Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (22 page)

 
          
“Goin’
to have a word with Foxy,” he said. “Back soon.”

 
          
“What
does it really mean?” Carol’s white lips whispered, as the pair went out.

 
          
Sandy
was cursing softly but vividly. “It means—hell,” he groaned.

 
          
They
heard a fierce yell of execration as the captive appeared, and in an agony of
fear, dragged
themselves
to the opening of the tepee.
The sight they saw did not reassure them.

 
          
The
camp was of fair size, consisting of more than a score of lodges, set in a rude
circle and hedged in by trees and brush. Round the open space in the centre the
whole tribe was gathered, men, women, and children, shrieking and yelling in
savage exultation. The hubbub increased as, the white man was conducted to a
large tree on the edge of the clearing. Two more warriors now joined the first.
Releasing his hands, they gripped a wrist apiece, forced his arms back and
again secured them behind the tree-trunk. The position was intensely painful
and rendered the sufferer as helpless as a tied steer.

 
          
No
sooner was this done than the onlookers surged forward, broke into an eerie
chant, and began to circle the tree in a wild dance. The oblique rays of the
mounting sun, flickering through the foliage, shadowed the fantastic capers on
the ground. Though they shook their weapons in his face, no one of the dancers
attempted to touch the prisoner. Interminably, as it seemed to the object of
it, the monotonous dirge went on. All the tribe were not taking part; on the
far side of the clearing stood a group of Indians whose plumed heads showed
that they were chiefs; among them was Black Bear.

 
          
Wooden-faced,
the bound man stared stolidly at the dancing devils who mocked as they passed
him. His head still throbbed from the rough treatment of yesterday and his
arm-muscles ached under the unnatural strain to which they were being
subjected, but he knew he must show no sign of weakness; that was what these
fiends were hoping for. To avoid thinking of what was to come he sent his mind
back into the past, recalling the dark hours in Fourways, where he had also
awaited death; it was a grim thought that the outlaw’s rescue might yet prove
something to be regretted. It would be Sandy’s turn next, and then the girl;
the eyes of Red Fox had plainly told her fate.

 
          
A
raucous command rang out and the droning ring broke and swept back, forming in
a half-circle on the far side of the clearing. From among the chiefs Red Fox
strode, his feathers fluttering in the faint breeze, to pause a few paces from
the prisoner. His dark face was alight with savage triumph.

 
          
“For
the slaying of Running Deer, my brother, you shall die many times. On your
knees you shall beg for death and it shall not come.”

 
          
Sudden’s
expression was contemptuous. “Red Fox has a big mouth,” he said. “He might
frighten a papoose.”

 
          
He
knew that the shaft had gone home, though only a tremor of rage betrayed the
fact; the redskin was crafty.

 
          
“Red
Fox has sharp teeth but will not bite too soon,” he countered. “
yet
if the white dog desires a speedy death, he shall have
his chance.”

 
          
He
stepped back, drew a short, heavy-hafted knife from his belt, and glanced
pridefully round at his audience. Then his right arm swung up, down, and like a
streak of silver the blade flashed through the sunlight and embedded itself in
the tree-trunk. Sudden felt a trickle of warm blood and realized that the keen
edge missing his head by a hair’s-breadth.
had
nicked
his ear.

 
          
The
thrower, bent slightly forward, watched the result of his effort with evil
enjoyment.

 
          
“Move,
and earn the death you will presently pray for,” he called out.

 
          
A
medley of mocking yells came from the spectators and a score of voices repeated
the taunt; both they and the cunning devil who had uttered it knew that the
invitation would not be accepted. However desperate his situation, a sane,
healthy man will hold on to life as long as possible, and though Sudden could
see no chance of escape, he cherished a hope that he might somehow get free and
go down fighting. So he schooled his aching muscles and became as motionless as
the tree against which he stood.

 
          
With
steady, unwinking eyes, he saw the fling of the brown arm again, the gleam of
the twinkling steel, and felt the wind of the blade on his cheek. The second
knife missed him by less than an inch. Amid the shouts of admiration for the
prowess of their chief, were jeers for the man who had declined to die. Sudden
was concerned with someone else; from behind had come a hoarse whisper:

 
          
“Yore
han’s is free. When that varmint comes to git his stickers, grab one an’ let
him have it. Then jump for the tepee, git yore guns, and gimme a chance to
start the gal an’ yore friend off.

 
          
There’ll
be a hoss waitin’ for yu.”

 
          
Like
a dazed man, the cowboy listened. The voice was one he had heard before but in
the stress of the moment he could not place it. He could feel that his wrists
had been loosed and lowered his arms slightly to relieve the numbing ache. He
looked at Red Fox; the chief was strutting to and fro, enjoying his triumph,
and seemed to be in no hurry to fetch his weapons.

 
          
Sudden
wanted him nearer.

 
          
“Red
Fox is clumsy,” he announced loudly. “An Apache or Kiowa boy could throw the
knife better.”

 
          
Like
a stung man the savage whirled, his dusky features aflame with fury.

 
          
“White
spawn!” he cried, “I will cut off your ears with the knives; I will pin your
fingers one by one to the tree.”

 
          
Haughtily
he stepped forward and that was the moment the victim had been waiting for.

