Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) (31 page)

 
          
She
knew he was meaning to hurt, divined the evil in his mind, and it roused her to
retaliate. “I expect he’s afraid of you, King,” she murmured, but her twinkling
eyes belied the statement.

 
          
The
blow went home; she saw his jaw tighten and the fingers of his right hand bunch
up; had she been a man he would have hit her. And then he laughed.

 
          
“Mebbe
yo’re right, but there’s a better reason,” he told her. “Green’s too busy
runnin’ around after Nan Purdie to give yu a thought, my girl.”

 
          
The
effect of this assertion surprised him, for Mrs. Lavigne buried her face in her
hands, shoulders shaking convulsively. For an instant he was deceived—he
thought she was weeping—and then she peeped at him between her fingers.
Certainly the tears were there, but they were those of merriment.

 
          
“Oh,
you men
! ”
she gasped. “King, you’ll be the death of
me one day.”

 
          
The
man glowed at her. “Yo’re damn right I will, if yu play tricks on me,” he
growled.

 
          
“Anythin’ funny about Green shinin’ up to Purdie’s gal?”

 
          
“No,”
she replied. “The amusing part is that you should think it mattered to me.”

 
          
The
tone and look which accompanied the words convinced him that he had made a fool
of himself, and, strangely enough, restored his good humour.

 
          
“Aw,
well, take it I’m plain jealous,” he said placatingly. “Yu know I think a lot
o’ yu, Lu.”

 
          
“Oh,
yeah,” she teased, and with a smile, “What did you come to find out?”

 
          
“I
came to see yu,” he replied, and when she emphatically shook her sleek head,
added, “I was certainly meanin’ to ask if yu’d heard any tidin’s o’
California?”

 
          
“I
haven’t. Goldy Evans was in last night, and he thinks the old man is being kept
prisoner somewhere.” King’s eyebrows went up.
“Whatever for?”

 
          
“Goldy’s
idea is that Cal has struck it rich and is being held until he tells.”

 
          
Though
she spoke casually, the man was aware that she was watching him, and schooled
his features to indifference; King Burdette had abundant self-control when he
chose to exercise it. Inwardly he was wondering how a theory so near the truth
had got abroad, and cursing Riley for a chatterbox. With a careless shrug he
said:

 
          
“Pretty far-fetched notion.
My guess would be that the
buzzards has
picked the old boy’s bones by now. When yu
goin’ to pay that visit to the Circle B, Lu?”

 
          
She
slanted a mischievous look at him. “Some day—when you’re not there; I’ll learn
all your secrets then.”

 
          
“Do
that an’ I’ll have to keep yu there—a prisoner,” he threatened. “Think yu’d
like it?”

 
          
“I
don’t know—yet,” she smiled, and then, as more customers came in, “Now I’ve got
to be busy, if your Majesty will excuse me.”

 
          
She
bobbed an impudent curtsey and tripped away to serve the newcomers. King
lingered a moment and then went out. Some of the men greeted him, but others
took no notice, which brought the scowl back to his face. He was realizing that
since the advent of Green the dominance of the Burdettes had seriously
suffered. He cursed the citizens contemptuously, promising himself that he
would whip them to heel when his hour of triumph arrived. Then he almost
collided with Riley.

 
          
“Want
yu,” he said shortly. “What’s this talk in the town of Cal strikin’ it good an’
bein’ held till he opens up?”

 
          
“Ain’t
heard it,” the man replied.

 
          
“Well,
I have, an’ they got the story pretty straight.
Yu been
yappin’?”

 
          
“Is
it likely? My neck’s long enough—I don’t want it stretched none,” the cowboy
lied stolidly.

 
          
“Which
it will be if this town learns the truth,” King assured him. “Where is Cal?”

 
          
Riley
stared at him. “How in hell should I know? Yu took him off yoreself.”

 
          
“He’s
got away,” Burdette informed him, and added a few particulars.

 
          
“Damnation!
Yu lost him,” the cowboy cried, and there was consternation in his voice.

 
          
“Then
he’ll know …”

 
          
“Shucks,
anybody could use that shack, an’ he thinks it was Green put him there,” King
said mendaciously, unwilling to let the man know too much. “Point
is,
who’s got him now? He ain’t showed up in Windy. Sim
reckons it was Luce—claims he recognized a footprint. Yu better keep tabs on
him; we gotta find
the of
devil.”

 
          
He
swung away. Riley waited until he saw him riding the eastern trail, and then
dived into Slype’s quarters. The marshal heard his story in silence, and then
said.

 
          
“Wonder
if he’s double-crossin’ yu?”

 
          
The
same suspicion had already occurred to the Circle B rider—it was what he would
have done himself—but he shook his head.

 
          
“My
hunch is he was givin’ me the goods,” he said. “Someone has
stole
a march on him, an’ likely enough it was Luce. I’m a-goin’ to sleep on that
young fella’s trail.”

 
          
The
marshal nodded. “If yu find out anythin’, Riley, come to me,” he urged. “King
Burdette couldn’t act straight if he wanted to, which he never does. Yu an’
me
can put this through together.
Sabe?”

