Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) (21 page)

 
          
“By God!
I’ve a mind to round up the boys an’ go clean up
the Circle B right away,” he said.

 
          
“Which
is just what they’re hopin’ for,” Sudden pointed out. “No, we gotta lie doggo
an’ let them do the movin’. Yu ain’t heard all of it.”

 
          
He
went on to tell of the attempted lynching, and though Purdie did not interrupt
again, he exploded when the tale ended.

 
          
“Pity
yu didn’t show up a bit later,” was his cruel comment.

 
          
“But,
Daddy, if Luce wasn’t guilty,” Nan protested, and there was a tremor in her
tone.

 
          
Purdie
had not seen her cheeks pale, or noticed the little gasp of relief when she
heard that the accused man had been delivered from danger; he grasped one fact
only—a Burdette had escaped a fate he held to be richly deserved.

 
          
“He’s
earned it a’ready,” he growled harshly, and both his hearers knew that he was
thinking of his son.

 
          
The
foreman shook his head. “Still can’t agree with yu on that, Purdie. As for
to-day’s play, it was a plain
frame-up,
an’ a clumsy
one too, though it nearly came off; if that bullet had got me right, nothin’
could ‘a’ saved Burdette. Now, ask yoreself a question: If Luce is in with his
brothers, why should they try to get him stretched?”

 
          
“I
dunno, but it might ‘a’ been him,” was the obstinate reply.

 
          
“Not
a chance,” Sudden said. “Luce ain’t such a fool as to leave his name an’
address like that.”

 
          
“Huh!
Any fella who has just downed another in cold blood is liable to run off an’
forget a hat,” Purdie persisted. “An’ if he had got yu, who’d
ever
find the spot he fired from? It was on’y by chance
Riley was passin’.”

 
          
“Was
it?” the foreman asked dryly. “Riley rides for the Circle B, an’ was comin’ to
town. What was he doin’ so far off the reg’lar trail?”

 
          
“Yu
suggest he did the shootin’?”

 
          
“No,
but I’d say he was there to take the news in an’ lead the posse to the place.”

 
          
“Well,
I ain’t convinced,” the rancher replied. “An’ watch out for yoreself, Jim; the
Burdettes ain’t quitters, which is the on’y good thing I can say for ‘em.”

 
          
He
went into the house, and the girl followed. The foreman caught a murmured
“Thank you” as she passed him. He smiled as he reflected that Luce might be
having a thin time just now, but there were compensations to come. His thoughts
went to “The Plaza,” but he jerked them savagely away and stalked to his own
quarters.

 
          
Riley,
for reasons of his own, did not return to the ranch, but he took care to keep
clear of “The Plaza”; the boss of the Circle B had a nasty habit of venting his
displeasure on the nearest object. Therefore, no other member of the outfit
having been to town, King Burdette rode in that evening blissfully ignorant of
what had happened. But he knew what he expected to hear, and his darkly
handsome face wore an expression of satisfaction when he tied his horse to the
hitch-rail in front of “The Plaza” and walked in. Lu Lavigne greeted him with
her usual smile, and the customer to whom she was chatting promptly drifted
away. King’s keen eyes searched the girl’s face for any sign of distress and
found none; she appeared to be her own gay, impudent self. The hand which
poured a drink for him was perfectly steady.

 
          
“Well,
honeybird, what’s the good news?” he smiled.

 
          
She
bobbed a mocking curtsey. “The best I can offer Your Majesty is that the coward
who tried to shoot Mister Green from ambush this afternoon failed, and another
gang of cowards who would have hanged Luce for it, failed also.”

 
          
She
was laughing as she spoke, but her dark eyes watched him; she had not forgotten
his cryptic reference to the bringing down of two birds with one stone. But
King Burdette was an expert poker-player, and though the information had hit
him like a blow, not a muscle of his face moved. Still smiling, he said
drawlingly:

 
          
“So
somebody took a shot at the estimable Green, huh? On’y shows that even a fella
like Whitey may have friends, don’t it?”

 
          
“Why
should he fasten the crime on Luce?” she asked.

 
          
“Him
being already under a cloud, it seems a pretty bright idea,” he replied
carelessly.

 
          
“As
regards Luce, I’m sorry …”

 
          
Lu
Lavigne pushed out a slim white hand. “That pleases me, King,” she said warmly.

 
          
“Sorry
they didn’t succeed in hangin’ him, I was goin’ to say,” he finished harshly.

 
          
“But—after
all—he’s your brother,” she protested.

 
          
“Don’t
think it,” he said sharply. “When Luce left the Circle B he stepped right outa
the family—he’s no more to me than any bum who tramps the trail. If I’d been at
the stringin’-up I wouldn’t ‘a’
raised
a finger to
stop it.”

 
          
She
knew he meant it, and the vicious savagery of his attitude appalled, and yet,
in some curious way, appealedto her. She too was a creature of extremes, of
fire and ice, primitive in her passions, not to be bound by the humdrum conventions
of civilization. King Burdette was a kindred spirit, and she was aware of it;
though she condemned, she could not help being attracted.

 
          
“Look
here, sweetness, to the devil with that young cur,” he said. “I came to see
yu.”

