Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (12 page)

 
          
A
little way out of town he waited, and presently Larry came loping up. The
little man cut short his thanks.

 
          
“Nothin’
to that,” he said. “It was a plain frame-up. I was watchin’ an’ yu never
touched the fella; he was there a-purpose, an’ he was sent for when they see yu
come in. I couldn’t place him at once, but after yu handed out that wallop it
came to me. His name’s Shadwell, but he’s generally known as `Shady’, which
shore described him to a dot. He’s a gunman, an’ fast. Whyfor did yu make that
fool offer to cut the cards? S’pose the sheriff had took yu up?”

 
          
The
foreman laughed. “I knew he wouldn’t—he’s yellow right through,” he said. “It
warn’t meant for him. An’ it ain’t quite the same as an ordinary gun play where
there’s allus the chance o’ bein’ a split-second quicker’n the other fella.
Cuttin’ the cards for first shot is a cold gamble, live or die, an’ it wants a
hell of a lot o’ nerve to sit into a game like that. Some o’ the men in the
saloon
who knew I was talkin’ at Bartholomew, are thinkin’
he oughta called me, an’ that’s why I made the play. Yu thought I was just
grand-standin’?”

 
          
“I
thought yu was bein’ the natural dam fool yu are an’ takin’ an unnecessary
risk,” came the blunt answer.

 
          
“It’s
the loss in prestige, Larry,” Severn pointed out, his voice serious but his
eyes twinkling. “Yu gotta consider the psychological aspect.”

 
          
“Aw
right, professor, I pass,” that young man interjected hurriedly.

 
          
To
Phil Masters at the Lazy M ranch, the days came and went with leaden feet, and
with the passing of each one, her hopes of again seeing her father grew
fainter.

 
          
So
far as the ranch was concerned, work went on as usual, and she realised with
some bitterness that the absence of the master was making no difference. Severn
seemed to get on well with the men.

 
          
Passing
the foreman’s hut, she saw the door was open, and the curiosity of her sex
demanded a peep within. The room was empty, but in one corner stood a
Winchester rifle, at the sight of which she stopped as though a bullet from it
had struck her. She was about to step inside to examine it when a low, throaty
rumble halted her, and she saw Quirt regarding her with questioning eyes. While
she was hesitating she heard a step behind her, and turned to face the foreman.

 
          
“Did
yu want to see me?” he asked.

 
          
“Yes,
but your dog appears to have other views,” she replied.

 
          
He
called the animal, which came with a bound and squatted beside him. Even in the
short time since she had first seen the dog it had grown appreciably, and she
commented on the fact.

 
          
“Good
grub an’ a lazy time will work wonders,” he smiled. “If yu stroke his head
he’ll know yu are a friend, an’ remember.”

 
          
She
looked at him sharply, and then did as he suggested. Quirt submitted to the
caress, and again she was conscious of the feeling of revolt against the will
power of its master; everybody and everything seemed to do as he desired. Even
she—
Abruptly
she turned upon him.

 
          
“That
is my father’s gun,” she said, pointing. “How does it come to be there?”

 
          
Severn
hesitated, conscious that she was watching him narrowly, but his face betrayed
no emotion, though he was inwardly cursing himself for not having put the
weapon where it would not be so easily seen.

 
          
“I
found it,” he said, and, anticipating her next question, “It was the day before
I took the herd to the XT. I was ridin’ up that way when a fella cut down on me
from cover an’ I had to deal with him; the gun was beside the body.”

 
          
“You
killed him?”

 
          
“Shore.
It was him or me.”

 
          
“Who
was it?” she asked, and he could read the horrified conjecture in her eyes.

 
          
“The
Mexican—Ignacio,” he told her.

 
          
“Ignacio?
And you suggest he killed my father?” she cried,
incredulously. “Why didn’t you tell me at the time?”

 
          
“It
don’t
amount to anythin’—the Greaser may have found or
stolen the gun,” Severn pointed out. “I didn’t want to worry yu.”

 
          
The
girl’s face was pale and tense, her hands clenched until the knuckles showed
white beneath the skin, and her big brown eyes were stormy. His excuse brought
a disfiguring curl to her lips.

 
          
“Where
is Ignacio’s body?” was her next question.

 
          
“I
don’t know,” the foreman said. “It vanished from where I left it—complete.”

 
          
“And
do you expect me to believe this—story?” she asked sarcastically.

 
          
“No,”
replied Severn, and his voice was hard and even-toned. “I don’t expect yu to
believe anythin’ I say, Miss Masters, because yu have been told different, but
yore not believin’ it doesn’t alter the truth.”

 
          
With
a look which clearly expressed her contempt, the girl turned away. The foreman
looked after her; his jaw was set grimly, but his eyes were soft.

 
          
“The
Princess continues to have no sorta use for us, Quirt,” he said, scratching the
dog’s head. “She’s thinkin’ now I bumped off her daddy an’ I dunno as I blame
her; she’s havin’ a tough time.”

 
          
Phil,
turning as she entered the ranch-house, saw the dog standing on its hind-legs,
enthusiastically endeavouring to lick its master’s face and getting its ears
playfully cuffed. Her anger blazed anew.

