Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940) (19 page)

 
          
“So
it might ‘a’ been robbery?”

 
          
“Yeah,”
Sloppy agreed, but his tone was not very convincing. “The track o’ the slug
showed he was shot from behind.” The marshal dismounted and walked to the
bushes. They were close-growing, but at the back was an opening where a man
could stand and command a view of the road in both directions. With the barrel
of a pistol he poked about in the rubble of lead leaves and coarse grass which
obscured the roots of the shrubs. Presently he heard the unmistakable clink of
metal against metal. The find proved to be a small, brass tobacco-box, dull and
discoloured by exposure to the elements. It was empty, but on the lid inside,
rudely scratched, were the letters E.K. Returning, he showed it to his
companions.

 
          
“Remember
anyone with those initials?” he asked Sloppy, and got a shake of the head for
answer. “Then it don’t help us any.”

 
          
“Plenty
people use this road,” Dave said. “One of ‘em could ‘a’ throwed it there.”

 
          
“That’s
so,” Sudden agreed, and slipped the box into a pocket. “Sloppy,
d’yu know
much about that law-sharp yu mentioned to me?”

 
          
“Slimy?
Not enough to hang him—more’s the pity.”

 
          
“What’s
he done to yu?”

 
          
“Nothin’—I
ain’t anythin’ to lose, so I’m safe from his kind.”

 
          
“I’m
beginnin’ to suspect yu don’t like the fella,” Sudden said. “Amos Sark trusted
him.”

 
          
“ Hated’
is a better word,” Sloppy retorted. “By all
accounts, Amos could smell a skunk, two-legged or four.”

 
          
“He
let him make his will,” the marshal persisted.

 
          
“I’m
lettin’ this hoss carry me, but I
ain’t trustin’
him,”
the little man said, with a wry smile.

 
          
Nippert
examined the brass box and shook his head. “Funny findin’ it where you did, but
it
don’t
prove a thing,” he said. “Yo’re a clever guy,
Jim, but the shootin’ o’ Amos Sark is goin’ to be one too many for you.”

 
          
“Dessay
yo’re right,” Sudden rejoined. “I did hope them letters would give me a line.

 
          
What
sort of a burg is Drywash?”

 
          
“A
lot bigger’n Welcome, an’ as tough as a rawhide,” was the reply. “They got a
sheriff there—Blick—but Jesse Sark owns him, like he would the marshal here if
you hadn’t come along.

 
          
You’ll
on’y be wastin’ yore time there.”

 
          
“I
guess I’ll look the place over,” Sudden said carelessly.

 
          
So,
in the morning, he set out. Curiosity was the excuse he gave his friends, but
the real incentive was the possibility of unearthing information about the
murder, in which the discovery of the tobacco-box had stimulated his interest.
Amos must have had friends and probably enemies, there.

 
          
He
had compassed about half the journey when, having crossed an arid area and
entered the welcome shade of a small forest, he turned in his saddle just as a
rider appeared on the other verge of the plain.

 
          
Concealed
in the undergrowth, he waited, but when the rider at length arrived, jogging
steadily along, it was Sudden who got the surprise, for the traveller proved to
be Jesse Sark.

 
          
“What’s
his errand in Drywash?” he asked himself. “Mebbe I can find out.” The leisurely
pace enabled him to keep his quarry in sight without discovery, for the rancher
rode with hunched shoulders, apparently deep in thought, and devoid of interest
for what might be behind him. When they entered the town, it became more
difficult, for though—as Nippert had said—it was a big
place,
it consisted of the inevitable one long street. Keeping in the rear of a loaded
freight-wagon, Sudden contrived to trail his man to the Drywash Hotel. Here
Sark dismounted and went in.

 
          
The
marshal waited a while, and then—having ascertained that the bar was empty—followed.
He ordered a drink and invited the shirtsleeved dispenser of liquor to join
him.

 
          
Almost
immediately a short, wizened, grey-haired man with a beak of a nose and lips so
thin that they made a mere line on his face, bustled in and said sharply:

 
          
“Is
Sark here?”

 
          
“Shore,
Mister Lyman, in No. 7.”

 
          
“Now,
ain’t that too bad?” Sudden drawled, when the other had vanished up a stairway.
“I reckon I’ll need a room tonight, an’ seven is my lucky number.”

 
          
“He
don’t off’n stay—just uses it for a business powwow, I guess,” the bar-tender
said. “I’ll keep it for you.”

 
          
“But
I’m
wantin’
that apartment straight away—I’ve been
ridin’ since dawn, an’ I’m aimin’ to snatch a snooze afore I start in to set
this burg alight,” was the peevish reply.

 
          
“No.
6 is next door, an’ just as good a room. If I’m gamblin’ I like to begin with a
loss.”

 
          
“Somethin’ in that too,” Sudden allowed.
“I’ll go up pronto.
Shore I’ll take my spurs off—I ain’t no wild man from the woods.” With a broad
grin, he went up the staircase and reached a corridor with numbered doors along
one side. Stepping lightly as a cat, he located the one he was looking for and
slipped noiselessly in. As he had hoped, the partition wall was of board, and
with his ear pressed against it, much of the conversation in the next room was
audible. Lyman was speaking, and his reedy voice was strident.

