Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (34 page)

 
          
Silence
again ensued, broken only by an occasional shot when a cowboy fancied he
detected a movement in the scrub. Navajo was cursing.

 
          
“They
was
waitin’ for us, burn their souls,” he grated.
“Somebody musta tipped ‘em off—them fallen trees wasn’t no accident. I’m bettin’
it was Rogue, the….” A stream of obscenities followed, cut short by a glance at
the sky. “Hell!
th
’ moon’ll be up in less’n half an
hour an’ they’ll be able to pick us off like cottontails. We gotta rush ‘em
before then—it’s our on’y chanct.”

 
          
The
charge was made, and met—as before—with a leaden shower, but this time the
attackers were desperate. Though several dropped, the rest came on, climbed the
barricade, and leapt down upon its defenders. Most of the combatants having
emptied their weapons and reloading being an operation which required time, the
battle became one of single-handed encounters in which guns and pistols served
the purpose of clubs. Grunts, curses, and the thud of blows replaced the crash
of exploding powder.

 
          
Sudden,
having fired his last shot, bringing a man down, slipped aside just in time to
get his head out of the path of a swinging rifle-butt. Ere the wielder of the
weapon could recover his balance, the cowboy stepped in and drove a venomous
fist to his jaw. The fellow collapsed limply, dropping like a sack of meal, and
at the same instant, claw-like talons encircled Sudden’s neck from behind,
sinking into the flesh and shutting off his breath.

 
          
“Got
yu, yu damned spy,” came a sibilant hiss.

 
          
It
was Navajo. With all his weight on the cowboy’s back he was striving to fling
him to the ground. Sudden knew that would be the end and fought desperately to
keep his feet. But the strangling clutch on his wind-pipe was sapping his
strength, his lungs ached for air, sharp pains pierced his eyeballs and sight
seemed to be leaving him. With groping fingers he tried to loosen the
half-breed’s hold but it was of no use; the relentless fingers might have been
hooks of steel.

 
          
Then,
in despair, he savagely jabbed an. elbow backwards into the body behind him.
The result was magical; caught fairly in the solar plexus, Navajo’s hands fell
away, and he tottered back, gasping, helpless.

 
          
For
some seconds the cowboy could do no more than suck air into his starved lungs,
and then, seeing that his enemy was recovering, he ripped across a blow which
sent the outlaw reeling to earth. Snarling curses, he sprang up, and as Sudden
ran in, flung a handful of sand in his face, and bolted.
For
the moon was up and a quick glance had shown him that his men were scuttling
like rabbits.
Completely blinded by the stinging particles of grit,
Sudden could do no more than express himself, stamping about, dabbing his
smarting eyes with his neckerchief. So Sandy found him, listened awestruck for
a moment, and then, with a mischievous grin, remarked:

 
          
“
Don’t yu take no
notice, Miss Carol; I reckon he’s loco.”

 
          
The
irate cowboy whirled round, only to find he had been caught. The relief of the
discovery restored his good-humour. Somewhat ashamed of himself, he explained
the reason for the outburst.

 
          
“Tough
luck,” the boy commiserated. “What yu goin’ to do?”

 
          
“Search
out that pond,” Sudden replied. “I got half the Staked Plains in my eyes an’
the other half down my neck.”

 
          
“Hi,
yu wait till we’ve fed,” Sandy cried in affected alarm. “We gotta drink that
water.”

 
          
He
paused. “Not that I wanta stop yu from washin’, Gawd knows.”

 
          
Sudden
chuckled. “Talkin’ o’ washin’, I wonder how yu’d look with half yore head
scrubbed?” he queried.

 
          
“Yu
go to blazes,” Sandy retorted. “Poison the whole damn herd if yu gotta.”

 
          
The
foreman arrived, bringing the news that save for sundry slight wounds and
bruises, the outfit had come out of the ordeal unscathed. “I reckon we’ve
discouraged
them
cattlethieves a whole lot,” he
concluded grimly.

 
          
They
had; the struggling light of the dawn revealed the twisted, contorted bodies of
seven men between the brush and the barricade. Two prisoners had been taken and
now sat, with bound limbs, in a far corner of the camp. Rugged, ill-favoured
rogues, both of them,
stolidly refusing
to answer
questions.
yet
not without a certain courage. They
knew what was to come and could joke about it. One of them had awakened the
other.

 
          
“Take
a look at yore last sunrise, Hank,” he said. “
yu
don’t
wanta oversleep—it’s goin’ to be a mighty short day for us.”

 
          
“Shucks!”
the other replied. “We’ll have a long night to make up for it, hombre.”

 
          
They
fed and smoked, interestedly watching the preparations for breaking camp. When
the wagon rolled ponderously away, the foreman and three of the outfit remained
behind with two unsaddled horses. Sudden, the last to leave, saw that the
prisoners were lighting fresh cigarettes. He felt no pity for them; they had
gambled, lost, and must pay, but he had a swift vision of two limp forms
dangling in the sunlight-shafted shade of the trees, and was aware of a chilly
sensation in the region of his spine. He had come near to meeting the same
fate, and would yet if the sheriff of San Antonio or of Fourways laid hands on
him.

 
          
HE
was a long, scraggy fellow of middle-age, with a thin humorous face, and his
rig-out proclaimed that he had recently visited a settlement, clothes, saddle
and weapons being patently new. He came into view as they were about to
bed-down the herd, and Eden rode to meet him.

