Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (3 page)

 
          
“No.
Would he he likely to tell a stranger his business?”

 
          
“Mebbe.
Jud was allus a trustful kind o’ cuss. I’m sayin’
:e
did, an’ that yu laid for him, an’ helped yoreself.” The
accused man shrugged his shoulders. “If yu can find hat amount o’ coin on me …”

 
          
“I
ain’t expectin’ to,” Mallick cut in. “yu wouldn’t be such a damn fool as to
tote it round with yu.”

 
          
“An’
I wouldn’t be such a damn fool as to come here a-tall,” the young man retorted
hotly.

 
          
“Shucks,
yu figured him cashed, an’ that trail ain’t used much.” the other countered. He
turned as the door swung back to admit a tall, cadaverous man whose bent
shoulders were encased in a long, shabby black coat. “How’s yore patient, doc?”

 
          
“He’s
powerful bad,” replied the man of medicine, grabbing the glass the
saloon-keeper pushed out. “I’m afraid Jud is peekin’ through the pearly gates
right now.”

 
          
A
growl of anger from those present greeted the news and the sheriff’s mean eyes
shifted to the stranger.

 
          
“That
settles it, young fella,” he said. “I’m holdin’ yu, an’ if Jud ain’t able to
clear yu in the mornin’
… ”
The unfinished sentence
was charged with menace. “Take his hardware,” he added.

 
          
Jim’s
glance swept swiftly over the company and read the grim faces. If Jud died—and
he was not too sure they would even wait for that—he was doomed to a shameful
end. The odds were impossible, but if he must die, it should be fighting. He
had a shrewd suspicion that the sheriff did not care whether he was guilty—he
wanted a victim. Well, he would get one, but not easily.

 
          
In
obedience to Mallick’s order, two of the bystanders stepped forward and reached
for the weapons. Instantly the motionless figure came to life, the hanging
fists shot out right and left, and the unsuspecting men went down as though
struck by lightning. With a bellow of rage the sheriff snatched out his gun,
only to drop it and clutch his right wrist in agony as a bullet smashed it. For
though no man saw how it came about, both the stranger’s Colts were out and
spitting lead. Through the swirling smoke they got a glimpse of him, his young
face tense and savage, his guns held at a hip level.

 
          
“Come
on, yu curs,” he taunted, and sent a shot crashing into one of the lamps.

 
          
The
invitation was unnecessary; they meant to have him nd he knew it. To shoot him
down would have been easy, but that was not what they wanted. With a sudden
surge they drove forward. Three times he fired, aiming low—he had no desire to
kill any of them—and then one of the men he had felled clutched him round the
knees. Thrown violently backwards, Jim had to drop his guns and grab a nearby
chair to keep his feet. He kicked himself free, felt his boot-heel impact on
flesh and bone, and they were upon him. Swinging the chair above his head he
flailed the leaders with it. Two went down groaning, and of the weapon only the
back remained in his grasp. With this and his fist he continued the unequal
contest until a blow from behind brought him to his knees and the human
avalanche submerged him.

 
          
For
a few hectic moments the cowboy struck or kicked whenever he could free a limb
but at last the writhing tangle broke up to disclose a battered, unconscious
form on the floor. The sheriff regarded it with savage satisfaction.

 
          
“Tie
an’ chuck him in the calaboose,” he ordered. “He’ll pay for this, even if Jud
comes through.”

 
          
When
the prisoner had been carried away, willing hands helped to straighten up the
battlefield, rearranging overturned tables and chairs and removing fragments of
others. The saloon-keeper’s expression was one of deep disgust.

 
          
“Many
customers like him an’ this business would be plain hell,” he remarked.

 
          
“Allasame,
he put up the purtiest scrap agin odds I ever see, an’ warn’t he sudden?”

 
          
“Sudden?”
ejaculated the man who had received the first blow, tenderly touching a swollen
jaw. “I reckon yu said it, Teddy. `Sudden’ describes him from hair to
toe-nails; we’ll have to christen him thatt Set ‘em up, of hoss.”

 
          
The
idea appealed to their sense of humour, and with jesting comments, they drank
to the new name of the man they had fought with, and whom they would just as
cheerfully help to hang. The sheriff, cursing as the doctor bandaged his
damaged wrist, contributed a grim witticism:

 
          
“Mister
Sudden’ll come to a sudden end in the mornin’.”

 
          
“An’
that’ll be a pity,” the medico smiled, as he surveyed the group of patients
awaiting his services. “He’d make my fortune if he settled here.”

 
          
At
which even some of the sufferers grinned. After all, though about a dozen had
been more or less crippled, no one had been killed, a fact to which the
saloon-keeper drew attention:

 
          
“I’m
bettin’—if he’d wanted to—he could ‘a’ turned three or four o’ yu into cold
meat,” was how he put it. “I was watchin’ an’ them guns ‘peared to leap into
his paws.
yu
can gamble he can use ‘em; yore head is a
bigger mark than yore wrist, sheriff.”

 
          
Mallick
turned a malignant eye upon him. “Why not make a gory hero out’n this murderin’
thief an’ be done with it?” he sneered. “Jud’ll be pleased.”

 
          
“Sheriff’s
right, Teddy,” another chimed in, whose un-leasing countenance a pair of
blackening eyes did not improve. `The fella’s a bad actor. I ain’t shore we
oughtn’t to stretch him right away.”

