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

by Oliver Strange

  “No, the next worst thing—that cub of a deputy. Took me by surprise. I’ll cut his heart out for it.”

  “Put him to sleep first; it makes surgery easier, and safe —for the operator,” Lyman ironically advised. “Well, how are matters progressing?”

  “Smooth as silk,” Sark said, and produced the missive he had received from Mullins.

  “It’s a lot of money for us to lose,” the lawyer commented. “When are you collecting the girl?”

  “Early mornin’; one more night in Jake’s company oughta put her in the mood to make me welcome. Besides, holdin’ that brat, we got her cinched, an’ with Green settled—nobody around her will be able to talk down to me.” The baleful, deep-sunk eyes of the little man rested on him with malicious contempt; he hated this thing he had created for his own purposes, realizing that it would turn and rend him at the first opportunity.

  “So you’re prepared to pay off the mortgage?” he said quietly.

  The question brought Sark to earth again with a bump. In his exultation, he had forgotten this dried-up specimen of humanity whose feeble fingers held him in a steel vice. With a sulky look, he replied:

  “You know I ain’t got the dollars, Seth.”

  “That four thousand would help, eh?”

  “I gotta give it to Mullins—no other way ” He stopped. Lyman had risen, his face suddenly furious. “You lie,” he accused. “I was outside the bunkhouse door just now and heard what you told your men. Trick Jake out of the money if you can, but planning to put it in your own pocket is double-crossing me, and for that I’ll have you hanged.” The violent outburst did not have the usual effect. “We go together, remember,” Sark retorted.

  “You’re even a bigger fool than I thought,” came the sneering reply. “What can they charge me with? It can’t be shown I ever saw Jesse Sark, and when you came to me, knowing all about him and his affairs, why shouldn’t I accept you as the real Simon Pure?”

  “You wrote the will.”

  “At your uncle’s dictation, of course, as his man of business. Who’s to prove he didn’t sign it? You needed money to pay your debts and for running expenses, so I lent it to you on the security of the ranch—a perfectly natural and lawful proceeding. No, I’m the innocent victim of your imposture, and all I can be blamed for is too easily believing you the man you claimed to be.” The blood suffused Sark’s features. He knew it was the truth. This wily old scoundrel had kept himself well in the background, and his specious excuses would leave him his freedom. Like a wild beast in a trap, he sought a way of escape, vainly, until the cold, jeering voice suggested one.

  “I had nothing to do with the murder of Amos Sark,” it went on. “My evidence, given for the State, while not incriminating me, will swing you high and dry, Ezra Kent, and then I shall foreclose and the Dumbbell will be mine.” Though he did not know it, the speaker had sealed his own fate. Caught in this spider’s web of intrigue, Sark saw that, whatever happened, so long as this man lived, he himself would never be more than a mere tool, a means to an end. In a frenzy of fear and hatred, he snatched a knife from his belt, and as the lawyer turned to go, drove it to the hilt between the thin, bowed shoulders. With a choking grunt, Lyman sank in a huddled heap on the floor. Panting with passion, the murderer stood over him, teeth showing in a wolfish grin.

  “Do yore squealin’ in hell,” he hissed.

  Callously he jerked out the weapon, wiped it, and replaced it in his belt. Then he lifted the slack form, carried it upstairs, locked it in an empty room, and put the key in his pocket. The lawyer’s horse he hid in a disused shed.

  “Tomorrow I’ll bury him an’ the hoss,” he decided. “An’ if Juba knows he was here …”

  His expression boded ill for the negro. “Wonder where them damn docyments is?” Absently he wiped a wetness from his fingers on the front of his shirt and swore when he saw the red stain.

  “Curse it; can’t go a-courtin’ in clothes that’s all bloody; I’ll have to spruce up.” It was late when the marshal arrived at the Dumbbell to find it wrapped in silence. One gleam of light from the kitchen behind the bunkhouse alone showed. There he found Juba, and learned that Sark and his men had ridden away earlier, where, the cook did not know.

  “Any visitors to-day?” Sudden asked.

  “Sho figure I see Mistah Lyman’s grey outside de house, but she ain’t dere no mo’.”

