Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 10 - Sudden Plays a Hand(1950) (28 page)

 
          
“Feed
looks fine,’ he remarked presently. “Not many cattle showin’.’

 
          
It
was not long before they came across a score or more, and got near enough to
look them over. “In good shape,’ Drait conceded. “But there’s some need
brandin’.’

 
          
Mary
looked annoyed. “That should have been attended to. I told Sturm he would find
several about here.’

 
          
“How’s
he shapin’?’

 
          
She
said the man was satisfactory, so far. They reached another small herd,
containing more which had “missed the iron.’ “I guess Gilman’s fellas had an
easy time,’ Drait commented.

 
          
“They’re
still having it, apparently,’ Mary said bitterly. It hurt her pride that this
man, especially, should find subject for criticism when she had hoped for
praise; Sturm must be made to understand he was there to obey orders.

 
          
“Know
anythin’ about yore fellas?’

 
          
“They
close right up when I’m near. All I get out of them is “Yes, ma’am,” or “No,
ma’am.” They’re different from the Valley men.’

 
          
Draft
grinned. “You bet they are. I’m boss, but those rascals are my friends, an’ they
know that, come what may, I’ll stand by any or all of ‘em to the finish. Such
wouldn’t serve under a Gilman. Now, what’s yore trouble?’

 
          
She
was about to deny, but he interrupted: “
Don’t
say it;
yore lips weren’t made for lyin’—Mary.’ The word slipped out —he had not meant
to use it. He saw the red tide rise in her cheeks, out he could not know that
her veins were tingling as they had not done when Cullin took the same liberty.
“You see,’ he went on hurriedly: “This is a stiff job you’ve taken on, an’ it
can’t be mastered in a few weeks, though you’ve done amazin’ well. O’ course,
you don’t have to tell me, but….’

 
          
“I’m
losing cattle,’ she confessed helplessly. “
Just a score
perhaps at a time.’

 
          
“What’s
yore foreman doin’ about it?’

 
          
The
men are night-riding, but while they watch one part of the range, the thieves
visit another.’

 
          
“Someone’s
gettin’ information. Don’t worry; these things happen, an’ you must expect a
loss now an’ again, but it’s gotta be looked into.’

 
          
Presently
they encountered Yorky.
“Able to find yore way around
better?’
Drait wanted to know. “I’m learnin’ how
th
’
land lies,’ the boy replied.

 
          
“Mind
the land don’t learn how you lie,’ the nester grinned. “These missin’ steers
now; got anythin’ to tell us?’

 
          
“Yestiddy
there was fifty right
here,
an’ today I can’t round up
thirty; also, hoss-tracks in circles don’t come o’ theirselves.’ “Have you
reported to Sturm?’ Mary asked.

 
          
“No,
ma’am, I was aimin’ to try an’ track ‘em down m’self.’
“You
any good at trailin’?’
Nick asked.

 
          
“Not
very,’ was the modest reply. “Jim can read sign like an Injun.’

 
          
“We’ll
try him out. He’ll be over in the mornin’, an’ we won’t tell even the foreman.
Sabe?’

 
          
“I’ll
be as dumb as a dead nigger,’ Yorky promised.

 
          
When
they reached the house, the sight of newly-turned soil jogged her memory. “I
haven’t thanked you for that suggestion,’ she said.

 
          
Nick
looked unhappy. “It warn’t mine,’ he blurted out. “It was Jim’s, an’ he
fathered it on me, I dunno why. Don’t let on I told you—I expect he had a
reason.’

 
          
Her
woman’s instinct enabled her to make a near guess, and neither of the men
suffered in her estimation by the disclosure. “We’ll round up some roots for
you—there’s plenty in the Valley,’ Drait went on.

 
          
“I’d
rather have those than any,’ she replied eagerly, and saw his grave face light
up.

 
          
“Which
is fine to hear,’ he said.

 
          
The
firm clasp of his fingers remained after he had left. Her eyes softened at the
puncher’s attempt to do his friend a good turn, and that friend’s refusal to
accept credit not due to him. She went into the kitchen.

 
          
“Lindy,
what do you think of Mister Green?’

 
          
“Reckon
he’s all man, honey, an’ dey’s sca’ce. Massa Nick’s one, foh sho’, but dat
Cullin

 
          
“Is
kind to me,’ Mary reminded sharply.

 
          
The
black woman shook her head; she was not to be convinced.

 
          
Early
morning found Sudden at the S P, and having collected Yorky, heading for the
scene of the latest raid. Sturm saw them, but having been told that the boy was
showing the visitor over the range, was not interested; if the time of a hand
was wasted, it was the owner’s affair.

 
          
The
evidence on the spot was plain enough. Sudden studied the tracks closely.

 
          
“About
twenty-five cows, convoyed by five riders,’ he decided. “
One
of ‘em forkin’ a shod hoss, with a cross in the off hind shoe, for luck,
mebbe.’

 
          
The
depth of the imprints told that the beasts had been hard-driven, but after a
mile had been covered, the pace fell off as the undulating plain gave place to
broken, wild country.

 
          
“I
ain’t envying’ ‘em,’ Sudden remarked. “
Must ‘a’ been a moon
that night.’

