Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 10 - Sudden Plays a Hand(1950) (21 page)

 
          
He
waved aside her thanks. ‘Anythin’ I can do for you is a pleasure.’

 
          
She
had nothing to say to this, and he swung into his saddle and rode away. His
receding figure was still in sight when Yorky came up.

 
          
“That
was Mister Cullin,’ she said. “You don’t like him, do you?’

 
          
The
boy’s face took on a whimsical expression. “If I had to choose between him an’
a rattler to cross
th
’ plains with, I’d take th’
rattler,’ was how he put it.

 
          
Mary
went indoors, trying to convince herself that he would naturally share the view
of his employer. She failed; Yorky was eminently capable of forming his own
opinion.

 
          
Dusk
found them back at Shadow Valley. The presence of Sudden at the evening meal
came as a relief to the girl, who had been awaiting it with some apprehension.
She liked the puncher, and had confidence in him, though she knew that he too
possessed dynamic possibilities for violence, and could be adamant when
occasion demanded. The nester himself provided the opening she needed.

 
          
“I
don’t like you an’ Lindy bein’ up there alone,’ he said. “No doubt Milton’s
awright, but he’s past his prime, an’ the rest o’ the outfit is just
guess-work.’

 
          
“Perhaps
you could spare Yorky?’ Mary suggested.

 
          
“Shore
could, but he’s kind o’ young,’ Drait objected. “What you think, Jim?’

 
          
“Yorky’s
head is a lot older than his body,’ Sudden smiled. “He’d be as pleased as a pup
with two tails, an’ he’s useful in a tight corner.’

 
          
“As
I’ve reason to know,’ Mary said seriously. “
First, Bardoe,
and today—Lamond.’

 
          
They
listened gravely to her account, Drait’s expression one of gloomy anger,
Sudden’s, of pride in his pupil.

 
          
“Well
done, Yorky,’ the former growled. “Pity he couldn’t finish the job.’

 
          
“If
a fella won’t draw, what
can yu
do?’ the puncher
queried. “So he booted him off the veranda, huh? Wonder who
learned
him that trick?’

 
          
“I
believe I could guess,’ Mary said demurely.

 
          
“Yu’d
likely be wrong, ma’am,’ Sudden returned. “I started his education, but I ain’t
takin’ the blame for all of it;
them
rapscallions at
Rainbow took over when I left.’

 
          
“I
had another visitor too—Mister
Cullin
; he came to
offer me one of his riders as foreman.’

 
          
It
astonished her to find that Nick received the news quite calmly; she had
expected an outburst, which would only have made her further inclined to engage
the man. Drait divined this.

 
          
“What’s
his name?’ he asked, .and when she told him, shook his head. “Maybe a newcomer,
an’ honest, which might account for Cullin wantin’ to get rid of him,’ was his
caustic comment.

 
          
By
the time Sudden had returned to the bunkhouse Mary was facing her husband; she
never found it easy to speak to him.

 
          
“Yorky
thinks that Lamond is staying in the country to kill you,’ she said.

 
          
“Do
you also believe that?’ he asked.

 
          
“I
don’t know,’ she replied dully. “Any savage act of revenge seems possible in
this land without law.’

 
          
“Revenge,
yeah, naturally he’d hate me for beatin’ him up,’ Nick mused. “An’ success
would convert you into a most attractive widow. Have you thought o’ that?’

 
          
The
blood burned in her cheeks. “Obviously,’ she cried sarcastically. “Why else
should I be warning you?’

 
          
“I’ve
had no encouragement to think you’d be sorry.’ “Have I any reason to be?’

 
          
“Mebbe
not,’ he said slowly, “but mistress o’ the S P, even at the cost o’ bearin’ my
name, in secret, is better than bein’ Bardoe’s—toy. I’m obliged for yore
warnin’.’

 
          
He
went, leaving her angry, perplexed, but silenced. His last words, brutally
blunt, were nevertheless true; looked at in that way, she ought to be grateful.
Passionately she told herself she was not.

 
          
In
the morning, Yorky convoyed his new boss and Lindy to the S P. Again they found
a visitor waiting, but this time it was a sturdily-built, blue-jowled cowboy,
with a craggy face in which the only distinguishing feature was a pronounced
cast in one eye. This was Cullin’s man, Sturm. Leaving Mary to speak with him,
Yorky made for the bunkhouse, eager to inspect his new quarters.

 
          
He
was about to push the door back when a sneering voice came from within:

 
          
“I
tell you, hombres, eet weel be easy. Lamond say dees gal
know
no t’ing of de ranch beesness. She wed give us de feefty bucks a
mont
’. She young, pretty, an’ weel be lonely; een a leetle
time, I sleep at ze ranch-house.’

 
          
The
listener slammed the door back and stepped in. The five men sitting at the
table rose to their feet, staring at him.

 
          
Tomini,
you are a filthy, foul-mouthed liar,’ Yorky said, with deliberate stress upon
the epithets. “Pull yore gun.’

 
          
The
half-breed’s eyes grew ugly. He knew he had been overheard, and that this would
ruin his plans, unless … He folded his arms, keeping his hands well away from
his belt.

 
          
“I
do not war wit’ cheeldren,’ he said loftily.