  Sudden rode away, but once out of sight, returned to the ranch-house. The door of the living-room not being fastened, he went in, and lighted a candle on the table. He did not know quite what he hoped to find, but it was certainly not the sinister pool of red on the carpeted floor.

  Blood; and not yet dry. There was a splash a yard distant, and others, leading to the door, the handle of which was moist and sticky. He followed the trail of spots up the stairs to a locked door which a sturdy thrust of his shoulder burst open. On the floor, face downwards, a man was lying. Setting down his light, Sudden knelt beside him, noting the ugly gash in the black coat and the spreading stain in the cloth.

  “Stabbed in the back,” he muttered, and turned the body over. “Lyman, by thunder ! ” He could detect no sign of life. Hurrying to the kitchen, he told Juba of his discovery. “I’m afraid he’s dead, but see what yu can do,” he said. “I’m goin’ after the red-handed rat who did it.” It was obvious that Sark had thrown off the shackles, and if he had taken his men to the hide-out in the hills, some important move was impending, and he could not doubt that this had to do with the presence there of Mary Gray.

  “I shore hope Dave has stayed on that borried bronc,” he told himself. “If he ain’t, we’ll be too late.” Dave had done not only that, but managed to convince the animal that speed was an essential factor in their affairs. Nevertheless, since riding a half-wild cow-pony without a saddle, and with only a hackamore to guide it, is both a difficult and uncomfortable feat, it was a very sore and weary young man who staggered into the Red Light, grabbed a glass and bottle from another customer, poured, drank, and poured again.

  Twenty voices asked the same question.

  “Yeah, Jake’s got her hid up in the hills. Jim’s there, an’ I’ve come for help. Ned, can yu get the boys organized while I rope in the Bar O?”

  “You snatch a snooze—yo’re done,” the saloon-keeper said. “I’ll fix things. Take him away, Sloppy.”

  “Is Jim all right?” the little man wanted to know, as they went to the office.

  “Shore, when I left him.”

  “An’ Mrs. Gray?”

  “How could she be, in the power of a rat like Jake?” Dave retorted irritably. “Jim thinks Sark planned the kidnappin’.” Sloppy swore—a thing he did seldom. “If that’s so, I’ll…”

  “What?”

  “Nothin’. I guess I was talkin’ wild. Turn in; I’ll roust you out in good time.”

  “An’ roust me out a hoss, rifle, an’ six-shooter,” Dave said. “They got mine.”

  “That’s bad.”

  “It’s goin’ to be—for them,” the deputy promised. The twenty-four hours following the frustration of her escape were passed by Mary Gray in a state of dull apathy.

  Then, after a day of deep despair, came a shaft of light which dissipated the clouds and sent her to her knees in an agony of gratitude. A different man fetched her supper, and as he put it down, whispered, “Yore friend has got away, but he’s comin’ back.” Before she could say a word of thanks, he had hurried from the room. Long after he had gone she sat gazing into the gloom, the food untouched. Happiness possessed her.

  It was after midnight when Sark reached the hang-out alone, to find only Mullins to receive him.

  “Where are yore fellas?” he asked.

  “Oh, they’re around,” was the answer. “Got the ransom?”

  “Why else should I be here? Have you got the girl?”

  “Why else should I send for you?” Jake countered. “Want-in’ to make shore?”

  “you won’t git the coin until I do.�
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  “Pretty early to wake her, but mebbe she won’t mind, seein’ yore errand,” Mullins said, and pulled out a key. “Top o’ the stairs—door on the left.”

  “Ain’t afeard I’ll run off with her?” Sark sneered.

  “You wouldn’t git far,” was the reply, and the rancher realized why the bandit leader was alone. He grinned to himself as he went up; his men were “around” too.

  Mary Gray had lain down in her clothes, and the rasp of the lock awoke her instantly. She stood up, trying to pierce the darkness. Then a familiar voice said:

  “Don’t be frightened, Mary; it is Jesse.” He stepped in, lighted the candle, and looked round. “A filthy hole,” he commented. “Well, I’m here to take you out of it. On’y got the news this afternoon, an’ I had to raise the money.”

  “Money?” she repeated.

  He handed her the note he had received. “Jake values you at four thousand; I wouldn’t part with you for ten times that.” She read it, trying to fathom what lay behind this amazing situation: one of the two men she most detested and feared holding her to ransom, and the other paying it.

