Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 05 - Law O' The Lariat(1935) (6 page)

 
          
“
Huh !
Ain’t missed any opportunities, have yu?” he
commented. “A coupla weeks an’ yu’ll be as popular as a fella with small-pox.”
He dropped his bantering tone. “Did yu ever wonder why I was so set on comin’
here with yu?”

 
          
“I
put it down to yore natural desire to dodge regular work,” the other grinned,
and then, when the answering smile and usual retort did not come, he added
soberly, “Tell me, Larry.”

 
          
With
a face of stone, from which all the youthfulness had gone, the other told the
story of the hanging of the nester, Forby. Save for
a
huskiness
, there was no emotion in his voice, but the deadliness of
purpose in the concluding words could not be mistaken. “I was that boy; it was
my dad they did to death, an’ I’ve come back to make them pay.”

 
          
Tight-lipped
and with an outthrust jaw the foreman stood up and dropped a hand on his
friend’s shoulder.

 
          
“Yu
know these fellas, Larry?” he inquired.

 
          
“I
remember every one o’ their damn faces, but I ain’t got all their names,” the
boy replied. “Darby is in yore outfit now, but he done what he could an’ that
squares him. There was a Greaser, Ignacio, an’ two o’ the others were called
Penton an’ Fallan.”

 
          
“Yu
don’t have to worry ‘bout him: he pulled a gun on me in Desert Edge,” Severn
said grimly. “Ignacio was here but drifted when I come; we’ll find him again,
an’ the rest o’ the murderin’ houn’s. Bartholomew’s got a bigger bill to pay
than I reckoned, but we’ll collect it—together—in full.”

 
          
“I’m
thankin’ yu,” was all Larry could find to say, and, after an awkward pause,
“What kinda hold has Bartholomew got on Masters?”

 
          
“He
didn’t tell me, but I’m guessin’ it’s a strangle-hold,” Severn said. “Masters
don’t strike me as bein’ anyways soft.”

 
          
“What’s
the girl like?” was the next question.

 
          
“Well,
she’s amazin’ like—a girl,” smiled Severn.

 
          
“Huh!”
grunted Larry. “Don’t tell me yu’ve fell in love with her.”

 
          
“Bein’
a truthful an’ a married man, I won’t,” his foreman said. “An’ yu bein’ a sorta
friend I’ll let yu into a secret—she ain’t fell in love with me neither; in
fact, she regards my presence on the earth as an unwarrantable intrusion.”

 
          
Larry
spat disgustedly. “Seems to me the on’y friend yu’ve made is thisyer pup.”

 
          
“A
pup is a good pal,” Severn rejoined. “An’ now I’ve got two of ‘em—”

 
          
“Here,
cowboy, who’re yu callin’ a —” began the other, but his host ushered him to the
door.

 
          
“Don’t
yu worry, old-timer, Quirt ain’t carin’,” he said. “Beat it to the bunkhouse,
an’ remember that the foreman ain’t goin’ to be too pleased with yu, an’ yu
don’t like him
none
too much, ‘less yu know yore man
awful well, savvy?”

 
          
“Playin’
I don’t like yu’ll be the easiest job I ever tackled,” Larry said, but there
was a warmth in his tone which told a different story. “Say, Don, but it’s good
to be on the warpath again with yu.”

 
          
“Who
do yu think yo’re talkin’ to, yu idjut?” Severn asked quickly. “I’m Jim Severn,
yore foreman, an’ don’t yu forget it. Now, go pound yore ear, little fat fella.”

 
          
Barton
beat a hasty retreat, and Severn grinned as he closed the door. They understood
each other very well, these two.

 
          
THE
dismissal of two of the men he had sent to the Lazy M was regarded by
Bartholomew as an act of open defiance, and he lost no time in taking up the
challenge. The following afternoon found him reining in his mount by the
veranda of the Masters’ ranch-house. His hail brought out the owner.

 
          
“Hello,
Masters,” he greeted. “Come to take Phil ridin’, but first I want a word with
yu.”

 
          
He
dismounted with an ease one would not have expected in so bulky a man and
followed his host into the room.

 
          
“What’s
the idea in firin’ Devint an’ Ignacio?” he asked abruptly.

 
          
“Devint
was offered the job o’ straw-boss, went on the prod, an’ tried to pull a gun on
my foreman,” Masters explained. “The Greaser fired himself.”

 
          
“Well,
if yu didn’t like Devint, I could ‘a’ got yu someone else,” said the Bar B
owner. “Where’d yu come across this chap Severn?”

 
          
“Heard
of him in Desert Edge,” Masters replied.
“‘Pears to be
capable.”

 
          
“Mebbe,”
returned Bartholomew coolly. “But I don’t like him, Masters, an’ he’s gotta
go.”

 
          
The
cattleman’s eyes flashed defiance for an instant, and then fell before the
implacable gaze of the man who was giving him orders.

 
          
He
goes to-morrow,” Bartholomew interjected. “An’ by the way, I’m shy seventy-five
three-year-olds for a trail herd; I’ll send over for ‘em in a coupla days’
time.”

 
          
The
cattleman raged inwardly; he would have given almost anything he possessed for
the power to pull his gun and shoot down the man who so ruthlessly rode him,
but that would not save him. More than once the tyrant had said, “As long as I
live
yo’re
safe, Masters.”

 
          
He
was saved the trouble of replying by the scurry of hoofs outside and the
appearance of Phil, mounted on a mettlesome cow-pony. The girl rode cowboy
style, almost standing in the stirrups, and her laughing face was flushed with
the effort to restrain the bunch of nerves and steel wire she bestrode. At her
gay call, Bartholomew mounted, wheeled his horse beside her, and they loped
away. Severn entered the bunkhouse as they passed.