 
          
“Howdy,
friend,” the stranger opened, and then, as his gaze ranged over the milling
horde of lean-limbed, fierce-eyed beasts, with their wide-branching horns, he
added, “Where in hell have yu fetched ‘em from?”

 
          
Eden
laughed. “On’y from Texas,” he said. “We passed through the place yu
mentioned.”

 
          
Karson—so
the stranger named himself—told the rancher that Abilene was less than a dozen
miles distant.

 
          
“Mebbe
we can do business. I’m in these parts to buy cattle.”

 
          
“I’m
here to sell ‘em,” Eden replied, not too eagerly. The experiences of the past
few months had made him distrustful. The cattle-buyer slept in camp, having
decided to accompany them on the final day’s march. He advised that the herd be
halted a couple of miles short of Abilene, where there was good grazing.

 
          
“She’s
the toughest burg I ever see—an’ I’ve been in a few,” he said. “
yu
wanta warn yore boys to stick together an’ step light.
Crooked men, women, an’ games are as plenty as ticks on a cow.”

 
          
Darkness
was still distant when they sighted a haze of smoke on the horizon and realized
that the end of the long trail was within reach. But no more than that, for
until the herd was sold, the cowboys would lack money, and to visit town
without anything to spend would be worse than not going at all.
So.
when
the cattle were bunched
and bedded on a raised stretch covered with short curly grass, it was but a
small party which headed for Abilene; Karson, Eden, and the women would stay
the night there, and the foreman had urged that Sudden should go also.

 
          
“Like
enough Baudry an’ that Navajo fella is infestin’ the place,” he said. “‘Sides,
yu may need to send me a word.”

 
          
They
reached the town as dusk was falling. After months in the silent wilderness the
noise and bustle amazed them. The principal street, a dusty strip between two
rows of flimsy buildings, was ant-like in its activity, thronged with a
hustling horde. Loaded freight wagons, driven by bull-voiced, blasphemous men
churned up the surface, filling the air with a grey powdery deposit which
covered everyone and everything; reckless riders flickered to and fro, swinging
their mounts dexterously around pedestrians; at the hitch-rails stood rows of
patient ponies, heads down, tails swishing in an endless battle against a myriad
flies.
From the windows of saloons.
dance-halls
,
and gambling “joints” came a warm glow as the lamps within were lighted.

 
          
Karson
conducted them to his hotel, where they secured rooms and dined. Then he
carried the cattleman off to “take in the town.” Eden, having warned his
daughter to remain indoors, told Sudden he was at liberty to amuse
himself
. The cowboy did not like this arrangement, but could
hardly protest.

 
          
Leaving
the hotel, he mingled with the motley mob streaming along the street.

 
          
At
the door of the Palace Saloon he
hesitated
a momentand
then went in. Ordering a modest drink he leant against the bar, studying the
ebb and flow of mixed humanity, drinking, gambling, and exulting or complaining
as fortune favoured or flouted them. A bleary-eyed individual sidled up to him.

 
          
“Yo’re
a stranger,” he accused, shooting out a grimy finger. “Yu must be a magician,”
the cowboy quizzed.

 
          
“I
ain’t, but I savvy all the fellas in this yer burg,” the other replied. He
pointed to a big, red-faced, flashily dressed man near the bar. “Know who that
is?
Mick Donagh, owner o’ this joint.
They say he’s
good for a hundred thousand dollars.”

 
          
The
corner of the cowboy’s eyes crinkled up. “What of it?” he asked lazily. “I’d be
good my own self for a lot less’n that.”

 
          
The
bleary citizen decided to take this in a friendly spirit; the nonchalant young
stranger did not look too easy.

 
          
“I’m
bettin’ yu would,” he agreed. “Me too, don’t yu reckon?”

 
          
This
time he got it straight from the shoulder. “Yu?” the cowboy drawled. “I’d
figure yu good—for—nothin’.”

 
          
The
level look which accompanied the contemptuous speech apprised the bleary one
that he had selected the wrong victim, and muttering something about “fresh
fellas,” he drifted away.

 
          
His
place was soon taken by a short, pot-bellied man with mean little eyes and a
ludicrous air of importance.

 
          
“I’m
the town marshal o’ this yer city,” he began pompously.

 
          
Sudden
regarded him gravely.
“That so?
What am I s’posed to
do—throw a fit—or somethin’?” he inquired.

 
          
The
marshal’s bloated face got redder. “I can tell yu what yu ain’t s’posed to do
an’ that’s wear them guns,” he snapped. “It’s agin the law. I’ll trouble yu to
hand ‘em to me.”

 
          
Sudden’s
eyes narrowed. “I hate trouble,” he said. His gaze swept over the room, noting
that nearly every man in it wore a weapon. “Why start on me? Clean up on them
others an’—I’ll think about it.”

 
          
“Yo’re
a newcomer; I know them fellas,” was the lame reply. “
yeah
,
that’s where the rope rubs—I don’t know ‘em,” the cowboy said quietly. “See
here, marshal, I’m attached to my guns an’ they’re attached to me”—he
smiled—“partin’ would be—difficult. Don’t yu reckon yu’d better take a drink
instead?”

 
          
Looking
into those frosty grey-blue eyes and observing the lean, out-thrust jaw, the
officer discovered that he was thirsty

 
          
“I’m
trustin’ yu not to raise
no
ruckus,” he said.