Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (15 page)

 
          
His
thoughts veered to the dark, sinister face of Navajo, the man who—according to
Rogue—had “fixed” the attempted murder of the cattleman. Was it a misguided
effort to help his leader, or was the fellow playing a hand for himself? The
stars, paling in the sky, warned him that the night was passing, and he turned
over to snatch an hour’s sleep before sunrise.

 
          
In
the morning, the guest, after packing his spare frame with bacon, beans, and
coffee, went on his way, rejoicing that —thanks to the generosity of his
hosts—he would again be able to “feed like a Christian.”

 
          
“I
figure yu’ll be all right till yo’re over the Red River,” he added. “Then make
yore pass west. Adios.”

 
          
Gun
on shoulder and pack on back, he swung off southwards along the trail, moving
swiftly but unhurriedly. Several of the men stood watching the gradually
diminishing form.

 
          
“A
queer little cuss,” Jeff commented. “One time
them
devils will catch him an’ then—he’ll want death a hell of a while before it
comes.”

 
          
“Well,
he’s sent some to wait for him,” Jed remarked. “Did yu notice the nicks on the
stock o’ that gun? I didn’t count ‘em, but I’ll bet there was mighty near two
score.”

 
          
During
the morning, Sudden made an opportunity to tell Sandy of his meeting with
Rogue.

 
          
“I’m
relieved he took it that way,” the boy said.
“An odd mixture,
Rogue.
At times, a fiend from the Pit itself, an’ yet, he can be real
folks. Navajo now, he’s bad all through, an’ he hates Rogue. I’m glad to be
clear o’ that crowd, Jim.”

 
          
Sudden
regarded him sardonically. “
yo’re
tellin’ me news.”

 
          
“Yu
know what I mean,” Sandy replied.

 
          
Sudden
did. He had already noted that his companion’s gaze was never long away from a
certain graceful figure riding ahead. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he
said gravely:

 
          
“Shore
I do, but what’s worryin’ me is”—he paused, and Sandy looked up
expectantly—“does she like red hair?” He was yards away before the boy realized
the significance of the question and then it was too late to do anything but
swear softly.

 
          
“Yu
damned pirut,” he smiled. “But Gosh! I’m mighty pleased I met up with yu.”

 
          
THE
days oozed by, days of long, lazy hours in the saddle under a scorching sun,
for the fine weather held. Jeff was too good a cowman to hurry the herd but he
took care that the animals were healthily tired and ready for sleep when they
reached a good average.

 
          
They
had crossed the Brazos River without much difficulty, being fortunate in
finding it low, and, as Tyson had predicted, no “trouble” had materialized.
Moreover, the wounded man was progressing favourably, so that the outfit
generally was in high good humour. Only the foreman refused to join in any
jubilation.

 
          
“Everythin’
is goin’ too slick—it ain’t natural,” he grumbled, pacing behind the wagon as
it bumped its way over the cracked and rutted surface of the plain. “Just when
yo’re feelin’ careless an’ contented is the time Lady Luck chooses to give yu a
kick in the pants.”

 
          
The
cattleman pulled a wry face. “If yu was lyin’ here yu wouldn’t think it was all
so hunky, yu of death’s-head,” he replied. “How’re the new men pannin’ out?”

 
          
“Green
an’ Sands is awright but I don’t like Lasker,” Jeff said bluntly. “Does his
work but …” He did not finish. “Wish
I
knowed who put
that pill in yu, Sam.”

 
          
“Yu
ain’t thinkin’ it was one o’ the outfit, are yu?”

 
          
“I’m
in the dark,” the foreman admitted. “Sands or Lasker could ‘a’ done it—they
weren’t in camp or with the cows.”

 
          
“Forget
it,” Eden said irritably. “I’m here, ain’t I? Why should any o’ the boys want
to crab the drive? I figure it was a war-whoop, the one that got away from
Green, likely; Injuns never let up when it’s a case of evenin’ a score.”

 
          
“Dessay
yo’re right, but I’m wonderin’,” Jeff insisted. “Then stop it, yu fool,” his
employer told him. “All yu gotta worry about is the cows; they’re goin’ through
if we have to carry ‘em one at a time.
yu
sabe?”

 
          
In
his excitement he raised both his voice and his body, only to sink back with an
oath.

 
          
Instantly
the hard-faced woman on the driver’s seat thrust her head through the canvas
flaps. “Yu, Jeff, pull yore freight, pronto,” she ordered. “Ain’t there
critters enough out there to pester but yu gotta come here an’ git my patient
all het up? If yu didn’t wear a hat yu’d have no use for yore head.”

 
          
The
foreman made no reply; he knew better than to engage in verbal warfare with the
lady. Sam Eden, however, promptly protested:

 
          
“Jeff’s
doin’ his duty, reportin’ to me, Judy,” he said. “It ain’t his fault if I’m
restive, lyin’ in this damn wagon day after day.” He looked at her slyly.
“Mebbe, if I could have a

 
          
smoke
…”

 
          
“Sam
Eden, yo’re plumb crazy,” she snapped. “Here’s yu with yore innards all tore up
an’ yu want baccy. Where’d yu be if it makes yu cough an’ starts a bleedin’?”
She looked at Jeff.

 
          
“Beat
it,” she added.

