Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) (13 page)

 
          
“Guess
I’ll trail along an’ see
what’s doin
’,” Sudden said
casually.

 
          
In
the parlour of the hotel he found Luce, Slype, a red-faced, angry-looking
fellow whose head was bandaged, and a crowd of curious onlookers. The accused
man was glaring at them defiantly. On the table lay his six-shooter, a small
doe-skin bag, and various other articles.

 
          
Evidently
he had been disarmed and searched.

 
          
“I
ain’t denyin’ I was up that way this afternoon, an’ I dessay it was me Evans
saw,” Luce was saying as Sudden elbowed his way into the room.

 
          
“What
was yu doin’ around there?” Slype asked.

 
          
“Mindin’
my own business,” snapped the boy.

 
          
“How’d
yu git that dust?” growled Evans, pointing to the bag on the table.

 
          
“Worked
for it,” Luce replied. “I’ve been diggin’ myself.”

 
          
“Yeah,
in my belt,” sneered the miner. “An’ I s’pose yu got a hole in the ground all
ready to show us?”

 
          
“I
reckon it’s an open an’ shut case, Luce,” the marshal said. “Better come clean
an’ tell us where yu cached the rest o’ the plunder.”

 
          
“I
tell yu I never had it—that dust is mine,” the youth said savagely.

 
          
“Yo’re
sayin’ so don’t prove nothin’,” the officer retorted. “I’m a-goin’ to take yu
in.”

 
          
“Hold
on, marshal,” Sudden interposed, and turned to Evans. “Did all the dust in yore
belt come outa
the claim yo’re
workin’?”

 
          
The
man nodded sullenly.

 
          
“Got
any more of it on yu?” the cowpuncher continued.

 
          
Goldy
dug down into his pocket and produced a little leathern sack—his “poke”. “What
I took out today—kept it for spendin’,” he explained, and with an ugly look at
Luce, “Yu missed that, didn’t yu?”

 
          
“What’s
the big idea?” Slype inquired.

 
          
“Just
this, marshal,” the C P foreman replied. “I’ve heard old miners say that gold
dust varies considerable, even when it comes from the same locality. P’raps
there’s someone here who can speak to that?”

 
          
A
shrivelled, bent man of over sixty, dressed in patched, nondescript garments,
thrust through the crowd. Out of his lined, leathery face the small eyes still
gleamed brightly. In a high, cracked voice which was not improved by the quid
of tobacco he was chewing, he corroborated the puncher’s statement.

 
          
“I
c’n see what the young fella’s drivin’ at, an’ he’s dead right, marshal; any
old

 
          
`Forty-niner’
could tell yu as much. If the dust in them two pokes ain’t exactly sim’lar,
Luce didn’t slug Evans, an’ yu c’n bet a stack on it. Lemme look at ‘em.”

 
          
The
marshal scowled, but he could not refuse the test. Two sheets of paper were
brought and, amidst breathless silence, the old miner poured a little of the
dust from each poke and bent over the tiny heaps. Then in turn he took a pinch
from each and rolled the particles between his gnarled finger and thumb.
Straightening up, he looked round triumphantly.

 
          
“They
ain’t noways the same,” he announced confidently. “Goldy’s dust is coarser in
grain an’ a mite darker in colour. Reckon any o’ yu c’n see it for yoreselves.”

 
          
The
spectators surged forward to look; not that for a moment they doubted the
decision of this old man who had spent nearly the whole of his life in the
service of the god of Gold, and who, even now, looked at and handled the
shining atoms as though they were indeed worthy of worship. Even Slype,
disgruntled as he was at the destruction of what he had regarded as convincing
evidence, knew that he must bow to the expert. What “California” did not know
about gold had yet to be discovered. But the marshal was a poor loser.

 
          
“Well,
that seemin’ly lets yu out, Luce,” he remarked. “But I ain’t right shore
allasame, an’

 
          
I’m
keepin’ an eye on yu.”

 
          
“Keep
both on an’ be damned,” the young man told him, and gathering up his
belongings, pushed his way through the crowd and went to his own room.

 
          
Sudden
found him there a little later, hunched in a chair, his face buried in his
hands.

 
          
“Brace
up, boy,” he said. “That’s one frame-up didn’t come off, anyways.”

 
          
“Thanks
to yu,” Luce replied. “Yu figure it was fixed?”

 
          
“Looks thataway.
It warn’t yu Evans saw, was it?”

 
          
“Might
‘a’ been, but I fancy I was further up the valley at the time, an’ I didn’t
hurry.”

 
          
“Then
the jasper who did it has a grey hoss an’ was careful not to show hisself till
he was far enough off to be mistook for yu. Who do yu guess is back of it?”

 
          
“King—my
own brother,” Luce said bitterly. “He swore he’d hound me outa the country, an’
I might as well clear —I ain’t got a friend in it.”

 
          
“Shucks,
I know of two,” the puncher smiled, and the boy was instantly contrite.

 
          
“I’m
right sorry, Green; I oughta remembered yu, but I shore can’t place the other,”
he said.

 
          
“Some
fellas would be satisfied with Nan Purdie’s friendship alone,” Sudden told him.

 
          
Burdette’s
face lighted up. “She still believes in me?” he asked. “How is she?”

