Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) (15 page)

 
          
Entirely
ignored by most of the citizens, and avoided as much as possible by others he
had deemed his friends, the young man grew daily more despondent. Several times
he had ridden to the little glade in the hope of seeing Nan Purdie, only to be
disappointed. Bitterly he concluded that, like the rest, she had come to
believe in his guilt. In this he wronged her. More than once Nan had found
herself
heading for the meeting-place, and had spurred her
pony in another direction. There came a morning, however, when, obeying an
impulse which brought the blood to her cheeks, she rode resolutely along the
old trail and through the opening into the glade. Her heart leapt when she saw
someone sitting on the fallen trunk, head bent, elbows on knees, apparently
deep in thought. Lest he should deem her there on purpose, she rode with face
averted, pretending not to have seen him. Then
came
a
voice which shocked the gladness out of her.

 
          
“Shorely
the gods are good to me since they send the very person my mind was full of,”

 
          
King
Burdette said, swinging his hat in a wide sweep. “The spot was pretty before;
now, it is beautiful.”

 
          
The
girl’s proud little head came up, the blue eyes regarded him coldly, and she
rode on.

 
          
King
Burdette stepped towards her.

 
          
“Come
now, Nan, you gotta talk with me,” he urged. “I’ve somethin’ important to say
‘bout somebody
yo’re
interested in; it’ll go hard with
him if yu don’t listen.”

 
          
“If
you’re threatening my father” she began stormily.

 
          
“Yu
got me wrong,” he replied. “It ain’t him—it’s Luce.”

 
          
He
saw her flush, and smothered a curse. “I am not interested in any of your
family, Mister Burdette,” she said, and shook her reins.

 
          
The
man laughed. “No use runnin’ away, girl,” he pointed out. “I can catch yu in
two-three minutes.”

 
          
She
looked at the big, rangy roan standing with drooping head but a few yards
distant and knew it was no vain boast; her mount—game as it was—could not keep
ahead of that powerful, long-striding animal. What a fool she had been not to
notice the horse! Luce always rode Silver, his grey. She pulled in her pony.

 
          
“What
have you to say?” she asked.

 
          
“Aw,
Nan, get down an’ be sociable,” King smiled.

 
          
“I
prefer to stay where I am,” she replied. “And there is no need for you to come
nearer—my hearing is quite good.”

 
          
He
shrugged his shoulders. “Suspicious, ain’t yu?” he said. “Well, have it yore
own way; someday yo’re goin’ to know me better. Now, see here, Nan”

 
          
“You
are not to call me that,” she interrupted.

 
          
“Awright,
if yu’d rather I made it—sweetheart,” he retorted, and laughed when he saw her
eyes flash. “My, yo’re awfully pretty when yu rear up—Nan.”

 
          
The
girl’s scornful expression showed him that he was on the wrong track and,
dropping his bantering air, he said seriously, “I got a proposal to make.”

 
          
Her
look of surprise made him grin. “No, it ain’t what yu guessed—yet.” His face
sobered again. “I want peace; I was in dead earnest when I come to the C P that
time, but yore father wouldn’t listen; he holds the Burdettes is pizen,
seemin’ly.”

 
          
“Can
you wonder, with poor Kit scarcely cold in his grave?” she said, a break in her
voice.

 
          
“But
yu don’t
lay
that to Luce,” he countered.

 
          
“No,
but I do lay it to the Circle B,” she told him.

 
          
“Yo’re
wrong, Nan,” he said. “The Circle B has condemned it. We’ve disowned Luce—done
with him.”

 
          
“Thereby
showing
yourselves
to be curs,” she cried. “Why, if
Kit had committed a crime, even murder, I’d have stood by and shielded him to
the last, if I knew he was guilty. But you…”

 
          
The
contempt in her tone flailed him, and the open avowal of interest in the
suspected man brought his brows together in a heavy frown. He realized that she
meant just what she said; that was her creed; for one she loved there was no
limit, and—he bit back an oath—she loved Luce. The knowledge stirred his
brigand nature, but he kept an iron hand on himself; only his eyes betrayed the
fires flaming within.

 
          
“If
yu think thataway, yu oughta be willin’ to talk to yore dad,” he said. “He’s
got his head down an’ is runnin’ hell-bent for trouble like an angry steer.”

 
          
“That’s
not true, and if it were, I couldn’t stop him,” the girl replied. “Dad is not
the sort of man to be dictated to; I thought he made that plain to you.”

 
          
Despite
his self-control, the blood stained King Burdette’s cheeks as he recalled his
ignominious dismissal from the C P. He was of the type to whom opposition is a
spur to anger.

 
          
His
proffer of peace had been a mere pretext, but its rejection, coupled with the
girl’s beauty and disdain, were rousing the worst in him. Jeering at him, huh?
Well, she needed a lesson, and once he got hold of her, he’d make those pretty
lips pay for what they had uttered. During the conversation he had been
gradually edging nearer, and now he suddenly sprang forward, his long arms
clutching her waist in an effort to drag her from the saddle. Nan saw the
movement too late to avoid it, but King swore as the lash of her quirt seared
his cheek.

 
          
“Yu
damn little wildcat,” he gritted. “I’ll learn yu.”

