Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 02 - Sudden(1933) (8 page)

 
          
“I
ain’t that, an’ yu know it,” the younger man replied. “An’ I’m not likely to
raise my hand against my own flesh and blood, but that don’t go for the bunch o’
bar-scourin’s yu got ridin’ for yu now—toughs that Dad would ‘a’ quirted off
the ranch, an’ he warn’t noways finicky.”

 
          
King
ripped out a blistering oath. Until this moment his authority, since his
father’s death, had been supreme at the Circle B, and to be defied by the one
from whom he least expected opposition made him furious.

 
          
“Pull
yore freight, pronto, or I’ll use a whip on yu,” he rasped.

 
          
Luce
looked at him levelly. “Will yu?” he said quietly. “Not while I’ve got a gun,
King; there’s a limit to what I’ll take, even from yu.”

 
          
Getting
no reply, Luce went out, and presently, from the window overlooking the valley,
King watched him ride down the road. A bulky roll at the cantle of the saddle
brought a sneer to the older man’s lips.

 
          
“So
yo’re obeyin’ orders, huh?” he muttered. “Well, yu got a lot o’ things to learn
yet, an’ one of ‘em is that it
don’t
pay to cross me.”
He frowned at a thought. “Hell! I must be gettin’ old—I nearly told him; that
would ‘a’ been a bad break. As it is we’ve got him tied, an’ can ride him till
he drops. Didn’t shoot Kit Purdie, eh? Wonder how far that’ll get yu when yore
own
family ain’t denying it?”

 
          
In
the hope of gaining information before it became generally known that he had
joined the C P, Sudden again spent the evening in “The Lucky Chance.” He was
sitting about half-way between the door and the bar, watching a game of poker,
when Luce Burdette slouched in.

 
          
Without
a word to anyone, the boy paid for a drink and draped himself against the bar,
indifferent to the glances—some of them far from friendly—sent in his
direction. Almost on his heels came a party of three, two Mexicans and a
half-breed named Ramon, who having been “given his time” by Purdie some months
before, was now riding for Slype. These men ranged themselves next to Burdette,
ordered liquor, and began to talk in low tones.

 
          
Sudden,
suspecting that these men had a definite purpose, gave them all his attention.
He saw the vaquero’s malicious eyes furtively scanning the solitary figure by
the bar, and noted that his voice was gradually becoming more distinct.
Presently, in reply to a muttered remark by one of his companions, he laughed
aloud.

 
          
“Nan
Purdie?” he said derisively. “I tell you somet’ing ‘bout her.
At ze C P ze boys ‘ave to lock ze bunk’ouse door nights to keep her
out.”

 
          
This
infamous statement struck the room to an amazed silence, and then the brooding
man at the bar came to life. His left hand gripped the traducer’s shoulder,
swinging him round, while his right fist, with fiendish fury, crashed on the
fellow’s jaw and sent him staggering and clutching to the floor; he looked up
to find Burdette’s gun covering him.

 
          
“Yu
dirty liar,” the young man grated. “Eat yore words, pronto, or yu go to hell
right now.”

 
          
The
evil black eyes looked up into the flaming blue ones and found only death
there; one twitch of the finger aching to press the trigger and the world would
know Ramon the vaquero no more. He did not like to back down, but life was
sweet. The half-breed had vanity, but no pride; there is a difference. He began
to mutter.

 
          
“Speak
up, yu bastard,” Burdette warned. “This is yore last chance.”

 
          
“W’at
I say was a lie—I make it up,” Ramon called out. “I not know anyt’ing against
Mees Purdie.”

 
          
With
a shrug of contempt, Luce holstered his gun and turned back to the bar. Ramon
got slowly to his feet, and then, as he saw the jeering expression on many of
the spectators’ faces, madness seized him. His hand flashed up, a wicked blade
lying along the palm. Ere he could despatch it on its deadly errand, however,
an iron clasp fell on his wrist, forcing the arm down and round behind his
back.

 
          
“Drop
it!”
came
the curt order. “Or I’ll shore bust yore
wing.”

 
          
Mouthing
Mexican curses, the captive twisted like an eel, but he could not break that hold,
and when his wrist began to nudge his shoulder-blades he squealed in agony and
the weapon tinkled on the boards.

 
          
“Will
some gent kindly open the door?” Sudden requested, and when this had been done,
he forced the helpless half-breed to it, placed a foot in the small of the
fellow’s back, and straightened his leg. As though propelled from a gun, the
victim shot over the sidewalk and ploughed into the dust of the street on his
face. Sudden looked at the saloon-keeper.

 
          
“Sorry
to make a ruckus in yore joint, Magee,” he said.

 
          
“Ye
done the roight thing, son,” the Irishman replied.
“I hope
ye’ve bruk his lyin’ neck.”

 
          
The
puncher picked up the dropped weapon; it was a short-handled, heavy
throwing-knife, a deadly instrument in the hands of an expert. He balanced it
for a moment in his fingers, his eyes on Ramon’s companions, who were watching
him uneasily.

 
          
“I
guess that’s a bullet-hole by the door there,” he said. “Shure it is,” smiled
the proprietor. “Not the only wan neither.”

 
          
Sudden’s
arm moved, and like a shaft of light itself the blade flashed through the air
and sank deeply into the wall about half an inch from the target he had
selected. He looked apologetically at his audience.