  “Let us go then,” she said quietly.

  Sark laughed. “It ain’t all that easy,” he replied. “I gotta settle with Jake first—an’ with you.”

  “With me?” she cried.

  “Shore,” he said eagerly. “you know what I want, Mary —allus have wanted. We can ride to Drywash from here, git hitched, an’ you’ll be mistress o’ the Dumbbell again.”

  “Is that part of the price Mullins is demanding?” Sark seized on the suggestion. “In fact, it is,” he lied. “I didn’t wanta speak o’ that. Jake’s a queer chap. He thinks Amos treated you shabby, an’ this is his way o’ puttin’ things right. I guess he’s soft on you hisself.”

  “But he is willing to part with me for four thousand dollars. Well, I refuse to be sold.”

  “You ain’t considered that letter very careful,” Sark protested. “Up to now these fellas have behaved decent because they expected to make money out’n you. Take that chance away an’…”

  “They will kill me?”

  “No, but you’ll live to wish they had,” was the brutal reply. “If yo’re relyin’ on a rescue, Green an’ Masters are both dead, an’ nobody in Welcome knows where you are.” She knew he was lying—Dave was alive and coming back to her. She must gain time.

  “I won’t leave without my child,” she said.

  “That’s talkin’,” Sark replied. “Fair enough too. I’ll go get him.” He hurried downstairs.

  “She won’t budge without the brat,” he told Jake, who had looked up expectantly. “Where is he?”

  “In Welcome, likely; we couldn’t be bothered with a baby. She thought we had it, an’ that was all the whip we needed.”

  “Damnation! You’ve bungled it, as usual,” Sark raged. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Since when do I have to take orders from you?” Mullins broke in. “If you don’t want the woman, I dessay Welcome will raise the ransom; them ground-owls think a lot of her.” The rancher scowled, mentally promising to teach the insolent fool a lesson presently. “Got any ideas?” he inquired.

  “Plenty. Tell her the kid won’t be returned until she’s tied to you, an’ if that don’t work, hawg-tie an’ carry her off; gives her a choice of knots,” Mullins finished with a laugh.

  Sark returned to the waiting girl. “Jake won’t hand over the child until we’re married,” he said. “I argued, but he won’t listen.” She knew now that Dave had told her the truth—the boy was safe. The knowledge stiffened her resolution.

  “Then I shall remain here,” she said.

  Her obstinacy, and beauty, roused a devil of anger in his breast. Two quick strides and he had gripped her shoulders, bruising the flesh with the intensity of his grasp. His fierce face, aflame with desire, was thrust towards her own, the hot eyes scorching her.

  Eyes distended in dread, she fought to free herself, but the relentless clutch paralysed her muscles. She tried to scream, but the sound died in her dry throat.

  “Mine,” he muttered hoarsely. “Mine, right now” Quick steps outside, the door was flung open, and Jake came in. One swift glance brought an oath.

  “Hell, Sark, this ain’t no time for foolishness,” he said, an underlying threat in his tone. “I want a word with you, pronto.” The cattleman flung his captive away so violently that she fell.

  Without even a look at the prostrate form he followed Jake outside.

  “Damn you,” he said. “Can’t a fella kiss his bride without you buttin’ in? What’s eatin’ you?”

  “I’ve just had news that a party of over a dozen armed men under Nippert is headin’ for here.”

  “Well, you ain’t scared of a passel o’ blunderin’ tradesmen, are you?”

  “Not so as you’d notice, but there’s some can throw lead, an’ the marshal is showin’ the way.” This wiped the scorn from Sark’s face. “The marshal?” he queried. “But he’s—dead.”

  “Then he must have a twin. Galt seen him, an’ he’s got good reason to know the gent.

  What bothers me is how he got wise to this place, an’ where’s the Bar O?”

  “They figured on on’y havin’ yore lot to deal with,” Sark suggested. “That was a miscalculation–my boys are handy. I’ll call them.” He took a whistle from his vest pocket as Jake whirledon him. “So that was yore idea, huh?” the rustler cried. “To git away with the gal an’ the gold.” His revolver leapt out. “Hand over tha four thousand or I’ll send yore sneakin’ soul to torment.” Sark was cornered, and knew it. He reached into a pocket, produced and passed over a big roll of bills which the other stowed away with a scornful grin.

