Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (33 page)

 
          
“Plugged
through the forehead,” he pronounced. “An’ he had his gun out.” He pointed to
where the weapon lay in a patch of sand. Bart shot a furious look at Severn.

 
          
“This
is yore work, damn yu!” he snarled. “Yu broke gaol to do it. Well, yu’ll be
takin’ his place.”

 
          
His
rage was largely assumed; inwardly he experienced a feeling of relief. Pennon
knew too much, and also, would have wanted too much. Once Severn was settled
with, his way was clear, for he did not doubt he could bring the girl to her
senses, and Embley would do what was required or follow Severn. Once again
Lufton called on the sheriff to perform his duty, and Tyler moved forward, only
to shrink back when a gun was thrust in his face.

 
          
“I
warn you all that the act you are about to commit is unlawful,” the judge
quavered.

 
          
Jeers
answered him. The finding of Penton’s body had put the finishing touch,
bringing to the surface the blood lust that lies dormant in most men. Pulled
from his horse, the prisoner was placed beneath the tree, the rope flung over
the branch and gripped by three self-appointed executioners. Standing there,
waiting for the word which would hurl him into eternity, Severn gazed
indifferently at the ring of brutal faces. Behind them he could see Larry,
furious with despair, Bent, and some of the more sober citizens. Bartholomew,
Lufton and the sheriff were standing together, and a few yards away, leaning
against a tree, was Snap Lunt, apparently taking no interest in the
proceedings. But Severn was not deceived, and wondered what desperate scheme
the gunman was devising; for he knew Snap, knew that he would face any odds and
go down biting to the last.

 
          
A
little breeze which tempered the heat of the sun and stirred the leaves to a
gentle murmur, the piping of the birds, and the gurgling laughter of the water
as it tumbled over the stones in the creek-bed, combined to create a scene
violently at variance with the tragedy about to be enacted.

 
          
SOON
after the procession to Forby’s had set out on its mission of vengeance, a
visitor
came
riding into Hope. He was a short, rather
corpulent man of about fifty, dressed in a dark coat, trousers folded neatly
into the tops of his high boots, a soft black hat, and carefully-tied cravat.
He wore no weapons in sight. As he progressed along the forsaken street his
amazement increased, and presently, seeing a slatternly woman at an open door,
he pulled up and removed his hat, revealing a crop of iron-grey hair.

 
          
“Pardon
me, ma’am, but the town seems somewhat deserted,” he smiled.

 
          
“Aye,
all the crazy fool men is gone to the hangin’,” she told him. `Why, I had to
whup my boy what’s on’y
eight,
or he’d ‘a’ bin off
too.”

 
          
“The
hanging?” repeated the visitor.

 
          
“Shore,
yu know what a hangin’ is, I reckon,” she replied. “They tried a man this
mornin’ an’ now they’ve gone to string him up. Fine-lookin’ fella, too; not my
idea of a bad ‘un, but yu can’t go by looks. They say he robbed the bank here
an’ murdered his boss.”

 
          
“Then
he deserves to swing,” the stranger decided. “What was his name?”

 
          
“Severn
he called hisself, but they claim he’s Sudden, the famous outlaw,” the woman
said.

 
          
At
this she saw the man straighten up in his saddle, and when he spoke again his
voice had an edge.

 
          
“Where
is the hanging to take place?”

 
          
“Over
to Forby’s. It ain’t far, though why they want to go trapesin’ about when
there’s trees
a-plenty close here I dunno, but men’ll allus
snatch a chance to waste time.”

 
          
The
stranger dived into a pocket, produced a five-dollar bill and held it out.
“I’ll be obliged if your little boy will guide me there,” he said. “I promise
he shan’t see any hanging.”

 
          
The
woman grabbed the money, and in response to her shrill call, a barefooted,
tear-stained urchin appeared.

 
          
“Abe,
yo’re to show the gent the way to Forby’s, but if I find yu’ve saw the hangin’,
I’ll take the hide off’n yu,” she warned.

 
          
The
horseman stooped, lifted the child to the saddle in front of him, thanked the
woman, and rode away.

 
          
“The
shortest road, Abe,” he said. “Get there in time and there’s a dollar for you.
If we’re too late …”

 
          
He
did not finish the sentence, but the pleasant, genial tone had gone from his
voice, and there was no warmth in the keen grey eyes.

 
          
Mad
Martin, who had constituted himself master of ceremonies, placed his hands on
his hips and contemplated the condemned man with mocking malice.

 
          
“This
is where I even up, Severn,” he hissed. “An’ as for that dawg, I’m agoin’ to
cut him in strips with my quirt when yo’re —gone.”

 
          
“Mind
he don’t send yu after Penton, yu polecat,” the cowpuncher retorted.

 
          
White
with fury, Martin was about to give the signal to those at the rope, when
someone shouted, “Who’s this a-comin’?”

 
          
On
the eastern side of the glade, through a break in the trees, three riders came
in sight, spurring weary horses to a last gallop. Bartholomew gave one glance,
muttered a curse, and shouted:

 
          
“Finish
him off.”

 
          
“At
the first pull on that rope yu die, Bartholomew, an’ the fellas holdin’ it
follow yu.”