 
          
The
foreman obeyed, leaving them wrangling, but there was a smile on his face.
Riding beside the wagon he stooped and peeped through a hole in the cover. The
patient had a pipe in his mouth and his nurse was striking a match.

 
          
“Pure
gold, that woman,” Jeff murmured. “But her tongue cuts like a
bowie
.”

 
          
Quickening
his pace, he rode after the herd. As he passed the remuda, he spoke to Lasker:

 
          
“We
must be near Injun country now. Best not let yore hosses stray far tonight. Yu
can have
help
if yu want it.” The wrangler nodded
sullenly. “I can manage,” he said. “Been this way afore?” Jeff asked.

 
          
“Nope,
it’s new to me,” the man replied.

 
          
Two
or three miles were covered and their eyes were gladdened by the sight of trees
in the far distance. For days past they had seen no timber—for the sparse
scrub-oak and stunted mesquite could not be so designated—and they knew the
line of foliage indicated a river.

 
          
“Reckon
that’ll be the Red,” Sudden remarked to Sandy. “She’ll be high,” Sandy
predicted.

 
          
Their
fears proved to be well founded, when, a little later, Sudden and the
foreman—who had ridden ahead—halted on the bank of the river. Jeff’s face fell
as he surveyed the swift-moving, eddying torrent, murky with the red sediment
which stained the timber and driftwood along the banks and gave the river its
name. He shook his head.

 
          
“She’s
all of six hundred yards acrost an’ with the drift that means swimmin’ near
twice as fur, an’ she’s carryin’ too much sand,” he said. “We’ll never make it
as the cards lie.”

 
          
“Better
play it safe, ol-timer,” Sudden agreed. “These streams, I’ve heard, rise an’
fall in a day.”

 
          
He
was studying the ground; there were cattle-tracks in plenty but his experienced
eye told him that they had not been recently made.

 
          
“S’pose
them jaspers in front of us beat the floodwater, but I’m guessin’ they didn’t
cross here,” he remarked.

 
          
“They
may still be this side—further downstream,” the foreman suggested. “The trail
forked a few miles back. Well, we gotta wait, whether Sam likes it or not.”

 
          
The
wagon was drawn up beneath some tall pines, and the cook was busy with his pots
and pans when a horseman rode in from the gloom. Sudden, watching the leaping
flames of the big fire, stepped forward.

 
          
“This
Sam Eden’s outfit?” the new arrival queried, and then, peering from his saddle,
“but of course it must be, unless you’re riding for someone else. Isn’t your
name Green?”

 
          
Sudden
did not reply. Directly the rider had come within the circle of firelight he
had seen that it was Jethro Baudry, and, for some reason he did not attempt to
track down, the aversion he had experienced on first meeting the man returned.

 
          
“And
where is Sam? Not working while his men warm their hands, I hope?” Baudry went
on, with clumsy facetiousness. “
yu’ll
find Mister Eden
in the wagon, seh,” the cowboy said stiffly, and walked away.

 
          
The
gambler’s eyes followed him and their expression was scarcely amiable.
“Starchy, eh?” he muttered. “Odd about Sam though.”

 
          
He
rode over to the wagon, got down, and looked in. By the light of a hanging
oil-lamp he saw the invalid, pale and haggard, but obviously on the mend.

 
          
“Hello,
Sam, what’s the meaning of this?” he greeted. “Howdy, Jethro,” the cattleman
responded. “Come right in an’ I’ll tell yu.”

 
          
Squatting
on a sack of meal, chewing a black cigar, the visitor listened in silence to
the story and then gave his opinion:

 
          
“Looks
like redskins; who else would want to lay you out?”

 
          
“Yu
can search me.
But how come yu here, Jethro?”

 
          
“Meeting a man at Doan’s Store—some way down the river.

 
          
Got
news of a herd arriving and suspicioned it might be the S E. you’re making good
time, Sam.”

 
          
“Barrin’
this,” Eden tapped his chest, “we’ve been lucky. Mebbe all our troubles
is
to come.”

 
          
“Likely
enough, and that’s one reason I wanted to see you,” Baudry said. “I’ve been
told
there’s
some pretty tough gangs haunting the
trail, waiting for herds, and I thought I’d warn you to be on the lookout.”

 
          
“Mighty
good o’ yu, Jethro,” the rancher said warmly. “I’ve had word a’ready to the
same effect but”—his eyes twinkled—“if they wait for the S E they’re liable to
get tired o’ the job.”

 
          
Baudry
looked puzzled.

 
          
“We’re
aimin’ to turn west and cut our own trail,” Eden explained triumphantly.

 
          
“You’re
a sly old fox, Sam,” the gambler said. “But isn’t it risky?
you
may euchre the rustlers but you’ll certainly run into the redskins.”

 
          
“I
figure them varmints will be watchin’ the trail too,” the cattleman argued. “As
for bein’ risky, the whole damn drive is that. Seen anythin’ of another herd
this way?”

 
          
“Yes,
they crossed some miles lower down—just beat the flood. The river’s
dropping—you’ll get over tomorrow, I’d say.”

 
          
“Hope
so. I fair hate hangin’ about. Comin’ with us, Jethro?” The gambler shook his
head, and rose. “Have to wait for my man,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you later.
Good luck to ye, Sam.”