  “You can summon yore men,” he said, “but I’m stayin’ near you an’ at the first sign o’ crooked work, out goes yore light. Sabe?” The rancher blew a shrill blast before he replied. “No call for me to remain here,” he then remarked. “I’ve kept my side of the bargain, even to payin’ you double the agreed sum—a dirty trick on yore part. I shall take the woman an’ set off at once.”

  “You don’t say,” was the ironical rejoinder. “Listen, my friend: you got me into this, an’ yo’re goin’ to git me out; with yore riders we can stand ‘em off. If I’m catched, I’ll take the hobbles off my tongue, an’ you know what that means—for you. Now, I’ll tie the gal up, ‘case she Bits any rash ideas.” He went in, replaced the bonds, lifted and laid her on the bed. “Likely there’s a ruckus comin’ an’ lead will fly; you’ll be wise to lie still.” The two men went downstairs, where they found the cowboys fraternizing with the bandits.

  The rancher raised a hand for silence. “Boys, that swine of a marshal from Welcome is on the way to clean up this joint. I guess we’ll all have a word to say about that, huh?” A rumbling growl of assent answered him. “Good, our other business here can wait till we’ve sent him an’ his jackrabbits back to their holes. Keep under cover, shoot straight, an’ remember, it’s them or us.”

  With oaths and extravagant threats they turned away to take up their positions. Jake gave orders, but his thoughts were on something else—that reference to “other business.” He had no doubt the attacking force would be beaten off, but—what then? The Dumbbell men outnumbered his own and their leader would be in a position to dictate terms, which would most certainly include the return of the ransom.

  “No use crossin’ a river till you reach it,” he reflected, but at the back of his tortuous mind a plan was taking shape.

  Chapter XX

  DAWN had come, and a grey light was creeping over the sky, putting out the stars and bringing a chill wind when the marshal encountered the Welcome contingent, its strength almost doubled by nearly every man of the Bar O outfit. They forgathered on the fringe of the forested foothills, and halted to arrange the advance.

  “What do you suggest, Jim?” Nippert asked.

  “There’s two ways o’ gettin’ to the hang-out, an’ I’m proposin�
� we split up an’ use ‘em both.

  The second party will arrive after the first has opened the ball, an’ attackin’ from the rear, should be a surprise for ‘em.”

  “That’s sound reasonin’,” John Owen agreed. “The Bar O will take care o’ the second trail, an’ we won’t be long after you, Jim.” So it was decided. The marshal, Dave, and the Welcome men began at once the ascent of the mountain-side, while the cowboys sped away in search of the other approach.

  Though the sun had not yet appeared, there was light in the open, but in among the trees, it was still night. Sudden, on his black steed, leading the way, seemed to those following to be merely a moving patch of the shadow which encompassed them. Strung out in single file—for the trail was narrow—progress was slow, and silent save for the creak ofleather as a rider shifted in his seat, and the sound of treading hooves.

  Steadily the climb proceeded, but it was a long and tiring one, and by the time they reached their destination, the slanting rays of the rising sun were painting the tree-tops with gold.

  But the riders did not think of this; they were there to kill.

  A short distance from the bandits’ stronghold they dismounted, concealed their mounts in the bushes, and advanced on foot. Nippert chuckled when the clearing was in sight.

  “Kind of ‘em to leave them stumps—they’ll give us mighty good cover,” he remarked.

  “There don’t seem to be no one about. D’you s’pose we could rush the place, Jim?”

  “Too risky—they may be waitin’ for us,” the marshal said. “Spread out an’ pick yore positions, but don’t shoot till yu have a target.” Lined out in a half-circle fronting the building they crept forward, each man selecting the shelter he fancied. When they were all settled, Sudden fired into the air. Almost at once the door was flung back and Mullins appeared, rifle in hand.

  “Who are you, an’ what do you want?” he called.

  The marshal stood up. “yu know me, an’ I want Mrs. Gray,” he replied.

  “Why should you think she’s here?”

  “I told him so.” Masters rose as he spoke, and his presence there seemed to strike the rustler dumb; it was as though he had seen an apparition. With an effort he fought down the feeling.