Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) (11 page)

 
          
A
word,
and Nigger shot away to the right in an
endeavour to intercept the fugitives, the mighty muscles bunching under the
silken skin and transforming the animal into a black thunderbolt. A few tense
moments at full speed and Sudden, standing in his stirrups, whirled his rope.

 
          
“Steady,
boy,” he warned, as the loop settled over the head of the runaway, and Nigger
slowed down sufficiently to check the captive pony without throwing it. For a
few more yards the maddened beast fought onwards, but the increasing drag of
the rope and the choking effect of the tightening noose prevailed; it pulled
up, spent and trembling, almost on the brink of the abyss.

 
          
One
peril was past, but another still threatened. The mountain lion—doubtless made
bold by hunger—was not content to be baulked of its booty and was preparing to
spring when Sudden’s bullet smashed into its brain. With a word to his horse,
the puncher got down, stepped swiftly to the woman and lifted her limp form
from the saddle.

 
          
“Everythin’s
right now, ma’am,” he assured her.
“How yu feelin’?”

 
          
“Damned
queer,” was the surprising answer, as she subsided on a near-by stone. “What
possessed my pony to jerk the reins from my hands and bolt like a mad thing?”

 
          
“A
big cat
was needin’
a meal—badly, I guess,” he told
her, and, when she looked round fearfully, added, “He ain’t needin’ it no
longer.”

 
          
“So
that was the shot,” she said, and for a space was silent, studying him.

 
          
Through
narrowed lids, he returned the scrutiny. She was young, about
his own
age, he estimated, and, in any company, would be
adjudged a beautiful woman. Thick braided coils of ebon hair matched the
velvety darkness of her slumbrous eyes; a straight nose, full lips, and rounded
cheeks which the sun had but faintly tinted, formed a face which compelled
admiration. She was tall, for a woman, and her smart riding-costume displayed
her fine, well-built figure to perfection. Presently she smiled, showing white,
even teeth.

 
          
“It
just comes to me that I haven’t thanked you for saving me from being devoured,”
she said. “But perhaps the lion would have preferred the pony.”

 
          
“I
reckon not, if he’d any taste,” Sudden said.

 
          
She
smiled again at the compliment. “Why did you stop us before shooting the beast?
Suppose you had missed …”

 
          
“Mebbe
it was a risk, but I didn’t expect to miss.”

 
          
His
gaze went involuntarily to the edge of the plateau; she rose and stepped
towards it, only to come hurrying back, horror and contrition in her eyes.

 
          
“Forgive
me, my friend,” she cried. “You have saved me from a dreadful death, and I find
fault. I did not know …”

 
          
“Shucks,”
he smiled. “Nothin’ to that, ma’am; yu may be able to help me one day.”

 
          
“If
that time ever comes, you may rely upon me,” she said soberly. “But for now, I
should like to know to whom I am indebted.”

 
          
He
gave his name, adding that he was riding for Keith.
“The
Double K?
Aren’t you off your range a little?”

 
          
“I’m
kind o’ new, an’ don’t know the lay-out,” he explained. “Took a notion to come
up here an’ look around.”

 
          
“
Which was as well for me.
Do you think my horse can be
trusted to carry me home?”

 
          
“I
reckon.” He whistled, and Nigger trotted up, the other animal having perforce
to follow. The woman’s eyes swept over the black approvingly.

 
          
“Your
own?” she asked, and when he nodded, “Take care of him, my friend; he’s a
temptation.”

 
          
“Any
stranger who tried to ride him would have a real interestin’ time,” the puncher
told her.

 
          
He
went to her pony, which was still wild-eyed and nervous, but when he had
slipped the noose from its neck, soothed and spoken to it for a moment or two,
it quietened down and allowed its mistress to mount.

 
          
“You
seem to understand horses,” she commented.

 
          
“I
was raised among ‘em,” he said. “Like dawgs, they know their friends.” He
coiled his rope, and got into his own saddle.
“An’ where
now?”

 
          
“I’m
going to look for my hat—it fell off,” she replied, but when he offered to help
she shook her head. “You have done enough, and I shall remember, but we part
here.”

 
          
“For
good?” he queried.

 
          
“Quien
saber’” She smiled. “Fate, having brought us together so dramatically, must
mean us to meet again.”

 
          
He
clasped the firm, gloved hand she extended and turned his horse southwards. It
was only when she had vanished among the trees that he remembered she had not
told him her name—the brand on the pony was his only clue to her identity.
Cursing himself for a bonehead, he retraced his steps to the plain, where he
soon met Frosty.

 
          
“Thought
I heard a shot,” that young man greeted
.“
‘Yu did—ran
into a mountain lion.

 
          
“Git him?”

 
          
“Yeah,”
Sudden replied. “Anybody own a B D iron around here?”

 
          
“No,
an’ we don’t usually brand our lions neither,” was the flippant answer.

 
          
“Nor
yore jackasses—at least, I ain’t noticed yu wearin’ one,” Sudden returned
pleasantly.