 
          
“That
was yore new foreman, wasn’t it?” Bartholomew asked. “What do yu think of him,
Phil?”

 
          
“I
don’t think of him,” the young lady replied playfully, but not altogether
truthfully.

 
          
“Shucks,
then I needn’t ‘a’ worried,” said her escort. “Yu see, I’ve been advisin’ yore
father to get rid of him, an’ if yu’d lost yore heart—”

 
          
“My
affections are not so easily captured, Mr. Bartholomew,” she bantered back. “T
hope Daddy will take your advice.”

 
          
But
even as she said the words a doubt crossed her mind, for short as the time had
been, she fancied that her father had been more his old self since the arrival
of the new foreman.

 
          
Bartholomew,
satisfied that she was not interested in the newcomer, made no further
reference to him. From time to time his gaze rested possessively on the fresh
young beauty who rode beside him. He wanted her and was determined that she
should be his. Without openly making love, he had given more than a hint of his
hopes. There was a considerable difference in their ages, but, as he told
himself, he was still young, and had the additional attractions of wealth and
influence.

 
          
The
girl’s thoughts were on the same subject. She knew perfectly well that the
owner of the Bar B admired her, and, liking him, the facn gave her pleasure.
Though he dressed in the garb of the range, his clothes were of good quality,
and he was careful of his appearance. A fine figure of a man, most women would
have voted him, virile, self-assured, and, when he chose, entertaining. Though
she had never given the subject serious consideration, Phil supposed that they
would be married—it seemed the natural outcome—but to-day she found herself
criticising her escort, and to her annoyance comparing him. Late that evening
the foreman heard a subdued rap at his door, and opened it to admit his
employer. The cattleman’s face was grim, and when he spoke his voice had a ring
of determination.

 
          
“Bartholomew
was here to-day, an’ things has come to a showdown,” he began. “I’ve got orders
to hand over seventy-five head an’ fire yu to-morrow. I’ll see him in hell
first.” He waited a moment, but Severn had nothing to say, and the ranch-owner
continued. “It’s come a bit sooner than I figured, but that can’t be helped.
Now, get this, Bart’s hold is on me—personal, but if I ain’t here—”

 
          
Severn
grinned and nodded comprehendingly. With the owner absent, the blackmailer’s
power over the ranch vanished too.

 
          
“This
is how I’ve planned it,” Masters went on. “I just fade out, leavin’ no word,
an’ yu take hold an’ run the ranch. If I don’t show up again in reasonable time
I s’pose it will be assumed that I’ve cashed, an’ Judge Embley, over to Desert
Edge, will take charge as executor o’ my will and guardian to Phil, who won’t
be of age for another twelvemonth. Yu know the Judge, for he recommended yu to
me; he ain’t wise to what I’m goin’ to do, but he’ll help yu if yu get crowded.”

 
          
“
It’s
shore goin’ to be tough on yore girl, not knowin’
whether yo’re alive,” the foreman pointed out.

 
          
“I’ve
thought o’ that, but there ain’t
no
way round it,” the
rancher replied. “If I left any message, her manner would givethe game away,
an’ Black Bart would hunt me down. I want him to figure I’m dead—that’ll give
rne a free hand. At Phil’s age griefs ain’t lastin’, an’, anyways, it’s the
on’y wagon-trail out.” He paused for a moment, evidently milling things over in
his mind, and then, “I’ve had to mortgage this place pretty deep to raise money
for Bartholomew. Judge Embley fixed it for me, an’ I reckon he can hold the
fella who lent the cash—for a’ while, anyways—an’ that’s all I’m
needin’
. Ridge of the XT wants four-score three-year-olds, an’
that’ll give yu coin to pay expenses. Yu see, I’m trustin’ yu, Jim, an’ I’m
doin’ it on what Embley said of yu.”

 
          
“Yu
can gamble on me,” the foreman said quietly.

 
          
“Which
I am, an’ puttin’ up every chip I got,” replied the cattleman. “Now, remember,
yu ain’t seen me tonight an’ don’t know nothin’ o’ my movements. Adios.”

 
          
They
gripped hands for a long moment, and then the rancher slipped out of the shack,
feeling more cheerful than he had formany a month. He was in desperate trouble,
trusting a man who was almost a stranger, and yet he had no doubts. Somehow
this keen-eyed, capable fellow inspired him with confidence. To beat
Bartholomew and nhrow off the bondage he had smarted under for years had seemed
a vain dream, but now he felt that it was possible. It meant risking all he
had, but he stood to lose that in any case to the blackmailer.

 
          
The
absence of her father at the morning meal, though it surprised Phil, did not
arouse any uneasiness; he had ridden away early on other occasions, though he
usually left word for her. But when the day passed without any sign of him, she
made inquiries, to find that his favourite horse was missing, but that no one
had seen him leave. When another day dawned without news of her father, the
girl’s anxiety became acute, for the tragic fate of Stevens at once recurred to
her. Much as she disliked doing so, she went to Severn, but he could tell her
nothing.

 
          
“He
had a deal on with the XT—mebbe he’s gone there,” he suggested. “Or p’raps he
went to Desert Edge an’ couldn’t make it back to the ranch.”

 
          
Phil
shook her head. “He’s never gone anywhere without telling me,” she said, and
then, as one of the men approached, “What is it, Darby?”

 
          
The
man looked uncomfortable. “I just wanted a word with the foreman, Miss Phil,” he
replied.