Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930) (37 page)

 
          
“Then
yu ain’t so keen on that foreman’s job?’ asked his friend, slyly.

 
          
The
boy laughed. “That’s shore one to yu; first town we hit the drink is on me. We
don’t seem to be gettin’
none
nearer that foreman’s
job, do we?’

 
          
“Yo’re
shoutin’,’ Green agreed. ‘Talkin’ o’ towns, where’s the nearest railway point
from here?’

 
          
“Big
Rock is ‘bout a hundred mile east, but the actual nearest is Jonesville, south,
but yu gotta cross the desert.’

 
          
“Thank
yu most to death, but that’s the way I come.’

       
“What we want with a town?’

 
          
“We
don’t want one; I do,’ Green corrected him. “I gotta get a postage stamp.’

 
          
Larry
looked at him; the older man’s face was perfectly serious, but the boy
suspected he was being joshed.

 
          
“We
go together,’ he said decidedly. “I’m stickin’ to yu like a wart on yore skin.’

 
          
“Wart?
Yu?
Yo’re
a blister
. Well, I s’pose I gotna put up with yu. As the psalmist says,
“
These things is
sent to try us,” an’ by Gosh, they
do.’

 
          
Larry
had no answer to this and having gained his point was willing to let it go. The
camp having been cleared up, they got their horses and set out for Big Rock.

 
          
“Come
to think of it, this ain’t a bad move,’ Larry remarked presently. “It there’s a
posse on our trail they’ll ‘a’ got tired o’ lookin’ for us time we get back,
an’ mebbe think we’ve flew the coop.’

 
          
“I
was wonderin’ how long it would nake yu to see that,’ Green smiled. “Well,
well, never yu mind; yo’re young yet an’ wisdom comes with years, they say.’

 
          
“Huh,
somethin’ has done gone wrong with the system in yore case, Methusalem,’
retorted Larry, furnively jabbing his spurred heel into the flank of his
friend’s horse, a proceeding which caused the outraged animal to stand straight
up in the air. Green, totally unprepared for such a manoeuvre, was flung
backwards and nearly unseated, only saving himself by a quick clutch at the
horn of the saddle. Larry gave a whoop of delight. “Yah!’ he cried. “Big Chief
Cat o’ the Mountains, tamer of wild ones, pulls leather. Gee, Don, I thought yu
could ride.’

 
          
Green
was too busy to reply at the moment, but when he had restored Bullet to a
proper frame of mind, and recovered the hat which had fallen off at the first
jar, he told the practical joker what he thought of him.

 
          
“Yu
oughta be in a home,’ he said witheringly. “
Not one for the
half-witted—yu couldn’t qualify even for that.
Don’t yu know yu might
‘a’ busted my neck, yu pie-faced idjut, makin’ a play like that?’

 
          
“
These things is
sent to try us,’ the boy quoted. “Here’s a
level stretch; I’ll race yu to the big tree for a dollar.’

 
          
‘Yu
go to blazes. My hoss is all flustered up through yore foolishness an’ yu want
to race. Yu gotta nerve.’

 
          
“I
gotta hoss too,’ with a disparaging glance at Bullet. “Why don’t yu use him?’
came
the instant retort.

 
          
Whereupon
Larry surrendered gracefully, gave the Indian peace sign, and they proceeded amiably
on their journey.

 
          
Big
Rock, which they reached that night, had only one feature to distinguish it
from any other frontier settlement, and
that
was the
freak of Nature from which it derived its name. Thrusting up from the plain
which stretched flatly for many miles on all sides of it was a great chunk of
rock, bare, grey, and practically unclimbable. How it came to be there was a
mystery even scientists had failed to solve; as for the inhabitants of the
sordid settlement which straggled about its base, they had other things to
think of. The town came to life when the railroad, hoping for cattle shipments
from the big ranches, ran a branch line to the famous landmark.

 
          
Like
most of the places which depended upon the cow industry, existence there was
spasmodic. After the round-ups, when the herds were driven in, the place
seethed with excinement, and sleep was the last thing to be thought of. The
cowboys, after a long spell of deprivation and hard work, had money to spend
and appetites to satisfy, and Big Rock saw that they were not disappointed.
Then would follow a period of inanition, broken only by the
occasional advent of a range-rider, bent on a little personal spree.

 
          
The
round-ups had not yet taken place and the town was passing through one of the
comatose periods when Green and Larry arrived. Skirting the station and its
empty cattle-pens, they came to a pretentious two-storey board edifice which
announced itself as the “Rock Saloon and Dance Hall,’ and towered in shabby
majesty above the squat log and adobe shacks which represented most of the
other buildings. The visitors attached their mounts to the hitch-rail outside
and walked in.

 
          
It
was a largish room, and in the light of the oil lamps swung from the ceiling
made some attempt at garish adornment. Tarnished gilt mirrors and flaming
chromos punctuated the walls, and a goodly array of bottles occupied the
shelves at the back of the bar, which filled the side of the room facing the
door. Tables, chairs, and cuspidors were dotted about, and on the left was
another opening which led to the dance hall. Three men were lounging at the bar
talking to the fellow in charge, a heavy-jowled, red-nosed man who regarded the
newcomers with a suspicious scowl.

 
          
“What
yu want?’ he asked truculently.

 
          
“Civility
first,’ Green snapped oack. “Then a drink, a meal, and a bed a-piece.’

 
          
The
barkeeper looked into the slitted, boring eyes of the stranger and his own
stare wavered; when he spoke again his voice had lost its edge.