 
          
It
was Snap Lunt’s voice, vibrant with menace. Standing in a half crouch, his back
protected by the tree-trunk, he had both guns levelled, one of them directly
covering the Bar B man.

 
          
“Who
are yu, an’ what are yu hornin’ in for?” the rancher roared.

 
          
“My
name’s Snap Lunt, an’ I’m just seein’ fair, that’s all,” the little man said
quietly. “Yu can hang that fella just as easy in ten minits’ time, when we know
what these folk want. Mebbe they’re just honin’ to see the hangin’.”

 
          
The
name sent a quiver of excitement through the crowd, and the men holding the
rope dropped it; they were taking no chances with a marksman of Snap’s
reputation for accuracy
;moreover
, two or them had been
present at Severn’s arrest, when the gunman had an attack of “nerves”.
Bartholomew, too, was nonplussed, and before he could think of any expedient,
the newcomers had arrived.

 
          
“Thank
God, we’re in time!” Judge Embley gasped, as he flung himself from his panting
animal and helped Phil to dismount.

 
          
The
third of the party, a smallish, one-eyed man, whom some of those present
remembered seeing once or twice in town, got down more leisurely, and stood
surveying the scene indifferently. No one took much notice of him, all interest
being centred on the girl and Embley. The latter walked straight to his fellow-jurist.

 
          
“What’s
the meaning of this, Lufton?” he inquired. “Surely I don’t find you assisting
at a lynching?”

 
          
“Certainly
not; I came here to prevent one,” Lufton replied indignantly. “I have protested
in vain.”

 
          
“And
Mr. Bartholomew, has he protested?” Embley asked witheringly.

 
          
Lufton
flushed. “He has given me
every assistance
,” he said
stiffly.

 
          
“Even
to tellin’ his men to finish the prisoner off when he saw yu were comin’,” Bent
put in.

 
          
“Is
that so?” Embley flashed.

 
          
“I
didn’t know it was yu,” Bartholomew lied, with a savage look at the
saloon-keeper. “I thought it was a rescue party from his ranch, an’ didn’t want
trouble. Anyway, I don’t see that yore arrival makes any difference; we’re
strong enough to do as we like, I guess.”

 
          
“Better
guess again, Bartholomew,” Embley smiled. “Unless I’m mistaken there are folk
coming now who’ll have a word to say.”

 
          
In
fact, the distant drum of pounding hoofs was audible, and away off on the plain
a compact body of horsemen was approaching at full speed. The Bar B man’s face
darkened as he saw that this new factor was composed of about a dozen men from
the XT and Lazy M. An awkward bunch, but his supporters outnumbered them, and
if it came to a pitched battle… He turned arrogantly to Embley as the punchers
dashed up, pulled their sweating, foam-flecked ponies to a halt, and whooped
with delight when they saw Severn standing there, a grin of welcome on his lean
face.

 
          
“Well,
what
d’yu reckon
yu can do?” Bartholomew sneered.
“Hope is under my jurisdiction; I can order the case to be reheard,” Embley
replied.

 
          
Lufton’s
face crimsoned. “It would be most unconventional to re-try a guilty man,” he
protested.

 
          
“It
would be a damn sight more unconventional to hang an innocent one,” snapped the
other.

 
          
The
principal actor in the drama, the condemned man, watched the proceedings
unperturbed. He had removed the noose from his neck and was leaning carelessly
against the tree which had so nearly been put to a more sinister use. With
Embley there, he was content to await the issue. His friends, at a whispered
word from Ridge, had kept their saddles and strung out in a half-circle, ready
for instant action. Bartholomew’s men, too, sullen and savage-looking, were
also prepared. Only a spark was needed to start the conflagration.

 
          
“An’
who’s goin’ to re-try the case, yu, the prisoner’s pal, or Lufton?” Bartholomew
asked jeeringly.

 
          
“That’s
a question I can perhaps settle for you, gentlemen,” said a quiet voice, and
the stout little man who had found the town of Hope deserted, walked forward.
So absorbed were the spectators, that his advent had not been noticed.

 
          
Embley
spun round and his face lit up when he saw the speaker. “
Bleke
!
” he exclaimed. “I never in my life was so glad to see you.
How in the name f—?”

 
          
The
little stranger shrugged his shoulders and smiled whimsically. “Just happened
along,” he said.

 
          
He
nodded to Lufton, whose unwholesome face was now the colour of cheese, and
looked curiously at Black Bart.

 
          
“Mr.
Bartholomew of the Bar B, Governor,” Embley introduced.

 
          
“I’ve
heard of him,” Bleke said in a non-committal tone, and did not offer his hand.

 
          
The
rancher’s face paled under its tan, and his rage at this unexpected development
nearly stifled him. But he had to control; all hope of imposing his will by
force had now gone, for hard and reckless as his outfit was, the men would not
risk outlawry. He listened contemptuously while Lufton, concerned now only with
his own safety, told the story of the trail. When he had finished, the Governor
nodded comprehendingly.

 
          
“I
can review the case, take any fresh evidence you may have, Embley, and order a
new hearing if I deem it necessary,” he decided. “I will do that now. It is not
often one is able to administer the law in such charming surroundings.” He
walked over to a fallen tree-trunk and sat down. “This will serve for the
judicial bench, and the lady shall share it,” he smiled. “I am afraid the rest
of you will have to stand.”