 
          
“So
you’ve got the Bar O suspecting you, eh? That’s not very clever.”

 
          
“They
can’t prove or do anythin’,” Sark replied. “I’m too strong for ‘em.”

 
          
“Jake
seems to have muddled matters,” the lawyer remarked. “A pity—it was a neat way
of bleeding Owen.”

 
          
“He
was unlucky,” Sark excused. “That cursed marshal…” Lyman cut short the string
of oaths. “Blame yourself. Why the devil didn’t you make a friend of the fellow
instead of letting the Bar O get hold of him? These men all have their price.
Now, I’ll have to find a way to deal with him. Your head is just an ornament,
and poor at that.” To the surprise of the listener, Sark took the rating
meekly. “I ain’t got yore brains, Seth, but he queered our plan to make Mullins
marshal, an’ so.”

 
          
“You
have to show your hand by making an enemy of him?” the lawyer said testily. “One
marshal is as good as another, if he’s taking your pay. How are you getting on
with the girl?”

 
          
“Oh,
we’re good friends,” was the careless reply. “I don’t want to rush things.”

 
          
“No,
you tried that and failed, didn’t you? Don’t lie to me, Jesse; I know what
happens in Welcome.”

 
          
“I
was lit up, but she’ll listen to reason.”

 
          
“She’ll
have to, but it was another stupid blunder. Let it be the last, or …” Silence
ensued, and then Sark said, “By the way, Seth, I’ve bin thinkin’ that if yore
office got burned out, or if anythin’ happened to you, them papers ”

 
          
“Are
in a safer place than my office,” Lyman interrupted.

 
          
“And
if I met with misfortune, my friend, it would be awkward—for one Jesse Sark.”

 
          
“But,
hell, you might drop dead in the street, an’
then ”

 
          
“My
troubles would be over and yours would begin,” was the grim retort. “Brought
the cash?”

 
          
“Yeah,
an’ it takes a lot o’ findin’,” Sark grumbled. “With Jake an’ his men in the
discard it’ll be harder.”

 
          
“
Don’t talk
like a fool. They must go on worrying the Bar O,
whittling down their herds, until Owen is willing to sell—at our price. I hear
Mary Gray is doing well out of her eating-house; no chance of cutting in on her
trade, I suppose?”

 
          
“Not
any, the marshal an’ his side-kick have made the town solid for her.”

 
          
“She’s
got courage, ability, and looks,” the lawyer said. “You’re going to be a lucky
fellow, if you play your cards properly. If I were twenty years younger …”

 
          
“Well?”
The other laughed wheezily. “I’m not, so it doesn’t matter. Now, no hanging
about here; get back to the Dumbbell.” This was evidently not in accordance
with the rancher’s intentions. “Damn it, Seth, a chap must have some fun,” he
protested. “Yo’re askin’ too much.”

 
          
“I’m
not asking anything,” Lyman rasped. “I’m giving orders.” Sudden heard the door
slam, the sound of one pair of feet on the stairway, and then Sark’s hoarse,
angry voice:

 
          
“You blood-suckin’ leech.
One o’ these days I’m goin’ to
squeeze that shrivelled windpipe till the breath leaves yore rotten carcass.”
Having hurled this valediction at a man who could not hear it, he too departed.
The eavesdropper waited until he
consisted
the coast
would be clear. He found the barman in conversation with a stocky, abnormally
broad individual, whose sheriff’s star occupied a prominent position on his
vest. His pig-like eyes, deep-sunk in a fat, pimply face, surveyed the stranger
truculently. The latter’s badge was not in evidence.

 
          
“Visitor,
I guess,” he opened.

 
          
“The
same,” Sudden returned easily.
“Sheriff.
I see.”

 
          
“Correct,
an’ the name is Blick—mebbe you’ve heard o’ me?” the officer said pompously.

 
          
“I’m
new to these parts—just ridin’ through,” the marshal replied, and when the
barman reminded him that he had booked a bed, added, “I like to play safe;
sleepin’ on my saddle ain’t
no
treat for me.”

 
          
“Cowpunch, huh?”

 
          
“Yeah,
but just now I’m takin’ a li’l vacation. Which is the best place in this
township for a fella to amuse hisself?”

 
          
“The
Square Deal,” the sheriff replied. “Good liquor, pretty gals, an’ straight
games—you’ll find ‘em all there.”

 
          
“
Your
joint?”

 
          
“Shore,
but I ain’t boostin’ it on that account, eh, Tom?”
This to
the bar-tender, who shook his head and winked slyly to his other customer.
“I’m a square man, an’ a square deal has allus bin my motto, which explains the
name. Come an’ see for yoreself.” He emptied his glass, and without waiting for
an answer, strutted out. Sudden’s sardonic eyes followed the stubby figure
until it vanished behind the swinging door, and then turned to encounter the
grinning face of the barman.

 
          
“He’s
certainly square—to look at,” he commented.

 
          
“An’
that’s as far as it goes,” the other said viciously. “
Him
an’ Slimy run this burg to suit theirselves an’ both of ‘em is bad right
through. If you win at Blick’s, some yaller-haired hussy’ll take it from you,
an’ if she
don’t
, there’ll be strong-arm gents waitin’
outside.” The marshal opened his wide shoulders. “
Them
last will have an interestin’ time.”