Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940) (16 page)

 
          
“I’ve
knowed Dutch a-many years an’ he’s straight,” Jake defended. “He wouldn’t play
no
pranks on me.” None of the others appeared to partake of
his confidence. In the excitement of carrying out the raid, Jake’s plan for
getting rid of the tell-tale spoils had seemed good, but now they began to doubt
its wisdom; it was a temptation not one of them could have resisted. Nothing
further was said, however, and having eaten, they waited sullenly for the
advent of the missing messenger.

 
          
As
the day wore on and brought no sign of him, the fear that they had been duped
deepened. It was a bitter dis— appointment; the whole enterprise had gone
smoothly; a single coup had given them more wealth than a year of rustling
would produce, and now …

 
          
“I
hope yo’re right,” Javert shrugged. “Me, I’m goin’ to catch up some sleep.” He
got his blanket, and, one by one, the others followed his example. Jake alone
remained sitting by the fire, gazing into it morosely. Despite his bold front,
he was desperately uneasy. What else could have happened? A rogue himself, he
read the minds of his men, and was even now bitterly reproaching himself for
not having done what they suspected.

 
          
It
would have been simple, and with only two to share. … The scrape of a hoof, and
rattle of a rolling stone, recalled him to realities. He sprang up, crying
:“
He’s here. What did I tell you?” The others flung aside
their blankets and stood up, but the man who stumbled through the shadows and
stepped into the glow of the fires was Pinto, the Bar O rider.

 
          
“Thought
you
was
Dutch,” Jake said disgustedly. “
Hell !
”

 
          
“That’s
where you’ll have to go if yo’re
wantin’
him,” the
cowboy replied.

 
          
“You sayin’ that Dutch is—dead?”
Jake asked.

 
          
“Hope
so, seem’ as they’ve buried him,” was the callous answer.

 
          
“Let’s
have a plain tale,” Javert cried impatiently.

 
          
“Well,
the marshal didn’t fall into yore trap an’ stayed to home. When you punched the
breeze, he sent the posse after, but him an’ his damned deputy made for the
Silver Mane, shot down Dutch, an’ toted his remainders, with the coin, back to
Welcome. Who put him wise?”

 
          
“Nobody,”
Jake told him. “I didn’t git the idea till we
was
in
the bank; it seemed a good way o’ playin’ safe.”
This for the
benefit of the Bar O man, whose face bore a palpable sneer.

 
          
“How
d’you
hear?”

 
          
“Reddy
brought the cheerful tidin’s.”

 
          
“Damnation!
That tacks a label on us,” Javert said.

 
          
“Not
any,” Jake corrected. “It ain’t knowed where we are, or that Dutch stayed with
me.

 
          
I’d
ride into Welcome to-day if I felt like it; they can’t prove a thing.”

 
          
“If
you do, take a squint at yore of shack,” Pinto advised. “Widow Gray is runnin’
it, an’

 
          
Reddy
sez it’s swell.” The other’s eyes narrowed. “So,” he said harshly. “I shore
will; in fact, I’ll feed there.”

 
          
“Step careful then.
Reddy said Sark paid a visit, got fresh,
an’ was throwed out, neck an’ crop.”

 
          
“By
that slip of a female?” asked an incredulous listener. “No, by young Masters,
an’ as him an’ the marshal are ace-high about now, it might be dangerous.” Jake
frowned.
“Sark, huh?

 
          
What’s
his game?”

 
          
“She’s
a relation, an’ quite a few think she oughta
be ownin’
the Dumbbell. Marriage with her would stop that talk.” This appeared to give
Mullins food for thought; he was silent for a while. Then he dismissed the
subject with a lift of his shoulders, and said briskly:

 
          
“Well,
boys, I was right ‘bout Dutch, you see—he played fair. We’ve lost this time,
but there’ll be others. What are the chances for a worth-while gather, Pinto?”

 
          
“Mighty
slim—at present; the outfit is right on its toes, an’ I have a hunch that
cussed marshal has ideas ‘bout me. I don’t like them cold eyes—they gimme the
feelin’ he can read what’s in my mind.”

 
          
“He
must be a medicine man to have knowed about Dutch,” Pockmark put in.

 
          
“Kid’s
talk,” Jake said scornfully. “He guessed right, an’ that’s all there is to it.
Awright, Pinto, we’ll lie doggo till the Bar O is feelin’ easy again. Better
git back in case yo’re missed.”

 
          
“I’m
night-ridin’—watchin’ for you fellas,” the man grinned, as he prepared to go. “Hang
the luck! I’d bin hopin’ to tell John Owen what I think of him, an’ git my
time.”

 
          
“Which
would ‘a’ showed pore sense,” Mullins remarked. “Even if the bank deal had come
off, we’ve a soft thing here, an’ when the Bar O is good an’ thinned, we’ll
have Sark where we want him.”

 
          
“Hadn’t
looked at it thataway,” Pinto admitted. “You got a head, Jake, but I’d like to
see the last o’ that marshal.”

 
          
“He’ll
be taken care of,” was the sinister assurance.

 
          
The
men retired to rest again, but for some time the scheming brain of the bandit
chief was busy, and not on their account. The result of his deliberations was a
shave, and an attempt to smarten his appearance in the morning, an unusual
proceeding which inevitably provoked curiosity.

 
          
“Who’s
the dame, Jake?” one asked.