 
          
It
was some time later that, without even a warning chuckle, Frosty emitted a
bellow of laughter which sent both their mounts into the air, and it was some
moments before they could convince the startled animals that the end of the
world had not arrived. Even Nigger, who would stand like a rock when a pistol
was discharged by his ear, was not proof against that explosive shriek of
merriment. When quiet had been restored, Sudden looked disgustedly at the cause
of the trouble.

 
          
“What’s
the idea, yu snowy-pated pie-eater, tryin’ to bust our necks thataway?” he
demanded.

 
          
“I
just remembered somethin’,” the culprit spluttered, suppressing a second
outburst with difficulty.

 
          
“Must
be a helluva joke if yu’ve on’y just seen it.”

 
          
“Shore
is,” his friend grinned. “Might them letters, B D, stand for `Bewitchin’
Damsel’?” Getting no response, he went on, “She’s a good-looker all right, but
so is a cactus or a cougar an’ they’re safer to have truck with.”

 
          
Sudden
spoke to his steed.
“Don’t yu never
eat locoweed, ol’
hoss, now yu see what it does. Here’s a fella who looks a’most intelligent at
times, an’—”

 
          
“Quit
joshin’, Jim,” Frosty broke in. “B D means Belle Dalroy, an’ her address is
Hell City. Come clean.”

 
          
Whereupon Sudden told his adventure, which drew a long whistle from
his companion.
“She’s reputed to be hand and glove with Satan an’ as
cold-blooded as a frawg,” he said.

 
          
“She
seemed very grateful; might be useful if ever we go visitin’ there.”

 
          
“If
ever we go? Leave me out, cowboy; I’d as soon try the real place.”

 
          
“Oh,
I dunno; it’d be kind o’ interestin’.”

 
          
“Yeah,
Scar an’ his crew would make it that for yu.”

 
          
He
got no reply; Sudden’s mind was busy with the woman, wondering what had brought
her to this refuge of the reckless. Was she, too, in hiding? It was more than
possible, for with all her beauty, he had sensed a hardness which told of
contacts with a world which had not been too kind. He became aware that Frosty
was speaking.

 
          
“If
I hear o’ yu tryin’ to go there alone, yu an’
me’ll
take the floor together.”

 
          
At
which Sudden laughed and was well content.

 
          
The
guard at the entrance to Hell City did not keep Belle Dalroy waiting, the
ponderous gate swinging back as she reached it. With a smile of thanks she
passed through and rode to the Chief’s quarters. Here again she encountered no
difficulty; even before she knocked, the door opened. She passed the dwarf with
a mere glance and failed to see the look of desire in the animal eyes.

 
          
The
Chief was standing at one of the deep, curtained openings which did duty as
windows, from which could be seen a considerable portion of the great basin.
Less than a dozen miles distant, to the east, lay the settlement of Dugout.
From the windows themselves, the cliff face fell, almost vertically, to the
tree-tops a hundred feet below.

 
          
“Did
you have a nice ride, Belle?” he asked.

 
          
“Yes,
and no,” she replied. “I wish you wouldn’t wear that hideous disguise when I
come to visit you.”

 
          
Her
petulance appeared to amuse him. “Hideous?” he repeated. “I think it rather
intriguing, and—as I am tired’ of telling you—I have made a vow. And it is
useful to me; the unknown fascinates the ignorant and keeps them interested;
you know, one can weary of even the
most lovely
things, and it is a theory of mine that if married couples wore masks there
would be fewer unhappy unions.”

 
          
The
quaint suggestion made her smile. “If I thought you were serious, Jeff, I would
get one,” she replied.

 
          
Instantly
his humour changed. “I think I referred to married couples,” he retorted
crushingly, and laughed at the furious look the reminder evoked. “Ah, now you
are angry—a beautiful wild-cat, who would use her claws—if she dared.”

 
          
The
pale blue eyes challenged her; they had, at times, the curious quality of
appearing to be dead, expressionless, as though made of stone. The girl was
silent, held by the unwinking gaze of those lifeless orbs.

 
          
“Where
did you ride?” he asked.

 
          
“South, through the gorges, to a high, flat-topped hill.
I
don’t know the name.”

 
          
“Battle
Mesa,” he told her. “Many years ago, the Hopi Indian tribe which dwelt in these
commodious but somewhat incomplete apartments was almost exterminated there by
Apaches—hence the name. Foolish of them to fight in the open—this rock
stronghold is impregnable.”

 
          
“You
are very sure of yourself, Jeff, but one day the Governor will move,” she said.

 
          
“When
he does I shall know of it, and all his plans,” he boasted. “You do not believe
me. Listen: didn’t I warn you that the mountain lion could be dangerous? Well,
you know now that it is so. But for the advent of a stranger the coyotes would
be wrangling over your broken bones at the foot of the Mesa cliff.”

 
          
“You
saw?” she cried in amazement.

 
          
“I
have not been out of this place,” he replied. “Yet I watched your pony, crazy
with fear, carrying you to destruction. Luckily, a tall, dark cowboy, on a
black horse, arrived in time to rope your mount and shoot the beast pursuing
you.
A capable fellow, that Mister Green, of the Double K.”