Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) (18 page)

 
          
“Shorely
is,” Flatty agreed. “Hi, Bill, why didn’t yu warn us that the noo foreman was a
six-gun wizard? One of us mighta called him.”

 
          
“He’d
‘a’ boxed yore ears,” Yago grinned. “Shucks, Jim ain’t so much; o’ course, I’m
not sayin’ he’s slow exactly …”

 
          
His
deprecatory drawl was drowned by a volley of scathing expletives which brought
a broad smile to his leathery countenance; his friend had made good, and the
boys would follow him to hell and back again. The talk veered to other topics,
and Moody began to relate a snake episode. Now snake stories in the West rank
with fishing yarns in the East, and get much the same credence. This one proved
no exception.

 
          
“I
was ‘bout half a mile from the line-house when I a’most rode on to a coupla big
rattlers thrashin’ about in the grass,” Moody began. “The funny thing was that
though they were fightin’ they seemed to be tryin’ to git away from one
another. Pretty soon I savvied the trouble: they musta bin wrastlin’ an’ some
way had got their tails tied together; o’ course, the more they pulled the tighter
the knot got, an’ there they was, tuggin’ an’ strikin’ like all possessed.”

 
          
“An’
yu got down, untied ‘em, an’ they lifted their hats, bowed politely, an’ went
off arm in arm,” Curly suggested.

 
          
“I
did not,” the narrator replied.
“I blowed the heads off’n
them reptiles.
If yu don’t believe me, ask Strip; I showed ‘em to him
when we passed the place later. Ain’t that so,
Strip
?”

 
          
Levens
grinned widely as he said, “Yeah, but I figure yu shot them varmints first an’
tied their tails afterwards.”

 
          
A
yell of derision greeted the statement and a rush was made for the tale-teller.
In the midst of the ensuing hubbub Yago slipped away and went in search of his
foreman. He found him sitting in front of his own quarters, smoking and gazing
reflectively at the valley, over which the last rays of the sinking sun were
shedding a golden radiance. Squatting beside him, he rolled a smoke, and for a
time there was silence. Then, when the red disk had disappeared behind the
shoulder of Old
Stormy,
and the purple shadows were
deepening in the hollows, Yago said:

 
          
“It
was a frame-up, Jim; the Burdettes meant to get yu.”

 
          
The
foreman’s slitted eyes rested on him. “Yo’re that bright to-night, Bill, I
can’t hardly bear to look at yu,” he said with gentle sarcasm.

 
          
“Quit
yore foolin’,” his friend retorted. “They’ll try again; yu gotta keep cases.”

 
          
“I
had a message from Luce sayin’ just that,” Sudden said.

 
          
“From Luce Burdette?”
Bill cried amazedly.

 
          
“Through
him, I oughta
said
. Actually, it was sent by Mrs.
Lavigne.”

 
          
Yago
emitted a snort of disgust. “Hell’s bells, Jim, don’t yu get cluttered up with
a petticoat,” he urged.

 
          
“I
ain’t
no
right to, anyway, till I’ve found them
ferias,” the foreman mused, his mind on the past.

 
          
Yago
was silent for a while; he knew of the strange quest which had made a wanderer
of his companion. Then he blurted out: “They say she’s King Burdette’s woman.”

 
          
“Liars
are plenty prevalent in places like this,” Sudden told him, and smiled into the
thickening gloom. “Allasame, ol’-timer, she sent me the warnin’.”

 
          
Even
had Yago any reply to this, the appearance of Purdie and his daughter would
have closed his mouth. The rancher nodded to both.

 
          
“Well,
yu scotched one snake, Green, but there’s others in the nest,” he said. “Yu’ll
need to watch out.”

 
          
“I’m
aimin’ to,” the foreman smiled, “but yu’ll have me all scared to death. Yu just
said what Yago was rammin’ home, an’ before him, Luce Burdette.”

 
          
“He
warned yu? Whyfor, I wonder?” the rancher queried.

 
          
“But
if he has quarrelled with his brothers, Dad,” Nan suggested.

 
          
“
Bah !
There’s somethin’ back o’ that,” the old man grunted.

 
          
The
girl said no more. She had not dared to tell her father of the scene in the
glade and the humiliation to which King Burdette had been subjected, and
which—knowing the man—she was sure he would never forget or forgive. It was
left to Green to reply.

 
          
“I
still think yu’ve got Luce sized up wrong, Purdie,” he said quietly, and Nan’s
heart warmed to him. True, he had shot down a fellow-being less than
twenty-four hours ago, but she was Western bred, knew that the fight had been
forced upon him, and that he had slain, in self-defence, a man who was not fit
to live.

 
          
“Have
it yore own way, but don’t let him get behind yu,” the rancher said harshly.
“What did the marshal have to say?”

 
          
“Just
that he didn’t want me,” the foreman smiled.
“Too raw a deal
even for him, huh?”

 
          
Purdie
sneered. “Yu’ll have to keep an eye on Slype, an’ so will Burdette, though he’s
bought an’ paid for him; Slippery’s the right name for that fella.”

 
          
He
said good-night, took the girl’s arm, and went into the ranchhouse.

 
          
“Tough
ol’ citizen, Chris,” Yago commented. “My, but ain’t he a good hater too? Mind,
he’d be just as strong for a friend, but he don’t regard young Luce thataway at
present, an’ I’ll bet a month’s pay he never will.”

 
          
“Take
yu,” the foreman said. “So long, Bill. I’m for the hay.