 
          
“The
brute!” she exploded, and it was very evident she was not referring to the dog.
“Bartholomew was right—there must be a conspiracy. Oh, if I find that man
killed my daddy, I’ll never rest till he is hanged.”

 
          
The
second warning arrived in the same mysterious manner as the first, a few
mornings after Severn’s visit to Hope. The paper and crude lettering were
identical, and even the wording had a like laconic similarity, for it
read :

 
          
“If
yu leave yore cash in the bank yu’ll lose it.

 
          
A FRIEND.”

 
          
Severn
pondered over it. What did it mean, and where did it come from? The only
possible source he could think of was Darby, who being at the Lazy M, as he
thought likely, to spy for Bart, might be turning down his old boss for his
new, in gratitude for his life. However that might be, there the warning was,
and having decided to act upon it, he headed for the town. Though he did not
imagine there was need for haste, he rode at a sharp pace and reached his
destination before eleven o’clock.

 
          
He
offered no explanation to the bank manager, but, having drawn the money in
one-hundred-dollar bills, thrust it into his pocket and went along to Bent’s.
In the saloon he got a surprise, for Ridge was there, laughing uproariously at
something the saloon-keeper had told him.

 
          
“Severn,
I’m shakin’ with yu,” he cried, extending a handlike a young ham. “I
just been
hearin’ how yu threw another monkey-wrench into
Bartholomew’s works.”

 
          
The
foreman gripped and grinned. “I got a rooted objection to gun-barrels in my
ribs,” he said. “Fussy o’ me, p’raps, but there yu are.”

 
          
“It’s
done Bart more harm than a public lickin’,” said Bent. “The whole town’s
talkin’ about it. As for Tyler, it’s made his life a misery; everybody’s askin’
him to cut the cards. What’s brought yu in agin so soon, Severn?”

 
          
The
Lazy M man showed them the warning, and told them of the other he had received.

 
          
“I
dunno who sent it, or what the fella’s drivin’ at, but I’m playin’ it to win,
like it did the first time,” he said. “Who’s back o’ that bank?”

 
          
“Well,
it’s called the Pioneer Banking Corporation, but I’ve a suspicion that’s just a
fancy title an’ the real owner is Rapson, the manager,” Bent told him. “He’s
been here some time an’ is reckoned straight. I got a bit there I don’t wanta
lose.”

 
          
“Same here.
I’m goin’ to follow yore hunch, Severn,” Ridge
said. “So the White Masks took a chance at yu, eh?”

 
          
“Two
fellas with their faces draped did, an’ that was all they took,” Severn smiled.
“Know anybody around here named `Slick’?”

 
          
“A
chap called Slick Renny used to ride for Bart but he left the neighbourhood
over a year ago,” Bent said, and Severn did not pursue the inquiry.

 
          
“Who
does that old ruined cabin way up the creek towards the Bar B belong to?” he
asked.
“Looks a likely location.”

 
          
“That’s
what the fella who built it thought—a nester o’ the name o’ Forby—but he
figured wrong,” the saloon-keeper said. “Yu see, Bart regards it as on his
range.”

 
          
“What
happened?”

 
          
“Accordin’
to Bart, the nester pulled his freight an’ burned the shack outa spite, but
some of us has other ideas. There’s fools as say the place is ha’nted, an’ on’y
a week or so ago, Old Spilkins come bustin’ in here with the story that he’d
seen a shadder hangin’ another shadder on the big cottonwood by the cabin, but
he was middlin’ full o’ rye at the time an’ liable to see anythin’.”

 
          
After
the customary round of drinks the men separated, and Severn, who had no other
business in town, rode back towards the ranch.

 
          
He
was within a few miles of the ranch when he turned off the trail, heading for
the southern boundary of the range, an area he had not yet explored. He found
that the grazing, doubtless owing to the nearness of the desert, was not so
good; there were few cattle, and he saw none of the outfit. Realising that his
mount was tired he took things easily, and did not reach the Lazy M until
daylight was fading. Outside the corral the men were unsaddling. Suddenly came
the distant pound of hoofs and along the trail they could see a dark blob which
became rapidly larger.

 
          
“Won’t
be that gent’s fault if he’s late,” remarked Big Boy, as he watched the
oncoming rider. “He’s shore hittin’ her up a few.”

 
          
“Why,
it’s Gentle Annie!” cried Bones.
“Must be a man after her.”

 
          
The
burst of laughter this sally produced had but died away when Linley dashed up
and pulled his pony to a sliding stop, the dug-in hoofs sending up clouds of
dust.

 
          
“Anyone
chasin’ yu, Gentle?” queried Larry, and when the boy shook his head, he
added :
“Well, yu needn’t to have hurried, supper ain’t
ready yet.”

 
          
“Yo’re
a nice lot, ain’t yu?” Linley retorted, surveying the grinning faces around
him. “Yu don’t deserve to know.” He leaned forward in his saddle and scanned
them carefully. “Wonder which of ‘em was in it?” he speculated aloud.

 
          
Severn
saw that the boy had news.

 
          
“Better
spill it,
Gentle
, ‘fore they shake it out o’ yu,” he
suggested.

 
          
Linley
grinned at his foreman and delivered his tidings with dramatic suddenness. “The
bank at Hope has been cleaned out an’ Rapson perforated,” he stated.