 
          
“Dame
Fortune, the on’y one o’ her sex worth troublin’ about,” was the cynical reply.
“I’m goin’ to Welcome.”

       
“Ain’t that a risk?” Pocky inquired.

 
          
“Not to you, anyways.
I’m ridin’ in from Drywash, to see
Dutch.”

 
          
“But
he’s cashed.”

 
          
“News
to me, an’ I’ll be the most astonished fella in the place when I hear it.”
Javert nodded. “He’s right; it’s a good bluff, an’ oughta lay out any suspicion
of us bein’ mixed up in that bank affair.” It was not until early afternoon
that Mullins reached Welcome. The visitor rode to his late abode, dismounted
with a sigh of relief, and after a peep through the neatly-curtained window,
entered. His step on the board floor brought the Widow from the kitchen.
Astonishment checked the customary greeting.

 
          
“Howdy,
ma’am, I expect yo’re s’prised to see me,” Jake said, as he removed his hat and
sat down.

 
          
“What—do
you want?” she stammered.

 
          
“I’m
peckish, an’ not partic’lar; I’ll leave it to you,” he replied.

 
          
She
served him in silence, and he too had nothing to say until he had done full
justice to the food, but his eyes were busy and found her more desirable than
ever. When she came to remove the empty plates, he was rolling a smoke.

 
          
“That
was bully,” he complimented. “I once said you couldn’t cook; I was wrong.”

 
          
“Thank
you,” she replied quietly.

 
          
“You’ve
made a new place o’ the shack,” he went on. “Curtains, tablecloths, everythin’
clean,
it’s
a dandy layout, an’ good grub. I allus
said it takes a woman to make a go of a joint like this. I hope the hawgs
appreciate it.” A tiny frown creased her brow at the epithet, but all she said
was, “My customers seem to like it.”

 
          
“Trade
good
, huh?
Makes me feel ‘most sorry
I sold out.
There’s possibilities
here. Build
an extension—a dance-hall, freight in a pianner, an’ have social evenin’s,
mebbe a game or two. It’d need capital, but I could find that”

 
          
“I
have no desire to sell.”

 
          
“I
ain’t suggestin’ any such thing,” lie continued. “You’d run the show, just
exactly as you pleased, understan’? Yo’re the king-pin; I put up the dollars an’
be sort o’ pardner.” He paused for a moment. “Why, what’s the matter with makin’
it a real pardnership?” He bent forward, his eager eyes devouring her, and she
realized that, for the time being, at least, he was in earnest.

 
          
“Are
you, by any chance, asking me to marry you?” she said coldly.

 
          
“Shore
I am—I’ve allus wanted you,” he cried. “I ain’t
no
good at makin’ fancy speeches, but I’ll treat you right. Mebbe I run a bit wild
after you took Gray; that’s all over. Girl, we’d have a shore-enough
bonanza
in this of barn. What
d’you say
?”

 
          
“No,
now and always,” she replied steadily.

 
          
The
low voice carried conviction, and the crash of his new-born hopes aroused his
anger.

 
          
Thrusting
a threatening face
near to her own,
he spoke through
his clenched teeth:

 
          
“I’m
not yore class, I s’pose? One o’ these days I’ll make you ask for what you just
turned down.
I’ll ”

 
          
“Why,
Mister Mullins, what brings yu amongst us again?” The ruffian turned round.

 
          
Dave
Masters was smiling, but his eyes were flinty. Entering from the rear, he had
approached unnoticed. Jake had his answer ready:

 
          
“I
come to see Dutch—heard he was here.”

 
          
“Yu
heard correct; we’ll go find him,” Dave remarked cheerfully. “All yu’ve gotta
do is pay for what yu’ve had.” He looked at the used crockery. “Steak an’ fixin’s,
pie, cawfee—that’ll set yu back one dollar. Ante up, an’ we’ll be goin’.” Jake’s
expression was one of irate doubt; he did not know how to deal with this apparently
good-tempered young man, who had, however, handled Sark—a big fellow—capably.

 
          
Outside,
the deputy looked at his companion with twinkling eyes. “We’ll need a spade,”
he said.

 
          
The
visitor’s start of surprise was well done. “You tellin’ me Dutch
is
dead?”

 
          
“Adam
ain’t
no
deader. Didn’t yu know?”

 
          
“Ain’t
seen him since the day I left Welcome—we fell out,” Mullins lied. “How did it
happen?”

 
          
“He
was ridin’ in the dark, got throwed, an’ hurt his back,” was the somewhat
incomplete explanation.

 
          
“Talked some, before he passed out—wild stuff ‘bout a bank hold-up,
an’ mentioned yore name.”
Apprehension came and went like a flash, but
Dave saw it. “Must ‘a’ bin out’n his head,”

 
          
Jake
replied,
the mask of indifference back again. “I don’t
take no stock in the
ravin’s
of a dyin’ man. Now, if
you’ve finished shootin’ off yore mouth, I’ll be on my way.”

 
          
“Just
one more thing,” Masters returned. “I heard yu raise yore voice to Mrs. Gray.
That ain’t allowed, an’ I’m servin’ notice on yu to get out an’ stay out o’
this burg, or by the livin’ God I’ll send yu to join Dutch.
yu
sabe?” The careless, bantering youth had gone, and in his stead was a
hard-faced man, with a jutting jaw and hostile eyes, who clearly meant what he
said. So swift had been the change that for one bewildered moment, Jake stared
at him in silence. Then he remembered that he had been given an order.