Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) (35 page)

 
          
So
it was arranged. Naylor, as he turned away to help in the preparations, had a
last word.

 
          
“Accident!”
he said scornfully. “If ever I git my paws on that young devil’s windpipe
suthin’ will happen but it won’t be an accident.
No, sir.”

 
          
Along
the road through the foothills Satan paced behind his retainers; he trusted no
man or woman. Matters had gone according to plan and a fierce elation possessed
him.

 
          
“I
deceived them, everyone, even my father,” he exulted. “And those idiots away
East
said I couldn’t act. This will make a stir in the
country and drive Jeff back to me. And then, Satan must die and Lander
vanish
, to reappear later as a wealthy stranger in search of
a ranch. He will fall in love with the Double K, also its fair owner, and those
boors in Dugout will lick the dust off the boots of the man they would hang
to-day if they dared. But I must get rid of that cursed cowboy—he knows—or
suspects—too much.”

 
          
His
low laugh reached the ears of the riders in front and moved Squint to speech:
“I ain’t what you’d call mealymouthed, but if I’d just bumped off
my of
man I dunno as I’d be all that amused.”

 
          
The
man beside him, a half-breed, furtively crossed himself. “He make bargain wit’
de Evil One,” he muttered, with a fearful glance over his shoulder.

 
          
Scar
grinned hardily. “I ain’t carin’ if he’s the Evil One hisself so long as he
pays well,” he said. “But we ain’t had
no
luck since
that blasted cowpunch showed up.”

 
          
Satan’s
satisfaction was to be short-lived; some hours later Belle Dalroy burst in on
him, still in her riding-kit and obviously excited. He received her with a
studied indifference.

 
          
“What’s
the news from Dugout?” he asked.

 
          
Her
eyes widened. “Who told you—oh, well, perhaps you also know what happened
there?” she said petulantly.”Tell me.”

 
          
“Colonel
Keith was in Black Sam’s this morning and was doing something to his gun when
it exploded, and—he’s dead.”

 
          
The
news shook him so severely that he forgot his pretence of omniscience; in a
flash he saw that such an explanation would defeat the purpose for which he had
committed the crime.

 
          
“Who
told you that fine tale?”

 
          
“Mrs.
Jansen, the store-keeper’s wife; her husband was with the Colonel; he ought to
know.”

 
          
“All
the same, it’s a lie,” Satan replied vehemently. “Keith was killed in a
gunfight.” He paused, and with sinister emphasis, added, “I ought to know; I
was there.”

 
          
In
those stony, implacable eyes she read the truth. “You, Jeff?” she stammered.
“You—shot—your own father?”

 
          
“My
own father,” he mimicked. “Who forced me to herd with the dregs of humanity,
hired one of them to slay me, and when that failed, tried to do it himself.
Yes, I shot him, and would do it again—gladly.”

 
          
The
last word was spat out with vicious intensity. He had no object or interest in
justifying his action to this woman for whose opinion he cared nothing, but he
had been playing the part of the prodigal son so long that it had become almost
second nature.

 
          
That
he had succeeded was soon evident. Appalled at first by the terrible
confession, her shallow temperament, inured to an atmosphere of violence and
wrong-doing, soon reacted, and having her own aims, she adopted his cynical
attitude.

 
          
“Well,
if that’s how you feel about it,” she said. “But I don’t see it helps you to
hand the Double K to the girl.”

 
          
“It
brings me a step nearer; if anything happened to her …” His laugh chilled her
blood. “In any case, I have two ways of regaining my heritage: take it by
force, or marry Joan; this accident story should help me there.”

 
          
“She
might not consent.”

 
          
“My
dear Belle, I’m afraid you don’t realize my persuasive powers,” he drawled.
“Obstinacy in a human being is not one of the incurable diseases.”

 
          
She
did not look at him, fearful that he would divine her chagrin, for his marriage
to Joan Keith spelt an end to her hopes. Again she asked why this man whose
face she had never seen should have such a
fascination?
Possibly his cold ferocity appealed to her own lawless spirit. She could not
answer; he was her man, and to keep him, she was prepared to dare anything,
even his vengeance. With all his cleverness, he did not dream that this
woman—fit only, in his estimation, to pander to his pleasure—was resolved to
baulk him.

 
          
“It
would be impossible, he could never get away with such an outrage,” she told
herself, but with no great conviction. “If he does …”

 
          
That
same afternoon, Sudden, stepping down to the store, saw Scar, Squint, and Coger
leave the Chief’s quarters. They were talking and laughing boisterously, but at
the sight of him they ceased, and, bunching together, discussed something in
low tones. He stalked
past,
obtained the tobacco he
needed, and set out again for the saloon. The men had vanished, but aware that
Satan’s patience must be nearly exhausted, he was on the alert. Anita slid by,
her averted head hidden in a mantilla.

 
          
“Roden
is waiting for you, behind the stones,” she murmured.

 
          
Sudden
took no notice, save to slacken his stride while he rolled and lighted a
cigarette; he required a few moments to consider this new development. One
thing was certain—he had outstayed his welcome; Scar would not dare to act
without instructions. They would be three to one, but of course, they counted
on a surprise.

