Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) (7 page)

 
          
“Thank
you,” she said, holding out a slim, gauntleted hand. Then, as her frank brown
eyes studied this stranger who had so providentially come to her rescue, she
saw blood on the collar of his shirt. “But you are hurt,” she cried. ’

 
          
“On’y
a scratch—mebbe,” he smiled.

 
          
“We’ll
wash and tie up that scratch,” she said, and though he protested, had her way.

 
          
When
the job was done to her satisfaction and they were in the saddle again, she
turned to him with a smile.

 
          
“I
am Carol Eden,” she told him. “The S E ranchhouse is only about eight miles
from here and my father will want to thank you.”

 
          
“Why,
there ain’t no need—” he began, but she cut the protest short.

 
          
“He
will think there is, and I agree with him. Besides, there may be other Indians
about.”

 
          
This
was an unanswerable argument and again Sudden had to give in; he was beginning
to realize that here was a young woman who usually got what she wanted. Riding
side by side along the ravine he had an opportunity to study her more closely.
She rode astride, cowboy fashion, and was clearly at home in the saddle, her
slender form swaying in rhythm with the movements of her mount. Her neat
shirt-waist, divided skirt, and riding-boots with tiny silver spurs provided a
costume which showed her youthful figure to advantage. From beneath the
broad-brimmed felt hat peeped rebellious brown curls which the sunlight turned
to copper. He noted the wide-spaced brown eyes, the straight little nose, the
firm but rounded chin, and spoke his thought:

 
          
“Yu
didn’t oughta be ridin’ alone so far from home.” For a moment he feared she
would resent the remark as
an impertinence
, and then
she smiled. “I know it. Dad warned me, but I thought the Indians were quiet
now.
you
see, I have been East, at college, for some
time.”

 
          
“Injuns
is never quiet till they’re like—him,” the young man said grimly, with a jerk
of his thumb backwards. “I’d oughta got that other; I’ve a hunch I’ll be seein’
him again.”

 
          
“I
hope I don’t,” the girl said fervently. “I’ll never forget that hideous painted
face. If you hadn’t come …”

 
          
To
take her away from the subject he mentioned that he too had recently returned
from the East, and she looked at him with a new interest.

 
          
“Would
you care to live there?” she asked.

 
          
He
shook his head and smiled. “I couldn’t stand it,” he confessed. “This is my
country; a man can breathe without feel-in’ he’s robbin’ another fella of air;
there’s room for all.”

 
          
“Except
the Indian,” she said, a little sadly.

 
          
“Why,
yo’re right,” he agreed. “An’ it’s shorely an odd thought that the time is
comin’ when, in this vast land, there won’t be a place for the men who once
owned it all. When the buffalo an’ the game have gone, the redskin will follow.

 
          
He
ain’t adaptable; educate him all yu please an’ he’s still a savage at heart.”

 
          
“A
case of the survival of the fittest?” she suggested.

 
          
“No,
ma’am,” her companion replied. “The Injun will lie, steal, an’ murder, but if
yo’re his friend he’ll die for yu. Some o’ the white men who are wipin’ him out
will do all
them
things an’ sell their own kin for a
few dollars. On top o’ that, the red man is a healthy hater.”

 
          
“You
rate that a virtue?” she said surprisedly.

 
          
He
nodded, his face—which when he smiled was that of a boy—hard and grim as
granite.

 
          
The
look warned her that she had plumbed hidden depths and aroused her woman’s
curiosity; in the hope that he would respond in kind, she went on to speak of
herself. He learned that she was not really an Eden, the rancher having adopted
her some years earlier, when the death of her father—his old friend—left her
unprotected.

 
          
“He
has been very, very good to me,” she finished softly. Her innocent little ruse
proved unsuccessful. He told her his name and that was all. When she ventured a
half-question, she received—as she had feared—only a half-answer:

 
          
“I’m
just takin’ a look at the country,” he said.

 
          
“I’m
glad you chose this bit of it to-day,” Carol smiled. “We are near the ranch; I
must prepare for a tongue-lashing from Dad.”

 
          
“He
needn’t to know,” Sudden pointed out. “Yo’re safe now; I can fade—”

 
          
“No,
I’ll take my medicine,” she told him, and in mock reproach, “I shall begin to
think you don’t like your company.”

 
          
The
cowboy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I could bear to be with yu a whole lot,
ma’am,” he said gravely.

 
          
THE
S E ranchhouse was not beautiful but was eminently adapted to the purpose for
which it had been erected. It stood in the middle of a small, level plain which
afforded no cover whatever for an attacking
force
, and
the walls, constructed of squared logs, were loop-holed on all sides. Of one
storey only, it comprised a large living-room, bedrooms, and a kitchen.

 
          
Immediately
behind was an ample corral, and to the left, a bunkhouse for the outfit, a barn
and smithy.

 
          
On
the broad, covered porch which extended along the front of the building two men
were sitting. The elder, short, big-shouldered, dressed in range rig, was Sam
Eden, owner of the ranch. Though he was past fifty, only his iron-grey hair
betrayed the fact; the keen blue eyes, firm lips beneath a clipped moustache,
and pugnacious jaw all spoke of virility; the deep cleft between the bushy
brows told of temper.