 
          
Riley
agreed, not that he had any illusions regarding the honesty of the marshal, but
he believed that, of two rogues, he was choosing the lesser. Also, he wanted
the officer’s protection against Green, who might, at any moment, become
actively hostile. Riley had courage, but it was the kind that requires the odds
to be slightly in its favour, and he knew his limitations. For instance, he
would never have dreamed of drawing a gun upon Whitey, and therefore the
prospect of a “run in” with the slayer of the Circle B gunman aroused no
enthusiasm in his breast.

 
          
To
Nan Purdie, loping along the trail to the valley, the world would have looked
very good indeed had it not been for the shadow of the recent tragedy and the
trouble likely to come of it. The slanting rays of the sun were not yet too hot
for comfort, and a light breeze, spicy with the odour of the pines, stirred the
foliage and dappled her pathway with moving patches of shade.

 
          
Birds
twittered in the trees, squirrels chattered, and a tiny stream sang as it
merrily danced down the hillside.

 
          
Conscious
as she was of the beauty around
her—for she loved the land
she lived in,
and its many phases were a never-ending source of
delight—yet she was not thinking of it. Her mind was dwelling on a certain
glade, and a man she sometimes met there. She had not visited the spot since
the day Luce had delivered her from his brother. Somehow this morning the
handsome, insolent, debonair face of the eldest Burdette would intrude. The
warm glow which filled her heart when she thought of Luce changed to a cold
fear when her mind reverted to the other. A shrill, treble voice from behind brought
her back to realities.

 
          
“Hi, Miss Nan!”

 
          
She
pulled up her pony and turned; shambling along the trail in pursuit of her
came
a boy of twelve. Speed was a matter of difficulty, for
the trodden-over boots into which the tops of his ragged pants were thrust had
been originally the property of a grown man. Nan recognized the broad, freckled
face, with its tousled head of tow-coloured hair, as belonging to a lad who did
odd jobs at the hotel.

 
          
“Why,
Timmie, what has brought you into this neck o’ the woods?” she smiled.

 
          
“I
was headin’ for the ranch,” the boy explained, “An’ was havin’ a rest—guess I
dozed some”—rather sheepishly. “See yu go by an’ took out after yu. These
blame’ boots warn’t made for runnin’—none whatever.”

 
          
“But
you haven’t walked, have you?”

 
          
“No’m,
got the mare back in the brush—Turkey said for me to borry her.” ‘Turkey’ was
the name by which McTurk, the proprietor of Windy’s one hotel, was universally
known. “She ain’t much, but she was a good cow-hoss once, an’ we all gotta git old,
I reckon,” the boy added philosophically.

 
          
Nan
divined the working of the youthful mind. “Quite right of you to give her a
rest,” she told him. “But why were you going to the ranch?”

 
          
Timmie’s
face opened in an expansive grin. “Well, darn my whiskers if I warn’t near
forgettin’; I’ve brung this for yu.” He dived into his one sound pocket and
produced a somewhat crumpled and soiled envelope. “Turkey tol’ me to give it
when yu was alone; I reckon I’m some lucky meetin’ up with yu.”

 
          
The
girl took the missive, saw that it bore her name and was marked “Private.” A
suspicion as to the identity of the sender fetched a warm flush to her cheeks,
the effect of which the boy noted.

 
          
“She’s
as purty as a spotted pup,” was his unspoken criticism.

 
          
Somewhat
to his disappointment, she tucked the letter unopened into the pocket of her
shirt-waist.

 
          
“Mebbe
there’s an answer,” he suggested.

 
          
“Then
I’ll send one of the boys in with it,” Nan smiled. “Now, Timmie, you must thank
Mister McTurk for the trouble he has taken, and…”

 
          
The
boy looked at the coin she slid into his hand.

 
          
“Shucks,
Miss Nan, I don’t want no pay doin’ things for yu,” he protested manfully, for
the sum was more than he earned in a week.

 
          
“That
isn’t pay, Timmie,” the girl explained. “It’s just a little present—something
to buy cartridges with, so that you can kill that thieving old coyote I’ve
heard about.”

 
          
For
Timmie’s mother was trying to raise chickens, a difficult proposition in a land
where those lean grey prowlers of the night were prevalent. The boy brightened
up—this altered the case; the money was bestowed where the letter had been.

 
          
“Yessir—miss,
I mean; an’ I bet I’ll git that of pirut
nex
’ time,”
he said, and pulling a lock of hair—he had no hat—he went whistling cheerfully
in search of the mare.

 
          
Nan
rode on and presently pulled out the mysterious missive, studying it. She did
not know the writing, but then, the man she had instantly thought of had never
written to her.

 
          
Tremulously
she tore upon the envelope; the note inside appeared to be no more than a
hurried scrawl, in pencil.

 
          
“DEAR
NAN,

 
          
I
am leaving the country—can’t stand it any longer. Will you be at the old place
to-morrow morning? Please come; I got to see you before I go.

 
          
LUCE.”

 
          
For
a moment the girl thought her heart had ceased to function. He was going
away—she would never see him again. In that instant she comprehended what this
enemy of the Purdie family had come to mean to her. Though he had never spoken
of it, she knew that Luce cared, and now, she too…. Hopeless as it all was, Nan
felt that she must see him. Impulsively she swung off the trail, turning her
pony’s head in the direction of the glade.