 
          
“An’
they may get one,” the puncher said grimly.

 
          
Twenty
yards further along were the remains of a log shack; the roof had gone, and the
walls rose only a few feet, but would afford some protection to a kneeling man.
Almost opposite was a group of boulders, fallen fragments from the cliff too
big to be removed, and affording ideal shelter for the ambushers. The street
appeared to be empty, but from several doorways Sudden saw protruding heads.

 
          
“Friend
Scar has passed the word that I’m to be dealt with,” Sudden told himself.

 
          
He
strolled carelessly on, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings, but with every
nerve and muscle keyed for immediate action. At the moment he came to the
shack, three men with levelled guns rose from behind the boulders and Scar’s
rasping tones rang out.

 
          
“Reach
for the sky, Sudden; we got you to rights.”

 
          
Two
lightning leaps to the left and the threatened man
was
crouching among the tumbled timbers of the cabin. Three bullets which whizzed
past his ears left him untouched.

 
          
“An’
now yu ain’t,” Sudden retorted, punctuating the remark with a couple of shots,
one of which tore the hat from Scar’s head, while the other brought Coger
staggering into the open, only to fall, face downwards, in the dust, the sun
glinting on the barrel of the pistol in one outflung hand.

 
          
A
torrent of curses testified to the feelings of the dead man’s companions, and
then Scar spoke again: “Hey, Sudden, whatsa use shootin’ us up? The town is
closed an’ you can’t git away. We got orders to take you in.”

 
          
“Come
ahead,” the puncher replied. “Yu won’t do it burrowin’ behind them rocks like
the poison toads yu are.” A succession of shots answered the invitation, but
the marksmen were hampered by the necessity of having to bob up, fire, and
vanish all in a second or so, the accuracy of the other man’s shooting leaving
no margin for delay. As it was, Squint lost half an ear, and Scar’s temple was
scorched by a bullet which came within an inch of putting a period to his
interest in earthly affairs. Followed a lull, the attackers being unwilling to
take any further risks with this lean-visaged devil,
who
laughed at danger and shot as one inspired.

 
          
“Keep
close—he can’t git away,” Roden growled. “If he don’t give in soon, I’ll sing
out for help, but I didn’t want the Chief to think we couldn’t curry a li’l
hoss like this.”

 
          
“So
it’s easy, huh?” Squint replied, wiping the blood from his torn ear. “Glad you
told me—I mightn’t ‘a’ noticed it.”

 
          
Secure
behind his timber rampart, Sudden, while keeping a keen eye on the enemy, was
trying to find a way out of his difficulty. Even if he slew Scar and Squint,
there were others to take their place, and he could not fight the whole town.
He had almost decided to surrender and trust to the slender chance of bluffing
the bandit leader once more when
a faint footfall from behind
made him look
round. He was just in time to leap to his feet as Muley,
with a bellow of rage, hurled his huge bulk at him.

 
          
Sudden’s
right-hand gun spoke viciously but could not stop the bull-like charge. The
great arms gripped their prey, and the attacker’s weight, with the impetus of
his spring, sent both men to the ground. Winded by the fall, and pinned down by
his heavy opponent, the puncher was powerless. Then, when an exultant shout
proclaimed that Scar and his companion had seen what was happening and were
hastening to Muley’s aid, he made a desperate effort and succeeded in flinging
the burden aside. He scrambled to his feet only to look into the muzzles of two
guns.

 
          
“Put ‘em up!”
Roden roared. “Squint, take his hardware an’
frisk him.”

 
          
With
an evil grin, the cross-eyed rogue drew the weapons from their holsters and
pawed the prisoner over for a possible “hideout.” Then, gazing curiously at the
prostrate
giant,
stooped and shook him by the
shoulder.

 
          
“Hey,
Muley, you got him, of hoss,” he cried. “Hell’s bells, he’s dead!”

 
          
Scar’s
remark was characteristic: “Muley usually had money.”

 
          
Sudden
watched Squint despoil the body. “Buzzards ain’t got nothin’ on yu two,” he
said acidly. “What now?”

 
          
“March,”
Roden ordered. “An’ don’t try
no
tricks or you’ll be
travellin’ to hell on the heels o’ them others. You’d be startin’ now on’y the
Chief said, `Alive, if possible.’”

 
          
“I’m
agreein’ with him,” Sudden rejoined airily.

 
          
He
stepped out and his escort followed him, their weapons ready for instant use.
Curious citizens, comprehending that, the battle over, there was no longer
danger of flying lead, emerged to see them file by. Ignorant of what it was all
about, they gathered that this stern young
stranger
who had slain Butch and seemed on such good terms with their leader, was now in
disgrace. Men who had witnessed the affray from the saloon now came hurrying
down, bringing news of the casualties, and a hum of excitement passed along the
line of onlookers.

 
          
“Muley
an’ Coger, huh?” one commented. “An’ damn near Scar an’ Squint as well. He’s
got guts.”

 
          
“He’ll
need ‘em,” said a second. “There’s others can use a whip, ‘sides Muley.”

 
          
Even
after the prisoner and his guards had entered the Chief’s abode, they hung
about; judgments in Hell City were apt to be swiftly given and executed.