 
          
“I’m
outa practice—ain’t throwed a knife for quite a spell,” he said. “Allasame, if
it had been a fella’s throat …” He went on conversationally. “An old Piute
chief taught me the trick—claimed he’d let the life outa ten men thataway.
Dessay he was boastin’ some—Injuns mostly do—but he certainly knew about
knives.” He turned to the Mexicans. “Yore friend is mebbe waitin’ for yu,” he
suggested meaningly.

 
          
They
slunk out like dogs who feared the whip, casting curious glances at the weapon
in the wall, which they knew was there as a warning to themselves. With their
disappearance the tension relaxed and interrupted games were resumed. Luce
Burdette came over to the puncher.

 
          
“I’m
obliged, but I dunno why yu interfered,” he said. “If yo’re ridin’ for Purdie,
as I hear, he won’t thank yu.”

 
          
“I
ain’t sold him my soul, an’ if I had, Purdie would understand—he’s a white
man,” the C P foreman said quietly. “Yu must be tired o’ life to turn yore back
on a snake like that; don’t yu know his sort allus carries a sticker? ‘Sides,
if he’d pulled his gun he’d ‘a’ got yu, shore thing.”

 
          
“Lot
o’ grief that would ‘a’ caused, wouldn’t it?” the boy asked bitterly.

 
          
“I
dunno,” Sudden told him; “but I reckon that with skunks like that around Miss
Purdie needs all her friends.”

 
          
His
chance shot hit the mark; this aspect of the matter brought a quick flush to
Burdette’s cheeks. “I hadn’t looked at it thataway,” he admitted, and pointing
to an unoccupied table in a far corner of the room, added, “Can I have a word
with yu?”

 
          
For
some moments after they were seated the boy was silent, his moody eyes staring
into vacancy. Then, in a low, strained voice, he began to talk:

 
          
“Just
now yu saved my life, an’ I expect I didn’t seem
none
too grateful. Well, I wasn’t, an’ I’m goin’ to tell yu why. Pretty near
everybody in town figures I killed Kit Purdie; some are sayin’ it openly,
others think it but
dasn’t say
so till they know how
my brothers are goin’ to take it. My refusin’ to draw on Chris has got around,
an’ is regarded as a confession o’ guilt. I wish I’d pulled an’ let him get me.”

 
          
“That
ain’t
no
way to talk. What do yore brothers think?”

 
          
The
boy flushed angrily. “They allow I did it,” he blurted out.

 
          
Sudden
nodded comprehendingly. “It suits them,” he pointed out. “I understand they’ve
been tryin’ to get Purdie to r’ar up for some time.”

 
          
“I’m
done with ‘em—when King told me this mornin’ to pull my freight from the Circle
B he said somethin’ he can’t ever take back,” Luce said passionately. “Ramon
musta knowed ‘bout
that,
or he’d never ‘a’ had the
nerve to frame me. Yu shore yu didn’t get a blink at the fella who fired the
shot?”

 
          
“If
I had I’d ‘a’ put a crimp in his getaway.”

 
          
“Yu
don’t think it was me?”

 
          
“No,
an’ I told Purdie so.”

 
          
Burdette’s
face cleared a little. “Thank yu,” he said gratefully. “That’s two friends I got.”

 
          
Sudden
fancied he could have named the other, but what he said was, “What yu aimin’ to
do?”

 
          
“Stick
around an’ clear myself,” Luce said. “I’ll be at the hotel if yu want me any
time. I—I’d like to see yu,” he finished with boyish eagerness.

 
          
“I’ll
be along,” the puncher promised. “Mebbe we can help one another.”

 
          
“Shore,
but get me right,” Luce insisted. “Though the Burdettes have shook me I’m not
roundin’ on ‘em nohow, but”—he grinned mirthlessly—“I ain’t related to their
outfit.
yu’ll
have to watch out for those hombres, an’
that half-breed, Ramon, is pure pizen. ‘Fraid I’ve fetched yu right up against
Ol’ Man Trouble.”

 
          
“
Him an’ me
have met afore, an’ yu’ll notice I’m still here,”
the puncher smiled.

 
          
When
the boy had gone, Sudden drifted over to the bar, and Magee pushed forward a
bottle, a look of perplexity on his face.

 
          
“Shure
I can’t foller your play, sorr,” he said. “
ye’re
a C P
man, an’ ye save the loife of a Burdette; that’ll puzzle Purdie, I’m thinkin’.”

 
          
Sudden
looked at him quizzically. “I start with the C P to-morrow mornin’,” he pointed
out, “an’ Luce finished with the Circle B to-day. Yes, sir, his family has
turned him down cold.”

 
          
The
landlord whistled. “Odd that,” he commented. “The Greaser knew av it too, or
he’d niver ‘a’ dared raise a hand to a Burdette.” He sipped his drink
contemplatively. “So Luce is at outs wid his brothers, eh? Well, he was allus
different to the rest av thim, an’ I’ve seen the Old Man look queerly at him,
as if wonderin’ how he
come
to be in the nest.
There’ll be somethin’ back o’ his leavin’ the Circle B, shure enough.”

 
          
The
puncher nodded, but did not pursue the topic. He liked Magee, and felt that he
was straight, but he knew that he must walk warily in Windy for a while.

 
          
WHEN
the new foreman arrived at the C P ranch on the following morning, he found
that the story of his little difficulty with the half-breed had preceded him,
two of the outfit having been in town, and heard of, though they had not seen,
the incident. Chris Purdie’s face was not quite so genial when he greeted him.

 
          
“I
didn’t know the Burdettes was friends o’ yores,” was the oblique way he
approached the subject.

 
          
Sudden’s
look was sardonic. “Did yu get
all the
story?” he
asked.