 
          
“There’s
a restyrong down the street—we don’t do meals—an’ our beds is all took,’ he
growled, pushing forward a bottle and glasses.

 
          
They
poured their drinks, and then Green said, “Gimme a sheet o’ paper an’ envelope.’

 
          
The
bartender hesitated. “Ain’t—’ he began, and stopped; there was something about
this customer he did not like. Ordinarily he got away with his bullying but he
had an uneasy impression that this time he had picked the wrong man. He fumbled
in a drawer and produced the articles asked for. The cowpuncher took them and,
retiring to a table, wrote his letter and sealed it. Larry remained at the bar,
coolly returning the gaze of the other three customers. He decided that if they
were a fair sample of the town’s inhabitants, it was a good place to keep awake
in. Seeing that the letter was finished, the barkeeper, his curiosity
overcoming his dislike, asked, “Want that mailed, Mister?’

 
          
“Nope,’
replied the puncher, with a smile that told the dispenser of refreshment that
his little ruse was seen through.

 
          
When
they had departed the bartender looked at his friends. “Suthin’ funny ‘bout
that jigger,’ he remarked. “Fancy I’ve seen him afore somewheres.’

 
          
“He
certainly has got a chilly eye,’ said one. “Me, I’d sooner monkey with a
buzz-saw.’

 
          
“Allasame,
they’ll bear watchin’,’ said another, a little weedy chap, with an evil glint.
“I’m agoin’ to trail ‘em a few.’

 
          
He
slipped out of the saloon and saw his quarry heading for the
station-agent’s
,
which was also the post office. He waited while they despatched their letter
and then watched them enter the eating-house which the bartender had
complimented with a quite unwarranted title. From there they went to the
general store to supplement their supplies, for, as Green poinned out, they
might have to keep clear of towns for quite a while. As they entered, another
customer left, carrying a couple of vividly-labelled bottles. The proprietor of
the store was enjoying a private joke.

 
          
‘Dang
me, if it don’t beat the band,’ he said. “Say, what would yu guess was in them
two bottles that feller was totin’ out so careful?’

 
          
“Special
brand o’ nose-paint,’ guessed Larry.

 
          
‘No,
sir, but yu ain’t so far out after all, he, he,’ tittered the storekeeper.
“It’s head-paint—yes, black hair-dye—feller’s goin’ grey, I s’pose, an’ I have
to get that from Noo York for him, got a reg’lar order. No, I
ain’t never
seen him, that’s his man, comes in to fetch it.
Ain’t it
a
odd number, eh? Talk about women bein’ the
vain ones.’

 
          
They
agreed that it certainly was singular in a country where personal appearance
was not much studied. Green endeavoured, by artful questioning, to find out
something more about the victim of vanity, but the storekeeper knew no more.
When they had done their business and were in the street again, Larry said:
“Funny idea, feller dyeing his hair out here.’

 
          
“Shore
is, but the funniest part is that I recognised the messenger; he’s one o’
Tarman’s gang,’ Green said.

 
          
“Must
be for him, but he don’t look a subject for premature greyness.’

 
          
“Well,
it
don’t
signify much. Point is, unless the
station-agent was lyin’, an’ I don’t think he was, they ain’t shippin’ the
cattle from here. What in the nation are they doin’ with ‘em?’

 
          
“They
shore wouldn’t run ‘em across the desert,’ Larry contributed. “Why do yu reckon
that booze-slinger turned hostile soon as we drifted in?’

 
          
“Dunn,
but we’ll go an’ prospect him,’ smiled his friend. “I’m aimin’ to occupy a bed
tonight.’

 
          
They
returned to the saloon and were about to enter when Green pulled his companion
suddenly round the angle of the building. At the doorway a man on horseback was
bending down in conversation with a second who stood on the sill, holding the
door partly open. The listeners could not hear what was said, but presently the
rider waved his hand and disappeared in the gloom.

 
          
“That
was the hair-dye collector, warn’t it?’ whispered Larry. “Yeah, an’ he’s give
me an idea,’ replied Green.

 
          
“Ain’t
Nature wonderful?’ Larry said softly. “Here’s yu, born without an idea o’ yore
own, an’ here’s fellers created just to provide yu with ‘em. Hi, yu lunkhead,
that’s my foot
yu
stepped on!’

 
          
“Sorry,
but yu give me the idea,’ Green chuckled. “It’ll be yore face next time. C’mon,
yo’re doin’ that imitation limp real well.’

       
“Imitation, huh?’ grunted Larry. “I bet
I gotta
crushed
toe, an’ for a plugged peso I’d…’

 
          
But
Green was at the saloon door, and Larry, who had no intention of letting him
enter alone, followed at his heels. The place was filling up, and from the
dance hall came the jingle of a badly treated piano. At the bar, talking to the
tender,
was the man they had seen at the door, a
stubby, fat fellow, with slits for eyes and a ginger moustache festooned over a
loose mouth. Green lounged to the bar, called for drinks, and then, looking the
barkeeper straight in the eye, said, “Found them beds yet?’

 
          
“I
done told yu already as they’s all spoke for,’ came the surly reply.

 
          
“Why,
so yu did—I shore forgot it,’ smiled Green, and turning to his friend, he
added, “Now yu gotta admit I was right. Didn’t I tell Joe Tarman we’d have to
sleep on our saddles if we come to a one-hoss town like Big Rock, eh?’