 
          
Snatching
one of the knives, he balanced it on his palm for an instant, and then hurled
it at the advancing savage. With a strangled cry Red Fox crumpled up, the steel
buried to the haft in his throat.

 
          
For
one staggering moment there was silence and then the petrified onlookers saw
the man they had believed to be securely tied leap across the open space and
vanish into one of the tepees. The sight restored their power to move and with
a ferocious threatening howl, they rushed in pursuit.

 
          
Sudden
found the tepee empty. Buckling on his belt, he drew both guns and sprang to
the entrance. A surging wave of maddened redskins was sweeping down upon him,
and a cloud of arrows greeted his appearance, piercing the buffalo-hide walls
of the tepee, and whistling past his ears. His Colts spouted flame and before
that continuous hail of hurtling lead the charge withered and broke, the
Indians scattering in all directions. But he knew the respite was but
momentary; they would surround him, and then…. Reloading his weapons, he became
aware that someone had entered, and swung about. He saw a brown, paint-lined
face, feathered scalp-lock, and his thumb was on the point of releasing the
hammer when the intruder spoke:

 
          
“Hold
on thar, friend; I ain’t
no
war-whoop.”

 
          
It
was the voice of the man who had freed him, and now he remembered it as that of
the “still-hunter” who had come into their camp on the Colorado. Tyson gave him
no time for questions.

 
          
“The
gal is away on yore black an’ yore friend with her, though he balked some at
leavin’ yu,” he said. “There’s a hoss waitin’ an’ yu ain’t got but a minit—
them devils is
closin’ in, which is why they’ve stopped
yappin’.” He pointed to the back of the tepee, where a long slit in the hide
covering provided an exit, adding, “It’ll be nip an’ tuck as it is.”

 
          
“What
about yu?” the cowboy asked.

 
          
“I’m
stayin’,” was the jaunty reply. “I c’n pass as one of ‘ern an’ “—he chuckled
with sinister glee—“I’ll make me some converts.”

 
          
Sudden
did not attempt to dissuade him; Tyson evidently knew what he was about. He
held cut a hand.

 
          
“This
puts me deep in yore debt,” he said.

 
          
“Nary
a bit—I ain’t forgot that grub an’ smoking’,” was the reply.
“Head
due west an’ hump yoreself.”

 
          
Sudden
slid through the opening and found the horse. Being Indian property there was
no saddle, but the hackamore bridle was
all the
cowboy
needed and in a trice he was on the beast’s back and spurring for the open. A
shout of rage and a few spasmodic arrows greeted his appearance and a redskin
rose out of the long grass and sprang at him, only to go down with a shriek
under the plunging feet. A score of leaping strides and the fugitive knew that
he was safe for the time. He would be pursued, but the Indians had first to
secure their ponies and this would give him a fair start. Nevertheless, he
pressed on at full speed, casting an occasional glance at the trail, where the
prints of shod horses seemed to indicate that he was following his friends.

 
          
Unfortunately,
the nature of the country did not favour him, for though undulating, it was
open, offering little opportunity of keeping out of sight. Sadden had covered
but a few miles when, from the crest of a long slope, he saw the pair he was in
search of, and uttered a man-sized curse when he realized that they were
waiting for him. With a violent gesture he signed them to go on and let his own
mount feel the spurs. His greeting, when he ranged alongside, was hardly one of
gratitude.

 
          
“Have
yu lost yore wits?” he asked Sandy. “
yu
oughta be a
coupla miles farther away right now.”

 
          
“We
were anxious about you,” the girl explained. “I insisted on waiting.”

 
          
Sudden
looked around disgustedly. “There ain’t a hole we could hide in,” he said.

 
          
As
they surmounted another incline a faint whoop was borne to them on the breeze,
and back on the trail was a billowing cloud of dust in which tiny dark forms
could be dimly distinguished. Sudden’s lips clamped together as he studied the
animal he bestrode. Sandy was riding his own horse, which was a good one.

 
          
“Friend
Tyson don’t savvy ponies, or mebbe this is all he could lay his paws on,” he
commented. He reached over and removed his rifle from the saddle of the black,
and said to Sandy, “yu an’ Miss Carol go ahead; my hoss is fast for a mile or
two, but ain’t got no bottom.”

 
          
“Like
hell we will,” the boy retorted hotly. “What yu goin’ to do?”

 
          
“Stay
an’ argue with these copper-coloured gents. That’ll give yu time to get the
girl away—mebbe.”

 
          
Ere
Sandy could voice his objection to this proposal a fierce yell apprised them of
another factor to be considered, and effectually closed the argument. Less than
half a mile distant, and coming towards them, was another band of redskins who,
at the sight of the whites, quirted their ponies into a run. The fugitives were
between two fires. Sudden swung his horse to the right.

 
          
“Follow
me,” he cried. “We gotta find a better place than this to stand ‘em off.”

 
          
“Mebbe
they’ll scrap with each other an’ give us a chance to sneak off,” Sandy said
hopefully, as they raced at top speed across the plain.

 
          
“The
second
lot are
Comanches too,” Sudden told him, and
shot a hasty glance over his shoulder. “Hell, they’re gainin’. Head for that
bluff; it looks a likely spot.”