Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) (15 page)

 
          
Into
the piteous eyes of the prisoner, near blind with pain, came a spark of
life,
and from the mumbling lips a weak wail. “For God’s
sake, kill me.”

 
          
The
masked man laughed hideously. “Always the same prayer,” he gibed, and finished
with a blasphemy.

 
          
Stepping
back several paces, he drew a pistol, aimed and fired. The shot drew a
despairing moan from the victim, and Sudden could see the faintest trickle of
blood from the groove. The marksman looked at him triumphantly.

 
          
“That’s
shooting, my gun-slinging friend,” he sneered.

 
          
The
puncher did not appear impressed. “Fair,” he admitted. “But if that hombre was
fit an’ had a forty-five in his fist …”

 
          
“Can
you equal it?”

       
“Shore, firin’ at a fixed mark is dead
easy.”

 
          
“Prove
it,” the other snarled.

 
          
Sudden
shrugged; this was the invitation for which he had been angling. Drawing one of
his guns, he raised it slowly, took careful aim, and fired. The bullet struck
an inch below the groove and Dolver’s head slipped from the dwarf’s grasp and
fell forward. For one second, the bandit could not believe what he saw, and
then: “you clumsy fool, you’ve killed him,” he cried, almost beside himself
with rage. “I’ve a mind to…”

 
          
Apparently
the visitor was too chagrined to resent either the epithet or the threat.

 
          
“Which
I’m allowin’ it was a poor shot,” he said dejectedly. “Allus do forget that
this gun throws a mite low.
yu
certainly can shoot,
mister.”

 
          
The
humility and flattery restored the masked man to his normal state of
imperturbability. “My followers call me `Chief,’ ” he pointed out.

 
          
“Suits
me, but I ain’t one of ‘em yet. Let’s get out’n here an’ talk it over—corpses
ain’t the best o’ company.”

 
          
Leaving
the man whom Sudden, at the risk of his own life, had mercifully released from
horrible torment, lying on the floor of his prison, they returned to the upper
room.

 
          
“What
yu want I should do?” the puncher asked. “Rustle some cows for yu?”

 
          
Satan
looked at him. Was the fellow really as stupid as he seemed to be—a mere
creature of brawn without brain? Even so, he might be useful.

 
          
“The
rustling is a small matter, done to annoy Keith,” he explained. “I want to make
him desperate, force him to fight, and then—I’ll kill him.”

 
          
The
last three words were spoken with incredible ferocity, hissed through shut
teeth.

 
          
“It
is said he’s yore father,” Sudden reminded.

 
          
“No,
he disowned me, said I wasn’t fit to bear his name, and that he wished never to
see my face again. Well, I have acquired another name and concealed my face,
but, by Christmas, he shan’t rob me of my inheritance. Now do you understand?”

 
          
“Shore,”
was the reply. “It’s a good range.”

 
          
This
fatuous answer produced a further probing regard, but the speaker’s features
were wooden. The bandit nodded.

 
          
“Since
we understand one another, get back to it,” he said. “Lagley will give you my
orders. Remember, if you play false, I shall know, and—you have seen how I deal
with those who offend me.”

 
          
The
visitor made an evident effort to regain his assurance. “Threats don’t scare me
none whatever,” he boasted. “Keep ‘em for those they may.
So
long.”

 
          
With
an air of insolent bravado, he swung from the room, but it was a pleasure to
see the sky again. His horse welcomed him with a whinny, and mounting, he rode
slowly to the gate. His gloomy expression was misunderstood by the keeper.

 
          
“Ain’t
feelin’ so fresh, huh?” he commented, but not until the rider was out of
hearing.
“Thought he’d larn you.”
When he was well
beyond the range of prying eyes, Sudden straightened up in his saddle. His face
was drawn and set with resolve. He had been driven to shoot the man he had come
to save, just as he would have put out of its misery a suffering beast, and it
hurt.

 
          
“If
ever I’m in a like case, I hope someone will act the same,” he muttered, and
then, “I had to do it.”

 
          
But
the devil who had made such a deed necessary must pay, and in full.

 
          
Joan
Keith reined in her pony, leaned back in the saddle, and drew a long breath of
profound satisfaction. She loved this untamed land, with its sandy scrub-dotted
wastes, fragrant pine-woods, gloomy gorges, and inhospitable hills. Out of an
unclouded vault above, the sun flung its fire relentlessly, but the night would
bring a gracious coolness. The aromatic scent of the sage stung her nostrils.
Behind stretched an undulating plain, the short brown grass of which fattened
the Double K herds, and in front, a welter of low, broken ridges rising step by
step to pinnacled grey peaks. It was upon these that her gaze rested longest.
Among them—just where, she did not know—lay Hell
City,
and her eyes grew misty as she thought of the wayward boy who was wrecking his
life there. Not his only, but her own, though this was something she fought not
to admit, even to
herself
.

