Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) (29 page)

 
          
“First
thing, I reckon, is to search out Green an’ abolish him,” he replied. “I’ve
half a mind…”

 
          
“Yu
ain’t, or yu wouldn’t talk like a fool,” King cut in. “Mart figured thataway,
an’ where is he? ‘Sides, Green didn’t do it, though if folks choose to think he
did I ain’t objectin’. What I want to play for is a show-down.” He dropped his
voice, and spoke earnestly for some moments; Sim listened with growing unease.

 
          
“But
that’ll turn the whole town agin us,” he expostulated.

 
          
“To
hell with the town,” his brother responded roughly. “It’ll set the C P
a-bilin’, they’ll attack us, an’ we’ll have a good excuse for wipin’ ‘em out.
If, in the ruckus, Green an’ Purdie get rubbed out, well, it ain’t
nobody’s
fault, an’ we get the ranch.”

 
          
“What
about the girl—it’ll belong to her, won’t it?” Sim suggested.

 
          
“An’
she’ll belong to me—if she’s lucky,” King said coolly. “Ownin’ both the
ranches—to say nothin’ o’ the mine—I’m sayin’ Windy will take notice when a
Burdette talks.”

 
          
Sim’s
eyes shone at the prospect; he had all the other’s greed, if less of his
courage. The audacity of the scheme dazzled him, and he had unbounded faith in
the clever, unscrupulous man who had evolved it.

 
          
“Shore
listens
good
, if we can swing it,” he agreed. “Has Cal
opened up yet?”

 
          
“No,
damn him, but he can’t hold out much longer,” King replied, adding with
sinister intensity, “I ain’t begun to persuade him yet.”

 
          
“Yu
think he really has somethin’ to say?”

 
          
“Shore,
he has the goods this time.”

 
          
“How yu figurin’ to deal with Lu?”

 
          
The
elder man laughed. “She’ll do what she’s told, like the rest of ‘em round
here,” he said arrogantly. “I aim to be King in somethin’ more than name, boy,
an’ don’t yu forget it.”

 
          
“Yu
ain’t
no
piker, an’ that’s a fact,” Sim rejoined. “I’m
with yu all the way, but I wish
them skirts warn’t
mixed up in it; I’ve a hunch we’ll trip over ‘em.”

 
          
King
clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Yu needn’t to worry ‘bout that,” he said.
“Leave me to handle ‘em; I know the trick of it.”

 
          
They
went downstairs, and the man who had been sitting with an ear glued to the
wooden partition of the adjoining room straightened up and rolled a cigarette.
It was Luce Burdette, and his face was a picture of perplexity. Though he had
not been able to hear all the conversation, he had gathered that some sinister
plot was projected which, unless frustrated, would bring dire misfortune upon
Nan Purdie. How could he prevent it? He was himself a Burdette, an outcast from
them, it was true, but shamed, suspected; no one would listen to him; even
those who hated his family would doubt his story. To visit the C P was to
invite a bullet. His only hope was in one man. Having watched his
brothers
ride down the street, he went in search of Green.
He met him coming out of the store.

 
          
“‘Lo,
Luce, where yu been hidin’ lately?” the foreman smiled.

 
          
“Don’t
have to hide,”
came
the bitter reply. “Nobody sees me
anyway. There’s somethin’ I guess yu oughta hear.”

 
          
He
told his tale, and Sudden’s face grew grave. “I’ve knowed all along King’s game
was to make us jump first,” he said. `But how’s he goin’ to do it? Ain’t yu got
a guess?”

 
          
The
boy shook his head. “He lowered his voice when he told Sim that, but it’s
somethin’ the town won’t like.”

 
          
“Don’t
tell us much—easy for a Burdette to do that,” the foreman retorted. “So, like I
reckoned, they have got Cal?”

 
          
Luce
nodded. “I’m goin’ to find out where he’s hidden. I s’pose half the fellas here
think I’ve murdered him.”

 
          
“
Mebbe,
an’ the other half are believin’ Riley’s yarn that I
pushed the ol’ chap in the river,” Sudden grinned. “Shucks, what do we care?
Me, I never did hanker for a halo anyway.”

 
          
He
sobered again. “If yu can find Cal before he talks, get him some place where
they can’t grab him; that’s goin’ to put a crimp in their plans.”

 
          
“I’m
startin’ right now,” Luce told him, and as he turned away, added, “Take care o’
Nan.”

 
          
The
foreman nodded, got into his saddle, and rode back to the C P. He had plenty to
occupy his thoughts. King Burdette was about to strike, and he had no knowledge
which would enable him to anticipate the blow. All he knew was that it would be
directed at the ranch for which he was now virtually responsible. And the C P
could look for little help from the citizens of Windy, few of whom would care
to stand out openly against the gang of ruthless, quick-shooting ruffians who
made up the Circle B outfit.

 
          
“Right
or wrong,
there’s allus fellas
who wanta be on the
winnin’ side,” he cogitated.

 
          
“Nig,
ol’ hoss, we’re shorely goin’ to be shy some sleep for a spell.”

 
          
LUCE,
headed for the Circle B ranch, selected a route which took him towards the
northern wall of the valley. His progress was slow, owing to the necessity for
keeping under cover—he had no wish to be seen by any of the Burdette riders. So
that the shadows were lengthening when he slipped over the rim-rock and plunged
into the pines which masked the outer slope.
The cool, quiet
and aromatic tang of the trees, brought relief to both body and mind.