 
          
He
had almost succeeded in unseating her when a silver streak flashed across the
clearing and the shoulder of a grey horse sent him spinning to the ground. He
was up again in an instant, his right hand darting to his hip, when a warning
voice reached him.

 
          
“Stick
‘em up, yu skunk, or I’ll drill yu.”

 
          
King
Burdette looked into the levelled gun and furious eyes of the newcomer, and
impudently folded his arms.

 
          
“Blaze
away, brother,” he mocked, and to the girl, “Yu will now see the Bible story of
Cain an’ Abel brought right up to date.”

 
          
“Brother
! ”
Luce retorted. “Yu’ve taken mighty good care to show me
I ain’t that—till it saves yore hide. Unbuckle that belt an’ step away from it,
or I’ll break a leg for yu.” For a bare moment the other hesitated, but he knew
Luce, saw the boy’s jaw harden, and obeyed; he had no wish to be crippled. “Now
climb yore bronc an’ fade,”
came
the further order,
and again he had no choice.

 
          
“I’ll
get yu for this, kin or no kin,” he snarled. “As for that girl, keep away from
her; she’s goin’ to be mine.”

 
          
“I’d
rather die than marry a Burdette,” Nan flashed.

 
          
King
grinned hatefully. “Did I mention marriage?” he asked. “Well, it
don’t
matter.
Marchin’ orders for the both
of us Luce.”

 
          
“Yo’re
takin’ ‘em from me,” the young man rasped. “I’ll leave yore belt at `The Lucky
Chance.’ If yu pester Miss Purdie again yu’ll not get off so easy.”

 
          
With
a laugh of disdain King rode out of the glade, turning at the entrance to wave
an insolent farewell. They watched him go, and for some moments there was an
awkward silence.

 
          
Then
the girl stretched out an impulsive hand.

 
          
“Thank
you, Luce,” she said. “I never in my life was so pleased to see anyone.”

 
          
The
boy flushed. “He didn’t hurt yu?” he asked, and she thrilled at the anxiety in
his voice.

 
          
“No,
I was scared—he sprang at me like a tiger,” she explained. “He had lost his
temper completely. You are so different from your brothers that it is difficult
to believe you belong to the same family.”

 
          
“I
wish to God we didn’t,” Luce said bitterly. “Nan, did yu mean what yu said
about—the Burdettes?”

 
          
He
put the question haltingly, and it required all her courage to meet his
pleading look; but Nan Purdie was no shirker; subterfuge or evasion played no
part in her straightforward nature.

 
          
“I
am sorry, Luce, but—yes, I meant it,” she said gently. “I like you, and I will
always be your friend, but it would break Dad’s heart to learn I was even that,
and so —there can never be anything more. You understand, don’t you?”

 
          
He
nodded miserably. “Yo’re dad’s right. What man would care to see his daughter
linked up with a crowd like ours? Time was when I was proud o’ bein’ a
Burdette; now, I’m ashamed.”

 
          
“You
must go away, Luce; leave the country,” she urged, and the thought that she
cared what happened to him was sweet.

 
          
“I
ain’t runnin’,” he told her. “Yu’ll let me see yu sometimes, Nan?”

 
          
“We
are sure to meet, Luce,” she said, and he had to be content with that.

 
          
When
she had gone he loped his horse past the spot where King’s belt lay, and
without dismounting, leant over, scooped it up, and headed the animal for
Windy. Despite the girl’s statement that nothing could come of their
friendship, now that he had seen her again he would not despair; hope is a
hardy growth in a young heart. King’s attack he regarded as an attempt to
frighten her, with the object of provoking her father to a reprisal.

 
          
Meanwhile
the man who had been so ingloriously bested was spurring savagely for the
Circle B, his whole being full of a black rage. As he flung himself from the
lathered horse and strode towards the ranchhouse he met Whitey.

 
          
“‘Lo,
King, some fella stole yore belt off’n yu?” the gunman greeted curiously.

 
          
“Mind
yore own damn business,” snapped the other. “Yu can get Green as soon as yu
like.”

 
          
The
killer’s eyes grew harder. “Better heel yoreself before yu take that tone with
me, King; I ain’t nobody’s dawg,” he warned. “Yu had trouble with Green?”

 
          
Burdette
realized that he had gone too far—this man would not stand for bullying.
“Sorry, Whitey, but I’m all het up,” he said. “No, I ain’t seen Green, but I’ve
had an argument with Luce.”

 
          
His
anger flamed anew at the recollection of how one-sided that “argument” had
been. “I gave the young fool another chance to pull his freight an’ he won’t
go. Well, I want him outa the way.”

 
          
Whitey
understood. “He’s a Burdette,” he objected.

 
          
“He
ain’t a Burdette—for yu,” King replied meaningly. “When yu’ve settled with that
damned foreman…”

 
          
The
gunman nodded. “A thousand bucks would shorely be more use than five hundred,”
he suggested.

 
          
“Earn
‘em, then,” King said shortly. “But remember, with Luce, it’s gotta be entirely
a personal matter ‘tween yu an’ him, an’ don’t be in too much of a hurry; it
mustn’t look like a frame-up.”

 
          
“I
get yu,” Whitey said. “I don’t overlook
no
bets.”