Sudden Rides Again (1938) s-4 Page 10

  "Would you have shot him?" the cowboy asked curiously. "Certainly, and he knew it," the bandit replied, and with a cold smile, '' You dont believe that. Well, I have another case to deal with--a worse one. You shall see."

  He nodded to his satellite, who went and opened the door. Two men entered, gripping the arms of a third; behind them came some half-dozen others. Ragged, ill-favoured fellows, all of them, who found in the lawless West a haven where they might keep their freedom.

  The prisoner was a half-breed, with more Mexican than Indian blood in him the cowboy conjectured, for he displayed none of the red man's stoicism in misfortune, and his spare frame shook as with an ague when his guards halted him in front of the masked judge. The poor wretch did not know that by his own cowardice he was condemning himself. Satan wasted no time.

  "In the Big Bend affair you were one of the men who entered and cleaned up the bank?"

  "Si, senor," was the reply, almost in a whisper.

  "And you kept back five hundred dollars in gold, thereby adding to your share and lessening ours," the cold voice continued.

  The man's lips writhed. "Sefior, eet ees a meestak," he cried. "Dere was one beeg haste--I no theenk--"

  "That I would find out," the other concluded. "Fool ! All that happens is revealed to me by powers you could not comprehend. Listen: you gave one of the gold pieces to your woman, Anita; the others are buried beneath your blankets. You see, I know all. You have broken your oath to me, and robbed your comrades. The penalty for either is--death."

  The accused tried to speak but his trembling lips were incapable of forming words. Save for the support of the two who held him he would have fallen to the floor. His judge contemplated him with contempt.

  "I shall be merciful," he said, "but you must be punished."

  He paused, and the cowboy saw a gleam of hope in the dark, fearful eyes. "You will receive--fifty lashes."

  The gleam died instantly and stark terror took its place.

  Speech came again in a shrill cry: "Not the wheep, senor; keel me, but not the wheep." He would have dropped on his knees but the guards rudely jerked him upright, and at a sign from their master, dragged him away, still mouthing wild, incoherent entreaties.

  Satan motioned to his servant. "See to it, and let me know when all is ready," he said, and to Sudden, "Well, what do you think?"

  "It will kill him."

  "Of course, but it will save me from slaying others for the same offence," was the callous reply. "That is civilization's excuse for hanging a murderer--he dies that the rest may live, so even this contemptible coward will have served the community." From without, the muffled, brazen voice of a bell came to them. "Have you ever seen a man thrashed, Sudden? Come, it is an interesting sight."

  Little as he wished to witness such a spectacle, the puncher could not refuse. A deed of violence was no new thing to him, and in the course of his adventurous career he had encountered men who, spurred on by greed or revenge, would commit any crime in the calendar, but never had he met the like of the inhuman devil at his side. Throughout the mock trial he sensed that the Red Mask was revelling in his power to hurt, and his so-called promise of mercy was no more than calculated cruelty to a culprit already doomed.

  They stepped out into the sunlight to find a curious scene awaiting them. At a point where the street widened, stood a stout post, and beside it, fixed to the cliff, a big bell. Sudden had noticed them earlier but without suspecting their sinister purpose. Tied to the post, stripped to the waist, his bound wrists- high above his head, was the half-breed, and by hisale a burly fellow holding a short-handled whip of plaited rawhide, the tapering end of which was knotted at intervals. Ringed round the pair were some two-score onlookers, summoned by the sonorous notes of the bell. Mostly men, their coarse, cruel faces were alight with anticipation. They were about to be entertained, and Sudden, seeking for some sign of sympathy, remembered that the condemned had endeavoured to rob these people; there could be no compassion from them.

  The excited chattering ceased and the circle opened as the Red Mask and his companion appeared. A little behind where they stood the cowboy could hear two men muttering. "Five dollars he don't stand twenty-five strokes."

  "Yo're on; Pedro is tougher than he 'pears."

  "But he got the gal Muley wanted an' that hombre ain't the forgettin' sort. Look at him."

  The man with the whip was drawing the lash almost caressingly through his fingers, with a gloating expression which only too plainly betrayed eagerness to begin his ghoulish task. Sudden's remonstrance brought only a sneer to the Chief's thin lips.

  "I picked him for that reason," he said coldly. "I shall get good service."