 
          
“Yes,
it’s a great pity, but when old men are tyrannical …” The voice, familiar, but
with a harsh intonation that was strange, startled her, and set her pony
rearing. Her capable hands soon brought it under control and she turned to face
the intruder, who had stolen up behind her, the sandy soil deadening the
footfalls of his mount. Her face flushed and then paled as she saw the red mask
beneath the high-crowned Stetson. Dumbly she noted the dandified cowboy rig,
the silver spurs, and lavishly decorated saddle on the fine black he bestrode.

 
          
“You
could always ride, Joan,” he went on, and, reading her thought, “Yes, a good
horse, Arab and mustang speed and stamina. I call him `Pluto’—rather
appropriate, I fancy.”

 
          
Below
the pulled-down brim of the big hat she could see the pale eyes appraising her
with cold curiosity. The sneeringly polite manner jarred on her, and she
remained silent.

 
          
“You
don’t seem very glad to see me, yet we were good friends once,” he said.

 
          
“Did
you expect I would be?” she cried, stirred to anger and speech by the reference
to earlier and happier days. “You are not the man I knew; you have
changed—horribly.”

 
          
“And
you too have changed—charmingly,” he smiled. “You were a pretty girl; now, you
are a beautiful woman. By Christmas, it must be getting on for two years since
I saw you. We must meet more often.”

 
          
She
shook her head. “Impossible, unless you give up this hideous masquerade and
abandon the dreadful life you are leading,” she said. “Won’t you do it, Jeff?
Your father—”

 
          
“Hates
me, and would hound down and hang me if he had the power,” he broke in
fiercely. “Within the past few weeks he has hired a noted killer from Texas to
help him accomplish that very thing. No, like Napoleon, I am a Man of Destiny.
I must follow my fate, even—”

 
          
“If
it leads to the gallows,” she finished.

 
          
“Yes,
even so, but it will not. The leaden-witted fools round here regard me as the
chief of a band of criminals, hiding under a fantastic name, ready to rob for
mere gain.
Bah !
I care little for gold, but a great
deal for the power it can give me. You have said I am changed, Joan.
you
are right; I have found myself; I have ambition.”

 
          
“A poor one—to be an infamous outlaw.”

 
          
“That
is simply a stepping-stone to greater things. When I am the largest landowner
in northern Arizona the past will be forgotten; the world forgives all to the
successful.”

 
          
“Such
dreams are madness. The Government—”

 
          
“Has far too much on hand to worry about the West for years.
When it does, I shall be established and—respectable. Some of our biggest
cattlemen started as rustlers and then stole the land they now occupy. I shall
begin with the Double K, which is mine by right.”

 
          
“At
present it belongs to Kenneth Keith, and he is neither old nor ailing,” she
reminded.

 
          
The
thin lips under the mask parted slightly. ” `In the midst of life …’ ” he
quoted. “He may—meet with—an accident.”

 
          
There
was no mistaking the sinister insinuation and the girl’s face blanched. “Your
own father!” she exclaimed, horror-struck.

 
          
“My
own father,” he repeated mockingly, “who told me I was no son of his, and
desires nothing so much as my death.”

 
          
“I
do not believe it.”

 
          
“It
is true; I have a means of knowing.”

 
          
“You
trust your spies?” she asked scornfully.

 
          
“I
trust no one,” he told her. “My knowledge comes from myself; ignorant folk call
it witchcraft, black magic, or the like; actually it is a gift of divination.
It enabled me to be sure of your presence here this morning.”

 
          
“
Impossible !
I did not decide to come this way until after I
had set out.”

 
          
“Nevertheless,
I knew, and so came to meet you. I wanted to see you because, changed as I am
in many ways, one thing remains unaltered—my feeling for you. There has never
been anyone else.”

 
          
“Rumour
tells a different tale,” she said coldly.

 
          
“And
rumour—as usual—lies. I saved a woman from imprisonment, but she is nothing to
me. I cared for you, Joan, and if that domineering old autocrat—”

 
          
“You
shall not speak of him so,”’ she cried heatedly.

 
          
“Incredible!”
he murmured. “Why, you are not even of his blood.”

 
          
“He
has been a father to me, and I love him as a daughter,” she said warmly, and
then, “Jeff, I think I hate you.”

 
          
For
a long moment the man gazed at her, noting the tanned, flushed cheeks, the
firm, ripe lips, and the curling tendrils of golden hair trembling in the light
breeze. Desire glowed for an instant in his stony eyes.

 
          
“You
think so, but it is not the case,” he replied. “When Keith gave me the air, you
had
an affection
for me.”

 
          
“Which,
if indeed it ever existed, you have effectually slain,” she said passionately.

 
          
“No,
it is dormant maybe, but one kiss from me will bring it to life.”

 
          
His
effrontery infuriated her. “Never,” she stormed. “You, a would-be parricide …”

 
          
She
turned to go, but he was too quick. Ere she could guess his intention, a touch
of the spurs sent his horse close to her own and he had gripped her by the
wrist and waist.