 
          
The
other man was of a different type. Tall, not yet forty, his fleshy, clean-shaven
face appeared unusually pale in that land of bronzed skins. It was not an
attractive face—the flattish nose, rather prominent eyes, and thick lips had a
negroid
character, and in fact, Jethro Baudry had sometimes
been described as a “white nigger.” His attire formed a striking contrast to
that of his host: a “boiled” shirt, neatly-tied cravat, and long black Prince
Albert coat. His hands were carefully tended: they had to be, for Baudry was by
profession a gambler, though he was now sitting in a bigger game. His
expressionless gaze studied the man before him.

 
          
“So
you are going to take the chance, Sam?” he said.

 
          
“Shore
I am—nothin’ else for it,” the rancher replied. “Yu see, Jethro, I want things
clear for Carol—case anythin’ happens to me.
Sabe?”

 
          
“You
don’t think I’d press her, do you?” Baudry asked. “No; but yo’re mortal too,
an’ gamblin’ aint the safest callin’,” Eden replied bluntly.

 
          
“I
can take care of myself,” Baudry said with a thin smile. “Still, there’s the
chance.

 
          
Setting
that aside, you know I’m willing to wait?”

 
          
“Shore,
yu’ve been mighty good lettin’ me have the coin, Jethro,” the rancher said
warmly. “But think of it, man; a hundred thousand acres that, in a few years’
time,
may be worth as many dollars as I’ve paid cents for ‘em.
Wouldn’t yu wanta feel it really belonged to yu?”

 
          
Actually
the gambler was feeling just that, but his bland features expressed nothing of
the greed which possessed him.

 
          
“Natural
enough; but these big drives are risky they tell me,” he rejoined. “You may
lose your herd.”

 
          
“I’m
losin’ ‘em anyway,” the cattleman said bitterly; and reading the question in
the other’s eyes, “Yeah, rustlers, o’ course. It’s an easy play; the beasts is
scattered in the brush an’ a lot must be unbranded; our roundups aint been too
thorough the last year or so—I couldn’t afford a large outfit —an’ what was the
use when all yu could get for a steer was a few dollars for the hide an’
taller?
An’ for that yu gotta drive ‘em to a coast-town,
which cut the profit to near nothin’ a-tall.

 
          
“Now,
they tell me, it’s different; the East needs beef; the Gov’ment wants it to
feed the Injuns on the reservations when they can git the war-whoops to stay on
‘em; the northern ranchers have discovered that the buffalo grass on their big
plains will fatten cows, an’ they’re lookin’ for stock. There’s a shippin’
point at Abilene, Kansas, an’ beasts worth little more’n nothin’ here will
fetch as much as fifteen dollars or more apiece.”

 
          
“Certainly
sounds good,” the younger man said.
“If you can make it.”

 
          
“I
gotta make it, or bust,” Eden said grimly. “Anyways, yo’re sittin’ pretty,
Jethro; if I win through, yu get yore dinero; if I don’t, the ranch is yores;
yu needn’t to worry.”

 
          
“I
don’t intend to,” Baudry assured him; and again a fleet ing smile swept over
his pale face. Then he asked casually, “Any news of that son of yours?”

 
          
The
rancher’s brows met in a heavy frown. “I’ve no son,” he said harshly. “When he
went from here he stepped outa my life; I’ll be glad if yu’ll remember that,
Jethro.” And, after a pause,

 
          
“No, I ain’t heard nothin’.”

 
          
The
other made no comment, but in his eyes there was a gleam of satisfaction.

 
          
“When
do you expect to start north?”

 
          
“Soon as we can gather an’ road-brand a sizable herd.
Hello,
who’s that with Carol?”

 
          
The
girl and her companion, having left their mounts at the corral, had suddenly
appeared round the end of the ranchhouse. Baudry rose and bowed to the lady,
whose expression did not convey too warm a welcome. Murmuring a formal
greeting, she turned to the cattleman.

 
          
“Dad,
this is Mister Green, and I’ve brought him, much against his wish”—she smiled
at the culprit—“because I knew you would want to thank him.”

 
          
In
a few words she told the story of her adventure and Sam Eden’s face paled
beneath its tan as he comprehended the terrible fate she had so narrowly
escaped. Impulsively his hand went out.

 
          
“Young
fella,” he said, “if there’s anythin’ I’ve got an’ yu want, name it.
yu
couldn’t ‘a’ done me a greater service.” Sudden gripped
the proffered fist. “It don’t need speakin’ of, seh,” he said. “I happened to
be handy, an’ …” He bogged down and looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

 
          
The
rancher realized his feelings; he knew the breed—they would rather oe blamed
than thanked. He turned to the girl.

 
          
“As
for yu, miss, didn’t I tell yu” he began sternly. Before he could say any more
her arm was through his and her cheek against his shoulder.

 
          
“Now
don’t be an old bear; I’ll ‘fess up,” she smiled. “Of course you warned me, and
I was wrong to go so far, but I didn’t think of Indians.”

 
          
“It
ain’t on’y them pesky critters,” the old man growled. “
yu
might ‘a’ met up with some o’ Rogue’s Riders—his hide out is somewhere around.”
He looked at the cowboy quizzically. “Yu don’t happen to belong to that gang,
do yu?”