 
          
“Well,
I gotta admit she’s lookin’ a mite peaky,” the C P man said, and grinned
understandingly at the other’s expression of his regret. “Yeah, yu look as
grieved as if yu’d filled a straight flush,” he bantered. “Now, yu cut out this
runnin’ away chatter. Yo’re playin’ in tough luck just now, but yu’ll make the
grade.”

 
          
His
confidence was infectious and, despite his despair, Luce found himself hoping
again.

 
          
There
was a new decision in his voice when he said: “Yo’re right, Green. I’ll stay
an’ take my medicine.”

 
          
The
rays of the rising sun were invading the misty hollows of the foothills around
the base of Old Stormy when a rider loped leisurely up the trail and pulled his
mount to a stop in front of the C P ranchhouse. At the sight of the girl lazily
swinging in a hammock on the verandah a look of mingled admiration and
satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. He swept off his broad-brimmed hat and bowed
low over his horse’s mane as she descended hastily but gracefully from her
perch, staring at him in amazed surprise. Still holding his hat, he surveyed
her slowly from head to foot, and something in his eyes sent the hot blood to
her face and neck.

 
          
“My
word, yu’ve growed up into a mighty han’some woman, Nan,” he said, and there
was a caress in his tone.

 
          
“Miss
Purdie, please,” Nan retorted, and then, “I presume you didn’t ride up here to
pay me compliments?”

 
          
King
Burdette laughed. “No one couldn’t blame me if I did—there’s plenty excuse,” he
said. “Why, when yu were a little tad of a school-kid, yu used to think a lot
o’ me.”

 
          
It
was true, though she had never suspected that he knew. Years back, when she was
in her early teens, this dashing,
spectacular
young
rider had figured largely in her dreams, though the two families were by no
means friendly. She had, as a young girl will, made a hero of him.

 
          
But,
as time went on, stories of King Burdette filtered through and dispelled her
childish illusions. She came to know him for what he was, handsome undoubtedly,
but utterly without principle. Yet, as he sat there easily in his saddle, his
lazy eyes drinking in her beauty, she was conscious of his fascination, and
fought against it. Her voice was studiously cold when she spoke:

 
          
“I’m
still waiting to hear the object of your visit, Mister Burdette.”

 
          
“Shucks!
Come outa the ice-box, Nan,” King laughed, and seeing that her face did not
change, he added, “Oh, well, is yore dad around? I wanta see him.”

 
          
“Really?”
she said with mild sarcasm. “Has it occurred to you that he may not share that
desire?”

 
          
Burdette
smiled to himself. “Beauty, brains, an’ spirit,” he reflected. “I gotta hand it
to yu, Luce, but she’s for yore betters.” Aloud he said, “Please tell him I’m
here, Miss Purdie; if he’s got any sense, he’ll see me.”

 
          
Apparently
sure of the result, he got down, trailed his reins, and taking a seat on the
verandah, began to roll a cigarette. Nan went in search of her father. When the
ranch-owner appeared, alone, he found the unwelcome visitor smoking and
surveying the landscape.

 
          
“Mornin’,
Purdie,” he greeted. “Fine view yu got here.”

 
          
“Mebbe,
but I don’t know as yu improve it,”
came
the blunt
answer. “What’s yore errand?”

 
          
Before
Burdette could reply, a thud of hoofs announced another arrival—the marshal.

 
          
Getting
down in front of the verandah, he nodded heavily to the pair.

 
          
“The
C P is gettin’ precious popular seemin’ly,” Purdie said sarcastically. “What
might yu be
wantin’
, Slype?”

 
          
“Heard
King was headed this way an’ thought I’d better come along,” the officer
replied.

 
          
“Which
of us was yu aimin’ to protect?” asked the rancher sneeringly.

 
          
“It’s
my job to prevent trouble,” Slype replied.

 
          
“Yu
needn’t to have bothered, Sam,” Burdette said easily. “There won’t be
none—o
’ my makin’—but seein’ yo’re here, yu might as well
listen to what I have to say to Purdie.”

 
          
“Fly
at it,” the cattleman said curtly.

 
          
“Well,
Purdie, I’m here to propose peace,” Burdette began. “We’re the two biggest
outfits in Windy, an’ if we start scrappin’, the whole community’ll suffer.
Where’s the sense in it?”

 
          
“My
boy lies over there,” the old man said grimly, waving a hand towards the
valley.

 
          
“Killed
by a cowardly coyote
who
carries yore name.”

 
          
“It
ain’t been proved, an’ anyways, until he clears hisself, he’s a stranger to the
Burdettes,” King pointed out. “I reckon that puts the attitude o’ the Circle B
pretty plain.”

 
          
“Mart
did that the other night in `The Lucky Chance’ when he said Luce had done a
good job,” Purdie said incisively.

 
          
“Mart
was drunk,” King replied, adding meaningly, “An’ he thought a lot o’ Dad.”

 
          
“The
C P had nothin’ to do with that,” Purdie rasped.

 
          
“Yu
say so, an’ I’m tellin’ yu the same about Kit,” Burdette retorted. “If Luce
bumped off yore boy it was a personal matter. What else yu got against the
Circle B?”