Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (5 page)

 
          
‘Lo,
Severn, started weedin’ a’ready, I hear,” the cattleman greeted.

 
          
“I
had to part with two o’ the outfit,” the new foreman smiled. “They didn’t seem
comfortable.”

 
          
“They’ve
been comfortable enough till now,” the girl interjected.
“Both
reliable men, recommended by Mr. Bartholomew.”

 
          
The
bitterness of this attack surprised Severn but his voice was cool and easy when
he
replied :

 
          
“I
shore didn’t know they were friends o’ yores, Miss Masters.”

 
          
“I
don’t make friends with cowboys or Mexicans,” the girl retorted coldly. “I
suppose you followed your usual method and provoked them in the hope of a gunplay?”

 
          
Severn
grinned. “An’ two more notches, eh? Well, the only provocation I gave Devint
was to offer him the job of straw-boss, which he declined—without thanks. When
he tried to shoot me in the back I just naturally had to reason with him. The
Greaser took up his end of it.”

 
          
“Mr.
Bartholomew won’t like it,” the girl said.

 
          
“Damn
Bartholomew,” her father exploded. “This is my ranch an’ I’m runnin’ it. When I
put a man in charge I back his play; yu can fire the whole bunch if yu need to,
Severn.
Anythin’ else yu wantin’ to see me about?”

 
          
“No,
I’m just goin’ to have a look over the range,” Severn replied, and then an imp
of mischief prompted him to add, “I thought if Miss Masters was thinkin’ o’
ridin’ she might show me around.”

 
          
The
girl’s eyes met his in contemptuous astonishment. “I’ve something else to do,”
she said shortly.

 
          
Setting
out on his tour of inspection, the new foreman addressed the dog gambolling a
few yards in front of his pony’s nose.

 
          
“The
Princess regretted she had another engagement, Quirt, so we gonta go it alone,”
he said quizzically. “Don’t look so blame’ joyful—she don’t like us, old-timer;
she’s got no more use for us than she has for a boil on the neck, an’ that’s a
fact.”

 
          
It
must have been somewhere about midnight when Severn was awakened by a low
throaty growl from the dog curled up on the foot of his bed. Raising himself,
he looked round. There was no moon, but the stars provided a murky light, and
he fancied he saw an indistinct shadow outside the back window.

 
          
“Quiet,
boy,” he whispered to the dog, and sat watching, his right hand gripping a
six-shooter.

 
          
Again
he saw what he had taken to be a shadow, and then came an unmistakable creak as
though someone was trying to force an entrance. Severn remained motionless, but
for some moments there was no further sound. Apparently the intruder, satisfied
that he had not disturbed the sleeper, renewed his efforts, for a further creak
sounded as the sash of the window was forced up several inches. Then came a
light “flop”, and the shadow vanished, but not before Severn caught a glimpse
of a white blot, with two dark holes for eyes. He smiled to himself; the outfit
was playing a joke on its new foreman and that was why he had been told of the
White Masks.

 
          
“Dam
fool, whoever it may be,” he muttered. “If I’d fired—”

 
          
The
sentence remained unfinished, for at that moment he heard a sharp hiss,
followed by a curious sound, somewhat resembling the crumpling of a parchment,
and he knew that there was a rattlesnake in the room. Sensing danger, the dog
growled again, and the man, putting his hand on it, found the animal trembling,
the hait of its neck bristling. He himself had an unpleasant prickling
sensation under his scalp.

 
          
For
a moment he listened intently, hoping to locate the reptile but the faint
slither of its body as it moved on the earthen floor gave no indication of its
whereabouts. The rattlesnake, Severn knew, is a coward and will rarely attack
unless forced to defend itself, but this one must have just been released from
captivity and would be fighting mad. One thing was certain, he must have a
light, and his matches were on the table in the middle of the room. Gingerly
reaching out, he felt for his boots, dropped at the side of the bed, found and
pulled them on.

 
          
This
was the ticklish time. Slipping from the bed, gun in his right hand, two long
noiseless strides brought him to the table, where he pawed eagerly around for
the matches, nearly upsetting the lamp. He could not find them and had to move
his position. Every step he expected to feel a squirming body under his foot
and the sinking of the deadly fangs in his flesh. In groping about he made a
slight noise and his blood chilled when the ominous rattle sounded
again,
and very near. Then his fingers closed on the matches
and, spilling them on the table, he snapped one alight with his thumbnail. Less
than a yard away was the reptile, coiled upon half its body, poised in
readiness to strike. He had just time to spring back and
send
a bullet into the flat, venomous head. Then, with shaking fingers, he lighted
the lamp, and kicked the still quivering carcass into the open hearth. A scurry
of footsteps came from outside, voices and a knock on the door. Opening it, he
saw several of the men, partially clad, but every one of them carrying a gun.

 
          
“What’s
doin’?” asked the foremost, the man named Darby. “A diamond-back come
a-visitin’,” Severn explained.
“Had to abolish it some.”

 
          
The
men crowded in and examined the snake, which was a large one.

 
          
“Ten
rattles—he was a daddy, shore enough,” commented one. “Wonder if he fetched his
farnily.”

 
          
A
search of the room revealing no further visitants, the cowboys returned to
their bunks, all save Darby, who lingered.

