Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940) (11 page)

 
          
“I’ll
do my best,” she promised.

 
          
That
evening, in the Red Light, Nippert drew Sudden aside. “Jake’s went, an’ it’s
all over Welcome that Mrs. Gray is takin’ over his eatin’-house. It’s a blame’
good move, an’ I s’pose we have to thank you for it?”

 
          
“No,
Sloppy, though he don’t want it knowed.”

 
          
“Where
did he git the money?”

 
          
“He
didn’t; I fixed that with Morley,” the marshal explained, and told of the
arrangement the banker had made.

 
          
“First-rate,”
Nippert agreed, and then, “Jim, havin’ found yore friend, you ain’t thinkin’ o’
goin’ back to Pinetown?”

 
          
“Where
they wanted to hang me?” The saloon-keeper had a sense of humour. “But we damn’
near did it,” he grinned ruefully.

 
          
Sudden
laughed too. “Allasame, I’m stayin’ put; the trees is too handy in Pinetown.”

 
          
“An’
Masters?” The marshal’s face sobered. “I dunno. Mebbe he’ll get a job with the
Bar O; Owen seemed to like him.”

 
          
“I’ve
bin thinkin’ you need a deputy.”

 
          
“It’s
mighty good o’ yu, Ned, but it would be just charity.”

 
          
“I
forgot to mention when you took hold that we’d had a couple o’ marshals bumped
off in twelve months.”

 
          
“I
knew—Gowdy’s girl told me.”

 
          
“You
certainly fetched yore nerve along,” Nippert said. “Well, you may figure you
got this town tamed, an’ mebbe that goes for two-thirds of it, but the rest is
a craggy lot; they’ll fear you, but bein’ scared of a man don’t make you love
him, none whatever. Mullins has gone, with some o’ the worst, but he’s left
friends behind, an’ he ain’t forgettin’. Nor will
Sark,
an’ he’s got poison ‘stead o’ blood in his veins.” Sudden gave in. “Awright,
Ned,” he replied. “Yu know the people an’ yo’re the doc. O’ course, I’ll be
tickled to death to have Dave workin’ with me.” At that moment the man himself
came up. “Yu both look as solenn as owls,” he grinned.
“Must
be discussin’ somethin’ serious.”

 
          
“No,
we were talkin’ ‘bout yu,” his friend countered. “Fact is
,
Ned thinks I oughta have a deputy, an’ he’s suggestin’ yu.”

 
          
“If
Mister Masters will take it,” the saloon-keeper put in politely.

 
          
“Mister
Masters won’t, but Dave will, with both
han’s
,” was
the smiling reply. “But not till after tomorrow; I’ve somethin’ to do.”

 
          
“What
fool-play yu got in mind now?” Sudden wanted to know.”

 
          
“Me
an’ Sloppy is goin’ to make a yaller dawg’s kennel into a fit place for a lady
to live in,” Dave replied lightly.

 
          
Two
weeks went by, and
Welcome—
the principal disturber of
its calm having departed—had returned to everyday routine-existence.

 
          
The
first whisper of unrest came when Reddy rode in one morning. He was the only
Bar O man to visit town since the dash to the marshal’s rescue, and was
therefore ignorant of subsequent events.

 
          
“Yu’ll
feed with us at Jake’s,” Sudden invited.

 
          
“I
eat at the Widow’s,” Reddy replied.

 
          
“That’s
what I said,” was the enigmatical retort.

 
          
He
got the story as they walked up the street. Arrived at the restaurant, he
surveyed approvingly the newly-painted sign, clean curtains, and absence of
rusty airtights littering the ground. The interior with its scrubbed floor,
neatly-laid tables, and sound chairs, opened his eyes wider, but he said
nothing until the proprietress came to take the order.

 
          
“There
ain’t such a swell joint inside a day’s ride,” he told her. “Reckon Jake would
bite hisself if he could see it.”

 
          
“I
had some kind helpers,” she said, her eyes on Dave.

 
          
“They
did the work; I’m afraid I was only in the way.”

 
          
“That’s
somethin’ yu couldn’t be, ma’am,” was the gallant reply.

 
          
The
meal duty despatched, they lit up. Reddy’s gaze roved round the room.

 
          
“Amazin’
what a difference a woman can make,” he remarked. “She owes a lot to yu, Jim.”

 
          
“She
owes me just—nothin’; Sloppy’s been her good fairy.”

 
          
“An’
yu’ve bin his, which proves my point,” Reddy retorted triumphantly.

 
          
Sudden
shook his head and got up. Back in his own quarters, he put a question:

 
          
“What’s
yore trouble, cowboy?”

 
          
“Yu’ve
certainly got
the seem
’ eye, Jim; I didn’t guess it
showed that plain. Just—want o’ sleep.” It seemed an absurd statement from one
who was the picture of health, but the marshal understood.
“Nightridin’,
huh?”

 
          
“
yu
said it, an’ day as well; the boys is all wore out. Yu
see, we’re losin’ cattle, an’ it’s gettin’ serious.”

 
          
“Been
goin’ on long?”

 
          
“Couple o’ weeks, so far as we know.
A steady leak, six or
seven a day, picked beasts, an’ there ain’t a sign to show who’s takin’ ‘em or
where. It’s got me dizzy.”