 
          
Yago,
left abruptly alone, stared at the closed door of the foreman’s shack. “Now why
in ‘ell did he snatch at that wager?” he muttered in perplexity. “What’s he
know that I don’t? I’m bettin’ m’self I lose that bet, cuss him; he’s as hard
to follow as a flea with its specs on.”

 
          
The
man behind the door listened to the monologue with a smile of contentment. Life
had no better gift than a staunch friend, and in Bill Yago he knew he had one
who would “stay with him” to the dark doors of death itself. The old dangerous
days in the West bred such comradeships, and men fought and died ignominiously
because of them.

 
          
ANOTHER
week drifted by without any further act of aggression on the part of the Circle
B. Sudden had figured that, for the sake of appearances, they would allow a
little time to elapse before striking another blow. Whitey’s attempt had been,
as Purdie put it, somewhat of “a raw deal,” and King Burdette knew that,
despite his denials, he was commonly reputed to have set the killer on.
Overbearing and intolerant though he might be, he was proud of his power in
Windy, and did not wish to strain it unduly.

 
          
“Make
the other fella put hisself in the wrong an’ yu take the pot,” was how he
stated it to his brothers when they complained of inaction.

 
          
“Squattin’
on our hunkers doin’ nothin’
don’t
rid us o’ Green,”
Mart observed sourly.

 
          
“Get
out yore li’l gun an’ go abolish him,” King advised. “Mebbe Whitey’ll be
pleased to see yu.”

 
          
“Talk
sense,” snarled the other.

 
          
“Right,”
returned King. “I’ll start by sayin’ yu ain’t neither o’ yu got the brains of a
rabbit, an’ yu better leave the plannin’ to me. When I want yu to do anythin’
I’ll let yu know. Get this into yore thick heads—I ain’t asleep. Savvy?”

 
          
The
proof of this came two days later. The C P foreman was riding along the rim of
the deep canyon which formed the eastern boundary of the ranch on his way to
the line-house. It was a blazing hot afternoon and he was in no hurry.
Suddenly, from the other side of the chasm, came the sharp report of a rifle
and a ballooning puff of smoke jetted out from a knob of rock at which he
happened to be looking. He was conscious of a stunning shock which flung him
out of the saddle, and knew no more.

 
          
When
sense returned he discovered that he was lying in a grass-covered crevice on
the brink of the canyon. His head throbbed with pain, and blood was trickling
down his cheek.

 
          
Gingerly
he put up a hand; there was a nasty lump and the scalp was cut. How long he had
been there he did not know, but from the position of the sun he judged that
nearly an hour had passed.

 
          
He
decided to remain awhile; the hidden marksman might not be satisfied. He
contrived a clumsy bandage for his hurt, and, cautiously parting the grasses,
provided a peep-hole through which he could watch the spot from whence the shot
had come. It seemed to be deserted, and he fell to speculating on what had
happened.

 
          
“Fools
for luck,” he told himself. “I was shore invitin’ it, paradin’ along in the
open thataway, an’ I damn near got it too. That slug must ‘a’ hit the buckle of
my hatband, an’ if I’d been lookin’ straight ahead I’d be climbin’ the golden
stairs right now. Wonder if it’s the jasper
who
cut
down on Strip? Wish he’d show hisself.”

 
          
But
the unknown declined to oblige, and after giving him a further chance, Sudden
crept from his cover and shivered when he saw how nearly he had missed tumbling
headlong to the bottom of the abyss. No shot saluted his appearance, and he
concluded that the assassin had departed.

 
          
Both
hat and horse were missing; the former he could do without, but the latter was
a necessity, for he was still half-dazed, tottery on his feet, and his head
ached intolerably.

 
          
Moreover,
he thirsted for the rifle under the fender of the saddle; to be set afoot and
without a long-range weapon was a situation not to his liking. Nigger, he knew,
would not go far after the first scare of the shot and unseating of his rider.

 
          
A
clump of brush about fifty yards away seemed to be what he was looking for, and
he painfully crawled towards it, keeping in the long grass as much as possible.
He reached it safely, and from the security of the cover it afforded uttered a
low whistle. Almost immediately came an answering whinny, and from a nearby
hollow the big black emerged, head up, distended nostrils sniffing the air.
Sudden repeated the signal and stepped out. With another whinny, Nigger trotted
sedately up and rubbed a velvety muzzle against his master’s shoulder.

 
          
“Glad
to see me, huh, yu ebony rascal?” the puncher grinned, as he pulled the
animal’s ears. “Well, that goes double. Yu come almighty near losin’ yore
owner.” He climbed painfully into the saddle, and, as the horse essayed a
playful pitch, added, “Easy, damn yu; my blame’ head feels like it was about
ready to fall off.”

 
          
In
the blistering heat of the afternoon Windy’s one street was well-nigh deserted.
Two or three citizens lolled on the bench beneath the board awning outside “The
Lucky Chance,” and the marshal, slumped in a chair, decorated his own door a
few yards distant. One of the loungers sent a spirt of tobacco juice at a post
and watched the greedy rays of the sun lick up the moisture.

 
          
“
Hell,
ain’t it hot—an’ slow?” he grunted. “Wish suthin’
would happen.”

 
          
Came
the quick thud of hammering hoofs, and one of the other men glanced up lazily.

 
          
“Looks
like yu got yore wish,” he said. “
They’s
a lunatic
a-comin’.”