 
          
It
was almost dark in the wood, the sun’s rays being powerless to penetrate the
dense roof of foliage, and on the thick carpet of pine-needles the horse paced
noiselessly.

 
          
He
was no longer making for his old home, for, thinking the matter over as he
rode,
he had come to the conclusion that his brother would
not risk taking the prospector there. Searching in his mind for a likely
hiding-place, he had remembered the little hut in the pine forest, some four
miles from the Circle B. His father had built it, but for what purpose he had
never learned.

 
          
Constructed
of untrimmed logs, it consisted of one room only; there was a small hole to
admit light, and a door secured with a heavy padlock. As a boy the place had
appealed to his curiosity, but for years he had not given it a thought.
Conscious that he was nearing the spot, he dismounted, tied Silver in a clump
of brush, and set out afoot, slipping like a shadow from trunk to trunk. The
wisdom of this precaution was soon apparent. Outside the shack stood a big
roan, and fumbling with the lock was the eldest Burdette. No sooner had he
entered than the watcher ran lightly forward and crouched down at the back of
the hut. He was in time to hear his brother’s first words.

 
          
“Well,
old fool; ready to talk yet?”

 
          
Nearly
starved, his old bones cramped by his bonds and eyes aching for light—he was
still blindfolded—California, in fact, had a great deal to say, but it was not
quite what his visitor had come to hear. In his high, cracked voice the old man
poured a stream of vituperation upon his unknown gaolers; evidently he had not
entirely wasted the long hours of his captivity. In awestruck admiration Luce
listened to the spate of outlandish oaths and scarifying insults. As he said
afterwards, “I never thought the ol’ fossil had that much venom in his system.
It was like a stampede o’ words, a-jostlin’ an’ a-tumblin’ over one another,
an’ they was bilin’ hot too.”

 
          
King
Burdette waited till the prisoner paused for breath and then said
sarcastically,

 
          
“Cussin’
won’t get yu nowhere. I want the location o’ that mine.” Getting no reply, he
went on,

 
          
“What’s
the use o’ bein’ obstinate? Yu’ll get yore share.”

 
          
California
snorted. “Yeah, but my share’ll be the wrong kind o’ metal—a slug o’ lead.”

 
          
“Shucks,
I’ll play fair,” the other urged.

 
          
“Yu
can go plumb to hell; the gold’s mine an’ I’ll have it—spite o’ the Devil
hisself,” the old man said stubbornly, and when the visitor let out an oath of
exasperation, he added, “Cussin’ won’t get yu nowhere.”

 
          
The
gibe exhausted Burdette’s patience. “Yu damned ol’ bone-rack, so yu won’t tell,
huh?” he stormed. “Well, yu don’t eat again till yu
do,
an’ if yu ain’t ready to come clean to-morrow mornin’ …”

 
          
The
unspoken threat only produced a hoarse chuckle.

 
          
“Laugh
yore fill now,” King went on. “Hangin’ by yore thumbs, with a slow fire under
yu, mebbe won’t seem so humorsome.”

 
          
California
shook his head. “I ain’t scared a mite,” he said. “Yu
dasn’t
do
it. I’m old; treat me rough an’,
I
passin my
checks. Where’d yu be then? Nobody else knows where the gold is.”

 
          
“Didn’t
yu tell Green?” Burdette asked, and instantly cursed himself for a thoughtless
fool.

 
          
The
prisoner straightened up suddenly. “So yu ain’t him?” he said softly.
“Kinda fancied he warn’t the crooked sort too.
Who may yu
be?”

 
          
The
visitor made a quick decision. Stepping forward, he snatched away the bandage.
The abrupt change from darkness to light made the bound man blink.

 
          
“King
Burdette, huh?” he said wonderingly, his mind busy with the problem of how the
Circle B autocrat could have nosed out his secret. Green would certainly not
have told
him,
and no one else—so far as he was
aware—had even a suspicion.

 
          
“Makes
a difference, don’t it?” King asked sneeringly.

 
          
It
did. Weak for want of food and drink, the old man sat huddled on the rough
bench which was all the furniture the shack contained. He knew that this was
the end—he could expect no mercy from the Burdettes. Once he had told … He
clamped his parched lips, and a spark of the old pioneer spirit which had
enabled him to overcome the dangers of desert and wilderness flamed again in
his breast. Defiance flashed from his faded eyes.

 
          
“Go
ahead with yore murderin’, King Burdette,” he croaked. “Kill the goose, like
the damn fool in the storybook; yu won’t git a yap out’n me.”

 
          
The
younger man’s face became that of a fiend. He sprang forward, clutched his
captive by the throat, shook him with savage ferocity and flung him to the
floor.

 
          
“That’s
on’y a taste o’ what yu get to-morrow mornin’, yu earth-worm,” he grated. “I’ll
make yu speak if I have to flay yu alive.”

 
          
He
got no reply. California, dazed and breathless from the rough handling, lay
where he had fallen. The brute who had thrown him there gave one glance to make
sure he still lived and went out, locking the door, and still muttering
threats. Luce waited until he saw the roan and its rider vanish amidst the
pines and then slipped round to the front of the hut. The fastening presented a
difficulty, but in a pile of rubbish he found a rusty iron bar with which he
contrived to wrench out the staple. The prisoner, still prone on the ground,
hardly looked at him.

 
          
“Do
yore damnedest—I ain’t speakin’,” he quavered, and then, as he recognized the
newcomer, “Think yu’ll have better luck than that hell-hound, yore brother,
huh? Well, yu won’t; not a cent’s wuth.”