 
          
“Well,
there’s nothin’ doin’ here
– ”

 
          
“Yo’re
forgettin’ that hold-up we promised to look into,” Dave interrupted.

 
          
The
marshal grinned. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” he went on. “We ain’t a
thing to do—the town’s peaceful as a prayer-meetin’. We’ll go for a li’l ride
tomorrow; mebbe we can light on somethin’.” When the foreman had departed, Dave
looked at his chief. “Jake went about two weeks ago,” he said.

 
          
“Yo’re
readin’ my thoughts,” Sudden accused. “If it’s Jake, he must have a hide-out.
We gotta find it.”

 
          
“We
might be away all day. What ‘bout gettin’ Mrs. Gray to put us up a bite to take
along?”

 
          
“Just
now my mind ain’t on food.”

 
          
“Then
it must be drink. C’mon.” When they got outside, Masters naturally turned in
the direction of the Red Light, but his companion shook his head. “We’ll pay a
visit to Dirty Dick,” he said.

 
          
“Enemy
country,” Dave laughed, and loosened his gun in the holster.

 
          
“
Shucks !
At this’ time o’ the day there won’t be a soul in
the place—mebbe.” He was almost right, for as they pushed back the door of the
dive, they saw that it was empty save for the owner and a man who, at the
instant of their entry, slid round the bar and disappeared into the rear part
of the premises.

 
          
“Whisky—yore
best,” the marshal said. “Wasn’t that Dutch who went out?” For a moment Dirty
Dick hesitated, his furtive eyes scanning the questioner’s face. Then he
nodded.

 
          
“
What’s he back
for—to stay?”

 
          
“Nope,
just a visit, to pay some coin he owed me.”

 
          
“Why
didn’t he do that before he left?”

 
          
“He
forgot,”
came
the reply, after a pause.

 
          
“Yo’re
lucky to get it.”

 
          
“Oh,
Dutch is square,” the man said easily.

 
          
“Possibly,
but he keeps bad company,” the marshal replied. “What’s he doin’, anyway?”

 
          
“I
dunno, but he ain’t got a woman workin’ for him,” was the insolent answer.

 
          
A
subdued chuckle came from somewhere; the deputy stiffened, put his glass on the
bar, and said truculently, “The
company
he keeps ain’t
near as bad as the liquor yu sell; if this is yore best, the worst must be rank
pizen.”

 
          
“You
ain’t forced to drink it.” Sudden interposed. “Easy, boy,” he soothed, and to
the dive-owner, “Watch that lyin’ tongue o’ yores, an’ run this place decent or
I’ll run yu—outa town.”

 
          
Dirty
Dick gazed into the hard, slitted eyes of the speaker and decided that silence
was the safe card to play, but his expression, as they went out, was not
pretty.

 
          
As
they stalked down the street, Sudden regarded his fuming companion quizzically.

 
          
“Marshals
are appointed to keep the peace,” he remarked casually. “An’ the same applies
to…`Didn’t yu hear what he said, an’ the laugh?” Dave broke in.

 
          
“Shore,
but why lose yore wool because a cur yaps? Besides, he was tellin’ us things.
We know now that Dutch was broke when he left an’ has made money since; also
that Jake ain’t far away, an’ is keepin’ touch with friends here, which needs
rememberin’. Good value for the price of a couple o’ drinks.” The sun was no
more than faintly gilding the eastern sky when they set out the next morning.
The Bar O trail lay towards it, but the marshal headed his horse in the
opposite direction.

 
          
“Where
are we turnin’ off?” Dave asked presently. “Yu, ain’t expectin’ to find them
stolen steers at the Dumbbell, are yu?”

 
          
“It
wouldn’t surprise me—much, but we gotta know more before we snoop aroun’ there;
welcomes can be too warm.” Another half-mile and they swung south, leaving the
rutted wagon-track and picking a way through brush big enough to hide them. Two
hours passed before they reached a wooded slope which afforded a view of the
country, an undulating, scrub-dotted expanse which they knew must be part of
the Bar O range, though no cattle were visible.

 
          
Westward,
were ridges and gullies, and as these offered excellent cover, they decided to
make for them. Skirting the plain, they were proceeding along the far slope of
a brush-clad rib of rock when a rifle cracked and a bullet zipped through the
crown of Dave’s Stetson. Out of their saddles instantly, they trailed the
reins, and crawled to the top of the rib. Thinning smoke from a clump of brush
some three hundred yards distant told them whence the shot had come, but there
was no sign of the man who fired it.

 
          
“Lie
low,” Sudden advised. “He may think he got yu an’ show hisself. Might be one o’
the Bar O—I’ll bet their system just now is
shoot
first an’ investigate after.” Hats discarded, prone on their bellies, cheeks
cuddling rifle-stocks, they waited. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes ticked slowly
by and nothing happened. Dave got restive.

 
          
“This
blame’ sun is just naturally scorchin’ my scalp,” he grumbled. “I reckon
he’s went
.”

 
          
He
reached for the hat lying behind him and immediately two reports came from the
clump, the leaden messengers humming past their ears. They returned the fire,
aiming at the smoke-jets.

 
          
“A
pair of ‘em,” the marshal commented. “Guess they ain’t Owen’s men.” Another
period of quiet ensued, and the marshal used it to take a furtive scrutiny of
their surroundings. This gave him an idea.