 
          
“No,
women are yore mark,’ the boy retorted. “Do I have to slap yore face, you spawn
of an Injun?’

 
          
The
bitter taut had the desired effect, but not quite in the expected way. The
man’s right hand flashed up from his shoulder and down again. Only just in time
Yorky caught the gleam of steel, snatched out his gun and fired. The heavy
throwing-knife fanned his cheek as it passed to bury several inches of its
blade in the jamb of the door. Tomini, reeling under the shook of a bullet in
his shoulder, and mouthing curses in his own tongue, was fumbling for his
pistol.

 
          
“Freeze!’
Yorky barked. “Th’ next slug goes through yore
gizzard.’

 
          
It
was at this moment that Sturm, followed by the breathless girl, appeared; they
had heard the shot.

 
          
“What
is happening?’ she cried.

 
          
Nothin’—now,
ma’am,’ Yorky told her, as he shoved a cartridge into the empty chamber of his
weapon. He was seething with anger. “This yeller-bellied son of a bitch
called’—he hesitated—”me names, an’ I don’t take that from nobody. Then he
threw a knife an’ I winged him.’

 
          
He
pointed to the weapon and Mary shivered. Violence seemed to pursue her.

 
          
“But
why should he abuse you?’

 
          
“Heard
‘em plannin’ to sting you for a ten bucks a month raise all round. Lamond put
‘em up to it.’

 
          
A
tiny crease showed between her level brows at the mention of the cowboy. She
looked at the sullen faces of her outfit, decided that the situation was beyond
her, and turned to Sturm; “
Are
you prepared to start
at once?’

 
          
“Shore.
I fetched my warbags along—hopin’,’ he replied. “Want
I should handle this?’

 
          
“Yes,’
she said, and to the men, “
This
is my and your,
foreman.’

 
          
The
newcomer wasted no time. ‘Yo’re fired,’ he said to the half-breed, who, nursing
his damaged arm had slumped down on a form. “Git yore hurt fixed, an’ travel.’
To the other four, the pay is forty per; any o’ you honin’ to go with this
fella?’

 
          
All
were silent; it was months yet to the
Fall
roundups
and work would not be easy to find.

 
          
“.Right,
now listen to me,’ Sturm went on. “Do yore job an’ you’ll find me not difficult
to git on with, but I won’t stand for quarrellin’ an’ gun-plays.’ He swung on
Yorky. “If yo’re in this outfit, make a note o’ that.’

 
          
Yorky
looked him straight in the face, his eyes hot. “You can go plumb to hell,’ he
said, and walked out of the bunkhouse. He had gone but a few yards when Mary
caught him up. Her distress was evident.

 
          
“I’m
sorry, Yorky, he shouldn’t have spoken like that,’ she began.

 
          
“Yo’re
shoutin’,’ he replied roughly. “I ain’t goin’ to be bawled out afore the outfit
by any cock-eyed cow-wrastler that ever wore shoe-leather. I’ll get back to the
Valley; I on’y make trouble. I reckon yo’re no good at choosin’.’

 
          
“What
do you mean?’

 
          
“Sturm
ain’t straight.’

 
          
“You
say that because he comes from the Big C.’

 
          
“No, ma’am.
I’ve met plenty crooks, an’ I say
th
’ same if he stepped right outa Paradise; there’s mean
blood in him. He’s comin’ now—to soap me over.’

 
          
Another
moment and the man
was
with them, a smile on his lips.
“I guess I gotta ‘pologise,’ he began. “I’ve bin diggin’ the facts outa them
dumb-heads an’ it ‘pears the Greaser was lettin’ his tongue wag putty
scand’lous ‘bout you, ma’am, an’ our friend here told him what he was—made it
plain too. Tomini buzzed a knife, an’ if this young fella hadn’t bin almighty
slick with a gun he’d be lyin’ back there with his face split open; as it was, he
come close to losin’ an ear. Seein’ he was just bein’ loyal to his boss, I’m
eatin’ crow. No hard feelin’s, son.’

 
          
Yorky
shook the extended hand, but without enthusiasm, and the foreman beamed. “Good.
I’ll git back an’ giv them loafers somethin’ else to think about.’

 
          
“So
that was it?’ Mary said softly. “You risked your life for my good name. Do you
still think I’m a bad chooser?’

 
          
“Yeah,
Sturm knowed he’d got off on the wrong foot,’ the boy persisted.

 
          
Mary
smiled. “Stubborn as Sam Pavitt, they used to say of my grandfather I’ve been
told. Yorky, if Sturm is not honest, I’ll need you all the more.’

 
          
BOTH
Sudden and Yorky ate at the ranch-house that evening. Despite a harassing day,
the girl seemed in better spirits, and her husband too appeared less
constrained than usual in her presence.

 
          
“So
you got yore foreman,’ he remarked.

 
          
“Yes,’
she replied. “He seems—capable.’

 
          
“An’
Jim was right about the Greaser?’ He read her reproachful look at Yorky. “Oh,
he didn’t blab; I heard from Lindy, an’ she got it from Milton. I guess. Ain’t
it true?’

 
          
“Yes,
Mister Green—’

 
          
“That
shore makes me feel like a stranger,’ Sudden said.