Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 08 - Sudden Takes The Trail(1940) (32 page)

 
          
They’re
leavin’ the country, an’ I’ll bet they ain’t delayin’ any.” The rancher glared
at him. “You’d no right to do that, even though you are marshal.”

 
          
“I
ain’t—I resigned before I sent ‘em off. Sloppy, didn’t yu give Ned my star?”

 
          
“Done
forgot
,” the little man said, with an unrepentant
grin. “Things
was
happenin’ so quick.”

 
          
“So
yu see, John,” Sudden continued, “if yu must have a necktie party, yu gotta be
content with me.” He smiled as he spoke, and the very absurdity of the
suggestion brought an answering laugh all round, save from the cattleman. The
saloon-keeper put the matter bluntly:

 
          
“After
what he’s done, I reckon the Bar O owes him that.” John Owen was a just man.

 
          
“Yo’re
right, Ned,” he admitted. “Sorry I spoke outa turn, Jim. Welcome can’t do
without you.

 
          
Shake.”
Their hands met, and Sudden said something they were to recall later:

 
          
“The
man who can’t be done without ain’t been born yet.”

 
          
IT
was some days later, and
Welcome
, having duly
celebrated the defeat and dispersal of the outlaws, resumed the uneven tenor of
its way.

 
          
The
marshal and his deputy, chairs tilted back, were taking the morning sun in
front of their abode. For some time they had smoked in silence, and then Dave
said abruptly:

 
          
“When
do we hit the trail, Jim?”

 
          
“Day
or two,” the other replied absently, and then, “We? What yu talkin’ of? Yo’re
stayin’ here.”

 
          
“I—am—not.
Hell! Why couldn’t yu leave things be ‘stead o’ rakin’ up ancient hist’ry, an’
unsettlin’ everybody?
”
The marshal stared at him. “Yu
talked this over with Mrs. Gray?”

 
          
“No,”
the boy snapped. “What yu take me for?”

 
          
“The
biggest chump the Lord ever put breath into,” Sudden said pleasantly, and got
up.

 
          
Despondently
the young man saw him stroll along the street, pausing now and then to chat
with a passer-hy. “Jim
don’t
understand,” he muttered
miserably.

 
          
He
was wrong, the marshal understood very well. The Widow’s face lit up when he
entered, but fell again when she saw that he was alone.

 
          
“Dave
been in?” he asked casually.

 
          
“No,
and he didn’t come yesterday,” she told him, adding with a brave show of
indifference, “He must have lost his appetite.”

 
          
“S’posed
to be a reason for that, ain’t there?” Sudden queried, and noted the quick
flush.

 
          
“Guess
it’s liver in his case—he needs exercise, an’ he’ll get it when we start our
travels again.”

 
          
“He’s
going away?” The cheeks were white now.
“But why?”

 
          
“Dave’s
changed the last day or two. He’s that modest I don’t hardly know him—just an
ornery no’-count puncher he calls hisself.
Talks dangerous,
too, about makin’ a pile o’ money, pronto.”

 
          
“Whatever for?”

 
          
“I
dunno. Mebbe he wants somethin’ that seems out of his reach.” The girl’s eyes
glistened. “Jim,” she said softly, “you are the best friend I ever had. Do you
think ?”

 
          
“I’ll
fix it,” Sudden broke in, and beat a rapid retreat. As “he approached the
lounger outside the office, he quickened his pace.

 
          
“The
Widow is hurt,” he said, and turned his grinning face aside as Dave leapt from
his chair and raced for the restaurant.

 
          
Flinging
open the door, he dashed in to find the lady leaning against one of the tables,
and the look which welcomed him was something a mere man is lucky to see once
in a lifetime.

 
          
As
his hungry arms closed about her, he cried:

 
          
“Mary,
what’s the matter? Jim said yu were hurt.”

 
          
“Dear
old Jim,” she smiled. “I was—you were going away.” His hold tightened. “But,
girl dear, I’m just
.. ”

 
          
“An
ornery no’count puncher,” she quoted.

 
          
“Yeah,
an’ yu got a ranch. What else could a fella do?” From the shelter of his
shoulder came a muffled whisper. “I’ve got a heart, too. A fella could stay and
look after—them both.”

 
          
That
same evening, in the privacy of
his own
parlour at the
Red Light, the saloon-keeper tried again to persuade the mashal to remain.

 
          
“Shucks!”
Sudden smiled. “Ever hear o’ the Wandering Jew? He had the travel itch, same as
me, an’ there’s no cure for it, ol’-timer; I gotta go.” The saloon-keeper gave
it up. “Welcome will find it mighty hard to part with you,” he said glumly.

 
          
**

 
          
In
the morning, the town awoke to find the marshal had solved the problem for it
and himself by disappearing during the hours of darkness. The coming of
daylight found him half-way to Drywash. A single farewell look and he turned to
face the lonely trail he had once more elected to tread.

 
          
The
End