 
          
“He’ll
keep,” Mallick said darkly.

 
          
The
Fourways gaol was a small, one-roomed hut built of stout logs, the iron-barred
window a foot square, and the sole furniture a rough bench along the back. It
was on the hard-packed earthen floor of this place that the man from Crawling
Creek came back to consciousness, his bemused mind groping for an explanation.
His hands were tied, his head throbbed, and when he attempted to move, his body
appeared to be one big bruise. The pain stirred his sluggish memory and his
swollen lips twisted in a lop-sided grin.

 
          
“‘Pears
like they got me,” he muttered. “She was shorely a great little battle—while
she lasted.”

 
          
For
a while he
lay
there, supine, content to remain just
still, idly speculating upon what was to come.

 
          
“Wonder
how Jud is makin’ it? If he passes out …” The reflection was not conductive to
comfort. The wounded man was his only hope, a poor one at that, after the
happenings in the saloon.

 
          
“Mebbe
I’d oughta give in,” he told himself, and then, “Shucks, that sheriff was sot
on swingin’ me anyways.”

 
          
It
was very dark and no sound came from the town; he judged that the night must be
well advanced. Despite his bound wrists, he managed to find the “makings” and
construct a cigarette.

 
          
He
had but just lighted it when a faint chink of metal against metal and a
muttered oath came from outside. His first thought was that some of the
citizens had grown impatient, but the lack of noise argued against that;
lynchers would be in force and would care little if they were heard. A slight
creak followed, and the darkness was less deep where the door had been. A
shadow slipped into the hut, paused on the threshold, and chuckled as the
prisoner became dimly visible.

 
          
“
Yo’re a nervy cuss
,” the visitor said gruffly, “but I guess
yu ain’t anxious to figure in a necktie-party?”

 
          
“Yu
don’t need to guess again,” was the reply. “It’s an interestin’ sight but
lookin’ at it through the loop of a rope don’t improve it any.”

 
          
“My
sentiments exactly,” the unknown agreed. He cut the captive’s bonds. “
Here’s yore guns—
the sheriff thinks he’s got ‘em.” He
laughed quietly. “
yore
hogs is outside—saddled; yu’d
better stretch him. I’m tellin’ yu plenty serious this burg has on’y one use
for yu.”

 
          
In
the faint grey light outside, Jim studied his liberator but could make little
of him. A square, stocky figure of medium height, dressed in range rig, with
hat-brim pulled down and a bandana covering the lower part of his face. His
low, husky voice had a curious metallic timbre.

 
          
“I
like to pay my debts, an’ I shorely owe yu a lot,” the young man said.

 
          
“Nothin’
to that,”
came
the quick reply. “I’m payin’ one my own
self—yu done me a good turn tonight. Mebbe we’ll meet again.”

 
          
It
was plain that he wished to remain unknown, and Jim swung into the saddle. “If
we do yu can count on me to the limit,” he said simply.

 
          
“Get
agoin’,” the stranger replied. “Adios—Sudden,” and the chuckle was once more
in-evidence.

 
          
At
a walking pace the fugitive passed through the silent town, the deep dust of
the street muffling the horse’s footsteps. Once clear of the buildings, he
patted the sleek neck and Nigger settled down to a steady lope which would
devour distance and leave the animal still fresh.

 
          
The
rider, greedily drinking in the cool air, was conscious of a fierce elation in
his freedom. For Jim knew that he had escaped an ignominious death only by the
good offices of a stranger. Who was this man, and why had he intervened? What
was the “good turn” to which he had referred?

 
          
“Mebbe
he was thankin’ me for cripplin’ the sheriff,” Jim reflected. “I’d say Mallick
ain’t liked overmuch.”

 
          
It
came into his mind that his deliverer had called him “Sudden,” and the mystery
seemed to be solved.

 
          
“Took
me for some other fella, shore enough,” he concluded. “Wonder who this `Sudden’
person is, anyways?”

 
          
He
was to learn, ere many days, and get no joy of the knowledge.

 
          
SEVERAL
days of wandering in the wilds—for he had avoided the regular trails—brought
the man from Crawling Creek to San Antonio, at that time the Mecca of the
cattleman, and the happy-hunting ground of the gambler and desperado. Though
Jim still mourned the loss of his only friend, change of scene had dulled the ache.
A young and vigorous man, with a good horse between his knees, and all his life
before him, cannot long remain a prey to melancholy. But his determination to
find and punish Evesham’s enemies had not lessened.

 
          
Since
his hurried departure from Fourways he had not seen a human being, sleeping
with his saddle for a pillow, and living upon the game his gun had procured.
His first thought now was for a square meal for himself and his mount. These
were soon found, and leaving the animal in the livery stable, he set out to
“take in the town.”

 
          
Though
there were many people about, most of
whom
seemed to
have something to do, no one hurried. Huge wagons, drawn by sleepy-eyed oxen,
plodded through the street, the great creaking wheels revolving slowly; the
caballeros,
picturesquely attired and mounted on magnificent
steeds, paced by to dismount gracefully but without exertion at a store or
saloon.

 
          
The
manana spirit of Old Mexico was all-pervading.

 
          
About
to enter the Buckhorn Saloon, that famous rendezvous, the Texan paused
abruptly, his eye caught by a single word on a square of paper affixed to the
wall.