 
          
“Funny
‘bout him,” he said, jerking a thumb at the dead reptile. “There’s gravel all
round this shack an’ snakes don’t like gravel.”

 
          
He
walked to the window, stooped and picked something up. “
He
shore meant to stay, too—brought his war-bag.” He held out a leather sack, the
mouth of which could be closed with a draw-string; it was rank with the
peculiarly offensive odour of the rattlesnake. “Yore fondness for pets has got
around,” he went on. “Mebbe yu’ll get a skunk next.”

 
          
“I
could ‘a’ got one tonight if I’d knowed,” the foreman replied, but gave no
information. Though the man seemed friendly, he
was not
trusting
anyone yet. That a dastardly attempt on his life had been made
was clear, but he had no evidence to locate the culprit. When Darby had gone he
turned in again, but not without a commending pat for Quirt.

 
          
“I
reckon yu’ll pay for yore keep, old fella,” he said.

 
          
At
sunrise he was searching the ground outside for tracks, but, as Darby had said,
there was gravel all round, and he found nothing until he came to a strip of
sand some ten yards distant, separating the gravel from the grass. Here were
the deep marks of two heels, as though the wearer had stood there for a while,
and the right showed little indentations in the form of a cross. Masters, when
he heard of the incident, scouted the idea that the bandits had anything to do
with it.

 
          
“Never
had any trouble with the White Masks, an’ don’t want none,” he said. “They may
lift a steer now an’ then for the meat, but this ain’t the kind o’ play they’d
make. Looks more like a Greaser trick to me.”

 
          
This
agreed with the foreman’s own view, and he left it at that. He spent the day
riding the range, “having a look at the country” was how he would have
expressed it, and returned in the evening to find a man waiting to see him. The
visitor, chatting casually with the outfit, was a plumpish young man of just
under medium height, with fair hair, pale blue eyes, and a round, youthful face
which the sun had reddened rather than tanned.

 
          
“I’m
guessin’ yo’re the foreman,” he said, when Severn approached.

 
          
“Yo’re
a good guesser, seh,” the other told him. “What might be yore trouble?”

 
          
The
visitor’s eyes twinkled. “Well, barrin’ a severe pain in the pants’ pocket I
don’t know as there’s anythin’ the matter,” he replied.

 
          
“Yu
wantin’ a job?” asked Severn.

 
          
“
I’m needin’
one, which I s’pose amounts to the same thing,”
was the answer. “Yu see, years back, I got into the habit o’ eatin’ regular
meals.”

 
          
“Which
is shore a hard one to get out of,” the foreman agreed. “Yu understand cattle?”

 
          
“Cattle?
Me? Why, they raised me on cow’s milk,” smiled the
stranger.

 
          
“Yu
don’t say,” ejaculated Severn gently, looking down from his superior height.
“They didn’t raise yu too much, did they?” The visitor joined in the laugh that
followed, and the foreman continued: “I can certainly use another man. What are
we to call yu?”

 
          
“Anythin’
yu like, an’ I’ll come a-runnin’ all same good dawg,” retorted the workless one
with jaunty impudence.

 
          
“Right,”
Severn smiled. “We’ll call yu `Sunset’—the name shore fits yu like yore skin.”

 
          
For
a moment the pale eyes flashed and the young man’s face grew even redder; then
his mouth opened into a wide grin.

 
          
“Sunset
goes, though my name’s Larry Barton,” he said. “An’ I shorely asked for it,
didn’t I?”

 
          
Severn
nodded. “Supper’ll be ready soon,” he told him. “Gentle Annie will find yu a
bunk.” He waved a hand towards Linley, and that youth’s face promptly rivaled
that of the new hand. “What the hell—” he began, but the foreman interrupted
him with a smile. “I heard yu singin’ this mornin’,” he explained.

 
          
“Yu
an’ me shore oughta be friends,” Sunset said, as he followed Linley to the
bunkhouse. “We’ve been christened together.”

 
          
The
boy grinned sympathetically, but he then and there abandoned any ambition he
may have cherished regarding an operatic career.

 
          
Later
on in the evening Barton sneaked up to the foreman’s shack, slid inside without
the formality of knocking, and grinned impudently at his new boss, who grinned
back again.

 
          
“Sunset,
yu are right welcome,” he said.

 
          
“If
I’d guessed yu would plaster that dam label on me I wouldn’t ‘a’ come,”
retorted the other. “I oughta known—”

 
          
“Better
than to get fresh with me,” interrupted Severn.

 
          
“Besides,
yu got company.”

 
          
Larry
laughed.
“Shore, Gentle Annie.
How
come yu to hit on that?”

 
          
“He
was bellerin’ like a sick calf this mornin’, Gentle Annie, do you lo-o-o-ve me,
As
you did long years a-g-o-o-o?

 
          
I
just couldn’t help it, but I reckon he’s a good kid all the same. He’ll stand
the iron.”

 
          
“What
for sort of a bunch is they?” asked the new man.

 
          
“That’s
what I want yu to find out,” said the foreman. “See, here’s the how of it.”

 
          
He
proceeded to recount his experiences since he had arrived in Hope, his
companion listening with a widening smile.