  He was about to give the awaited signal when, from behind a group of spectators, a woman rushed forward and flung herself at his feet. Not yet thirty, she had a bold kind of beauty, but now her face had the pallor of death, the cheeks sunken, the eyes filled with bitter anguish.

  "Spare him," she pleaded. "He did not want the gold--he took it for me, because I taunted him with his poverty. It was my fault, let me take the punishment. I do not fear the whip, but Pedro is ill--it will kill him."

  The impassioned appeal might have been made to a statue. One piteous glance at those implacable eyes told her that she had failed.

  "Take her away," Satan ordered.

  The woman stood up. Despair had transformed her from a broken suppliant into a raging fury. She raised a hand heavenwards.

  "You devil!" she raved. "May God's fire strike you--"

  Ere she could finish, the words were stifled in her throat. The men who had seized her were about to drag her from the scene when the Chief stayed them.

  "Let her remain," he said harshly. "She shall see her lover suffer, and if she utters but one word, I will double the sentence."

  But the spirit of passion was spent; with a low moan, the woman sank to the ground and buried her face in her hands. The man with the whip, whose advances she had rejected, gazed at the bowed form with brutal satisfaction; every blow he dealt would lacerate her also; his vengeance would be complete.

  A curt command and the lash whistled through the air, sweeping across the bared back and cutting a livid weal from shoulder to hip. The half-breed's whole frame quivered and from his ashen lips sprang a shriek of agony.

  "I figured Muley would draw blood at the first lick," one of the wagerers commented.

  "Bah! He ain't started yet--that was just a taster," the other replied. "He don't want Pedro to pass out too soon."

  The cruel work went on, blow succeeding blow, and with fiendish accuracy the wielder of the weapon contrived that each should fall on a new spot, so that by the time a dozen had been delivered, the victim's back became a red, raw mass. The pain must have been atrocious but after the first cry there was no further sound save the hiss of the lash. Dangling limply from his bound wrists, head bowed between hisbiceps, the sufferer was spared the sight of the brute beasts gathered there to witness his torment.

  "Gittin' tired Muley?" one asked jeeringly. "Somebody did oughta spell you."

  The flogger, already exasperated by the silence of his subject, spat an oath at the speaker and, measuring his distance, rained stroke after stroke, slashing the pulped flesh to ribbons and sending the blood flying. Then he paused, panting, his eyes glaring murder. But his work was done; the drooping head of the half-breed sagged sideways. Muley darted forward and grasped it by the hair.

  "Cashed!" he cried disgustedly. "He's cheated me, damn him."

  With a gesture, the Chief stilled the babel which broke out. "Justice is done," he said grandiloquently.

  As they walked away, the puncher was aware that his companion was eyeing him closely.

  "Well, what do you think of my method of treating traitors?"

  "'Pears to make yu popular with yore people," was Sudden's non-committal answer.

  Satan laughed mockingly. "They hate, but are afraid of me," he boasted, "and that is how I would have it. Poets
prate of love, but fear is the strongest of the passions; it is the great governing factor of life; fear of pain, punishment, death and damnation turns us all into cowards and makes so-called civilization possible. Have you ever thought of that?"

  "Too high-falutin' for me," Sudden said. "What I'm worryin' about right now is where I'll sleep an' put my hoss; I ain't due back at the Double K till to-morrow evenin'."

  "Silver will see to it, and there is a corral at the other end of the place."

  "I'll take Nigger along, an' have a look round."

  "Better wear this," Satan replied, producing one of the red badges. "It will tell the men that you are now one of us, and may save you trouble."

  Sudden's truculent tone was back. "If anybody starts somethin' I hope yu got a good big graveyard."

  The cold eyes glinted. "There's room in it," was the answer.

  Chapter XIII

  It did not take the cowboy long to find the corral, formed by fencing an indentation in the cliff on the left of the street. There was a trough of water, and scanty tussocks of coarse grass afforded some sort of feed. Sudden surveyed it whimsically.

  "Short commons, of friend," he said, as he turned the black loose, "but yu ain't gotta live here--yet. Don't yu go to learnin' bad habits from them other rough-necks."

  By the side of the corral was a largish timber building, a weather-worn sign on which announced it as "Dirk's Saloon." Carrying his saddle and rifle, Sudden went in. A middle-aged, pock-marked man behind the bar was the sole occupant; he promptly produced a bottle.

