly. “They steal, an’ he buys—cheap; that’s my guess.”

  “Yu may be right,” Sudden agreed. “I was watchin’ him close an’ he didn’t seem so surprised as he oughta been, but we gotta have proof. It’ll mean waitin’, but we’ll get it. I’m beginnin’ to feel a whole lot interested in Mister Sark.”

  Chapter XII

  SEVERAL days had passed, and Sudden was again at the Silver Mane, watching the sheet of water sweep over The Step, to drop, with a continuous boom, into the stream beneath and go dancing and eddying away between the willow-lined banks.

  He waded through the water and rode to the other side. Dense masses of evergreen masked the sides of the fall, but pushing into these he found a narrow space between them and the wall of rock. Following this, he came to a ledge of stone some three feet in width, directly under the Silver Mane, and there, completely concealed, was what appeared to be the entrance to a cavern. Though it was high enough to admit a horseman, he decided to explore on foot.

  As he had expected, the opening led into the bowels of The Step itself. By the light which came, as from a window, through the sheet of water, he could see innumerable hoof-marks, both of horses and cattle. So this was how Pockmark’s companion had got clear.

  The tunnel sloped slightly upwards, and from the roughness of the walls it was evident that man had no hand in the making of it. As the faint light from the entrance failed he found that the passage veered to the left, and since it soon became entirely dark, he had to feel his way. He had covered something more than two hundred paces when a voice came to him, reverberating weirdly through the gloom.

  “I’ll see you,” it said, and a curse followed. “Damn it, two-handed poker never was no good to me.” Sudden went on, but more warily, until, groping round a bend, he saw that which sent him swiftly behind a projecting spur of rock—a fire, and beside it, two men playing cards on a spread blanket. The leaping flames showed that here the tunnel gave upon a large and lofty cave, the full extent of which he was unable to determine; on the far side, through an irregular opening, he could see daylight.

  The gamblers were conversing in low tones, and the marshal was considering an attempt to get near enough to overhear when an indefinite sound of movement from behind arrested him.

  Ere he could even turn, a heavy body dropped on his back and sent him sprawling. At the same moment, steel-like claws gripped his throat and strove to choke him. Spreadeagled on the ground, his face forced into the sand, and pinned down by the panting burden above him, he was wellnigh helpless; but not quite. Arching his spine, he bucked violently in a desperate effort to throw off the weight which was crushing the breath from his body. He came near enough success to draw speech from his assailant:

  “Hi, fellas, come an’ give a hand.” The card-players rushed over and flung themselves on the struggling pair just as Sudden had again almost unseated his rider. But those digging fingers on his windpipe were sapping his strength, and the reinforcement rendered resistance futile. He drove a heel into the midriff of one newcomer, to send him down, groaning and gasping, but that was all; a few more hectic moments, and his wrists were tied behind his back. The two who had done this stood up, breathing hard; it had been no picnic.

  “That’s that,” one of them said.

  The prisoner’s guns were removed and he was hustled to the fire. As they entered the circle of light, the one who had spoken before emitted a whistle of astonishment.

  “The marshal, by thunder ! If we’d knowed you were payin’ us a visit, the welcome would ‘a’ bin warmer.”

  “I ain’t complainin’,” Sudden replied. He remembered the man, Galt, who had left Welcome with Mullins; the third he did not know. He sat down. “Nice place yu got here,” he remarked casually.

  “Yeah,” Pockmark snarled. “an’ as we aim to keep it to ourselves, yore findin’ it may be awkward—for you.”

  “I’ll have to talk that over with Jake,” Sudden said coolly.

  “Shore you will. Better fetch him, Pocky—he’s at the corral,” the third man said, and was promptly cursed by the others. “Hell, what’s the odds? Dead men don’t squeak.” They wrangled for a few moments and then the pitted ruffian departed, grumbling. The remaining coupl
e squatted one on either side of the captive. Galt picked up Sudden’s guns and examined them.

  “Thought you was a killer,” he remarked. “There ain’t a notch on ‘em.”

  “They’re kind o’ new,” the marshal said gravely. “My old ones was so carved up that there warn’t sca’cely any wood left, an’ it spoilt the balance; I was shootin’ fellas through the eyes ‘stead of atween ‘em. Not that I had any complaints, but I like to do a neat job.” The rustlers received this boastful bit of imagination with hard grins and the conversation languished. This was not to the marshal’s liking. He was testing the bonds on his wrists; the rope was thick for the purpose, and not tied in the manner of an expert cowman. He could feel the knots give a little, and with the loss of some skin, there was a chance of freeing himself. But he must have time, and keep their attention occupied.

  “Ever travelled in Texas?” he asked, and when both shook their heads, “Fine country, but too many law-officers an’ coyotes.” The speaker paused, but his hands went on working; the knots were slackening.

  “Is there any difference?” Galt asked.

  “On’y in the number o’ legs,” Sudden agreed pleasantly. His hands were nearly free; if he could hold their attention another moment.

  Galt guffawed. “That’s a good one.”

  “An’ here’s a better,” the marshal added.

  With the words his right fist swung round and landed with venomous precision on the rustler’s chin, stretching him senseless; one leap put the prisoner in possession of his weapons, and before the other man could recover from the paralysing swiftness of the attack, a crashing blow from the butt of a gun tumbled him by the side of his companion. The murmur of voices outside warned Sudden that he had no time to lose, and gaining the tunnel, he dashed down it at the risk of breaking a limb. Reaching the outlet safely, he found his horse, and set out for the Bar O. He had not gone far, however, when the unwitting reference to a corral recurred to him. It would not be for the horses—they would want those handy, and Pocky had been quite a while fetching Jake.