 
          
She
had an impish desire to plague him. “Really?” she doubted. “So Nan Purdie did
dare to turn you down?”

 
          
At
once she saw that she had struck home. For all his iron control, the raging
fiend within the man showed in his evil eyes. And then he laughed.

 
          
“Shucks,”
he said.
“Jealous huh?
Yu needn’t be. No milk an’
water for
me,
honey; I like a dash o’ somethin’
stronger.”

 
          
She
allowed herself to be persuaded, and as he could be very entertaining when he
chose, the pair of them
were
soon laughing merrily.
Some of the men in the place shrugged significant shoulders.

 
          
“Callous
devil,” muttered one. “Yu’d never think they mighty near hanged his brother
this afternoon.”

 
          
“He
wouldn’t care if they had—seein’ they’ve quarrelled,” said another. “That’s the
Black Burdettes all over; the Ol’ Man would ‘a’ shot any son that disobeyed
him. Holy terror, he was; an’ it wouldn’t surprise me none if one o’ the boys
wiped him out.”

 
          
“Hey,
Simmy, yu owe me ten dollars. Ante up,” chimed in a third in the party.

 
          
“What’s
the matter with yu? Didn’t I say I’d pay yu to-morrow?” Simmy said indignantly.

 
          
“Shore,
but if yo’re goin’ to talk like a fool, there won’t be no to-morrow for yu, an’
I can use that dinero,” was the reply, with a meaning glance at the lounging
figure at the bar.

 
          
But
the Circle B man had no eyes for anyone but the beauty before him. He was aware
that there were probably men present who hated him, but such a thought would
add to his enjoyment rather than otherwise, for inaction on their part meant
that they feared him, and fear, King Burdette held, was the ruling passion of
life.

 
          
He
left “The Plaza” early and went to “The Lucky Chance,” where he found Riley,
considerably the worse for liquor.

 
          
“I’m
wantin’ yu,” King said shortly, and led the way out of the saloon to an empty space
at the back of it. Then he turned on the man and said fiercely: “Why didn’t yu
come back to the ranch an’ report to me?”

 
          
The
cowboy blinked owlishly at him. “Well, the bottom sorta fell out o’ things,” he
excused.

 
          
“Yu
damned fool, all the more reason for lettin’ me know,” the other rapped back.
“‘Stead o’ that, yu gotta get soaked.”

 
          
“Yore
han’s have to ask yore permish to take a drink?” Riley asked impudently.

 
          
The
boss of the Circle B looked at him for a moment, calmly measured his distance,
and struck. Before the piston-like force of that blow the man went full-length
to the ground. Ere he could rise or pull the gun at which he was clawing, King
jumped forward, picked him up, shook him till his teeth rattled, and again
flung him
headlong.

 
          
“Now
pull that gun an’ go to hell,” he snarled, slanting his own weapon on the
sprawling form. “Argue with me, will yu, yu scum?”

 
          
Riley,
making no effort to reach for his pistol, climbed slowly to an upright posture
again.

 
          
The
man-handling had driven the drink out of him.

 
          
“Forget
it, King,” he said. “I’m sorry I sassed yu—reckon I must ‘a’ bin lit up. What
yu want me to do?”

 
          
“Find
yore bronc an’ get back to the ranch for now,” Burdette said. “An’ keep yore
trap shut, or …”

 
          
He
did not voice the threat, nor did he holster his pistol until the man had
disappeared in the shadows. Then he returned to the front of the saloon,
mounted his horse, and drove the animal mercilessly in the direction of the
Circle B. By the time he reached it the poor brute’s sides were deeply scored
and the rider’s spurs dripped blood. In the living-room he found Mart, his big
body sprawled in a chair, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a bottle of
whisky beside him. He greeted his elder brother with a grin.

 
          
“Back
early, huh?” he said, and then the scowl on King’s face apprised him that
something was wrong. “What’s eatin’ yu?”

 
          
“How
far off was Green when yu fired?”

 
          
“Little
over a hundred yards, I’d say.”

 
          
“An’
yu
missed !
” King said contemptuously.

 
          
“Missed nothin’!
I saw him tumble into the canyon; must ‘a’
broke
his neck anyways.”

 
          
“He
didn’t; yore bullet creased him, an’ he fell into the long grass on the rim. He
rides into town just as they’re goin’ to string up Luce, an’ that lets him out;
yu can’t hang a man for murder when the victim is standin’ by. I guess the C P
outfit an’ half o’ Windy is laughin’ at us right now.”

 
          
The
big man stared at him. “It ain’t possible; I saw him drop,” he argued.

 
          
King’s
gesture was not complimentary. “Mart,” he said, “all the brains yu got would go
into a nutshell, an’ yu wouldn’t have to take the kernel out neither.”

 
          
“Well,
it warn’t my plan,” the other grumbled.

 
          
“Nothin’
wrong with that, but I thought yu could shoot,” his brother sneered. “How close
do yu have to be?”

 
          
The
taunt sank in, as the speaker intended it should. Mart’s heavy face was
flushed, his lips in an ugly pout. “I’ll get him,” he said thickly. “I’ll call
him down.”

 
          
King’s
laugh was not pleasant. “Mebbe Whitey was just unlucky,” he said satirically.