 
          
“There
was,’ Yorky said. “An’ they wasn’t usin’
th
’ trail for
the first time neither.’

 
          
They
had arrived at the edge of a miniature desert, roughly circular in shape, and about
a mile across. Into this the trail plunged and ceased abruptly; a wind had
swept the light, powdery sand into tiny ridges, obliterating every trace.

 
          
“Gotta
ride around her an’ find out where they came off,’ the puncher said. “Take the
left an’ keep agoin’ till we meet.’

 
          
It
was Yorky who found the spot, the rustlers having borne well to his side in
crossing the arid expanse. This was their first real attempt to blind their
tracks, but it was followed by another necessitating a search of the oanks of a
stream along which the stolen cattle had been driven. A stretch of gravel next
gave trouble, but after that the raiders apparently regarded themselves as
safe. Finally, a stone-littered, winding pathway brought the trailers to what
appeared to be a pile of rock. Closer inspection revealed an opening, masked by
foliage, and secured by a barrier of newly-cut poles. Within was a cuplike
depression, grass-carpeted, on which a herd was grazing. There was no sign of
any herders, so they entered and walked their mounts forward until the brands
were discernible.

 
          
“S
P—over a hundred of ‘em,’ the puncher said. “An’ as this place can’t be far
from Bardoe’s range, it’s an easy guess
who
fetched
‘em here. Well, gotta get back an’ report to Nick; I ain’t trustin’ Sturm.’

 
          
They
took their time on the return journey, and evening was approaching when Shadow
Valley was reached. Drait was awaiting them.

 
          
“Bardoe,
no doubt,’ he agreed. “That place is the Devil’s Pocket; we’ll have ‘em out o’
there tomorrow.’

 
          
“An’
take ‘em back to the S P?’ Sudden asked.

 
          
“To
be lifted again? No, they’ll be safer here. We’ll say nothin’; it’ll be a
pleasant surprise for—Miss Darrell. You two’ll have to let her think you’ve
failed, just for the time.’

 
          
“That’s
no matter,’ Sudden smiled. “But ain’t it rather risky to have stolen cows in
the Valley?’

 
          
“Won’t
be for long, an’ who’s to know?’ Nick argued. “Folks
has
to get permission to come in here now.’

 
          
He
seemed set on the plan, and the puncher said no more but he did not like it;
some intuition told him it would spell trouble. When the first streak of grey
on the horizon proclaimed the coming of the dawn, Drait and his four men set
out. Yorky had returned to the S P the night before; Sudden remained in charge
of the Valley. It was late in the day when the outfit appeared again, driving a
bawling bunch of steers; the Pocket had been emptied.

 
          
“Everythin’
went slick as a greased rope,’ the nester said. “We took it easy, fogged the
trail some, an’ went on a wide sweep to Miss Bardoe’s range. Never saw hide
nor
hair o’ anyone.’

 
          
But
the operation had not been quite
so
unobserved as he
believed. When they were but a mile or so from home, one of Cullin’s men had
seen the herd from a distance and promptly investigated. Having dogged it to
its destination, he carried the news to his employer, who frowned in perplexity
when he heard it.

 
          
“Which
direction were they comin’ from when you first saw ‘em?’ he
asked.

 
          
“West,’
the rider said, adding, “
Must
‘a’ taken a helleva road
round if they were from the S P.’

 
          
Cullin
dismissed him, and then tried to puzzle it out. The only conclusion he came to
was that it required attention. Accordingly, in the morning, he journeyed—not
unwillingly—to the S P, but instead of going to the ranch-house he swung off
into the brush, and waited until he saw the man he wanted. A whistle brought
Sturm to him—they had met there before.

 
          
“Mornin’,’
Cullin greeted. “
Cattle still strayin’?’ with an emphasis on
the last word.

 
          
“Over
a hundred head—it’s that simple you can skin the range if you want.’

 
          
“I
don’t.
Any more news?’

 
          
“That
Yorky kid was showin’ Green around day afore yestiddy,’ Sturm replied. “I saw
‘em start an’ that’s all any of us did see; the boy showed up agin at night—alone.’

 
          
As
the rancher rode back to approach the house in the usual way, his brain was
busy with this piece of information. Green was an experienced cowboy, and would
know about trailing cattle. He had spent a whole day looking over a range the
like of which he must have seen on scores of occasions. In the circumstances,
Bardoe’s men would hardly trouble about leaving tracks. It was all plain: Drait
had the stolen steers in Shadow Valley. A Satanic smile distorted his lips; the
nester had handed him the winning card.

 
          
The
girl’s welcome seemed less cordial than usual, and though the possibility
angered him, there was no sign of it. After a compliment on her appearance, he
asked casually, “
Have
you been partin’ with cows
lately?’

 
          
The
question rubbed a sore spot. Sudden’s failure to run down the raiders had been
a sharp disappointment, and Mary had a vision of continued losses, and an end
to her hopes of making the S P a success.

 
          
“Yes,’
she replied ruefully. “Parting with them, but not willingly; they’ve been
spirited away—in the night.’

 
          
“My,
that’s tough,’ he said, in a shocked tone. “Lost many?’ “More than five score,
Sturm estimates.’