  "Drinkin' alone is a poor kind o' pastime," the customer said genially, and when the other had helped himself, added, "Got a bed for me to-night?"

  "Guess I can fix it," was the reply. "Seen you with the Chief. New chum, huh?"

  "Yu might call it that," the cowboy agreed. "So yu were there? It warn't a pretty sight, but a fella who double-crosses his pals don't deserve pity."

  "You said it. Pedro got what he shorely asked for."

  They drank again, and Sudden, having dumped his belongings in his bedroom, went out. Turning westwards, he discovered that the street narrowed again to a mere defile closed by a gate similar to that by which he had entered. He stopped short of it, and retraced his steps. A little beyond the saloon, on the opposite side, the sound of sobs arrested him. Acting upon an impulse, he stole along a burrow-like assage outside which he had halted. It led to one of the rimitive caves, and there he found the woman, Anita, on her i ees by some scattered blankets. Two stools, and a few attered cooking utensils comprised all the furniture. She looked up as he entered, and said dully: "What now? Haven't you done enough?"

  "Somebody seemed to be in trouble," Sudden replied. "I thought mebbe I could help."

  "Help?" she repeated harshly. "From one who wears the Devil's trade-mark? Can you bring the dead back to life, you who stood by and laughed as he died?"

  "Yu got me wrong, ma'am," he said gently. "I ain't much iven to laughin' an' doin's like that shore don't amuse me. I ouldn't stop it--they'd got the goods on him."

  She hesitated, her tear-drenched eyes still suspicious. "It s true," she murmured at length. "That hell-dog knows everything--he has a spirit. Even at this moment maybe--"

  "Shucks ! he's no more'n an ornery human bein'--a mighty ornery one at that. He's got spies an' I'm bettin' he pays 'em well. Go an' tell him what I've said an' make yore peace."

  Her eyes flashed. "After what he did? I would die first," she cried passionately. "Wasn't it enough to take life without ...?"

  She broke down, but he gradually learned the story. They had brought the dead man to his wretched abode, and when she had begged them to let her bury the body, had hurled it headlong through the opening which provided light and entilation, with the cruel gibe that the coyotes would save her the trouble. Sudden looked out; more than a hundred feet below he could see the tossing tops of trees above theundergrowth. Satan had spoken truly; there was indeed room in the grave-yard.

  "Mebbe I can find an' bury him for yu," he said.

  She stared at him, wonderingly. "Stranger, if you'll do that, I--"

  "Shucks," he interrupted hastily, and beat a retreat. Getting his horse, he rode to the western gate, which the man in charge opened without demur. For a mile the wagon-track rose and fell, swinging round then where it dipped down into the valley which the bandit town overlooked. Thrusting through the thick brush along the foot of the cliff he arrived near the place where he judged the body must fall. Presently he found it--a shapeless heap in a patch of tall grass. He had no implement to dig a hole but there was a convenient crevice and in this he laid the poor broken frame, piling heavy stones to defend it from desecration. Then, with his knife, he carved a rude cross to mark the spot.

  Night was nigh when he again entered the town, and in the shadows opposite the saloon, saw the woman waiting. He told her what he had done and the drooping figure straightened.

  "So, I have only to avenge him," she said, and her low voice was venomous. It softened again as-she continued, "Stranger, in this den of wild beasts it is good to have a friend; remember you can count on one who will not forget what she owes you."

  "Why, I ain't done nothin'," he protested.

  "You think not? Yet if that murderer learns of it he will treat the pair of us as he did Pedro."

  "We won't tell him," Sudden smiled. "Adios."

  He swung his horse over towards the corral, and when he had vanished in the gloom, Anita returned to the hovel she called home. Sinking down on the pile of rugs, she shook her head in perplexity.

  "Why is he here?" she asked herself. "He's not like the rest." She had heard he was a gunman, renowned in the West, and he looked it, but there was a cleanness, a self-reliance, and lack of bluster which made him stand out among the criminals and outcasts who found a refuge in Hell City. The thought that this stranger was no admirer of the man she had vowed vengeance upon brought a tigerish smile to her lips.

  Sudden's appearance in the saloon earned him no more than a glance or two; a new face was a common occurrence, and his was not even that. Some two dozen men were present, playing cards, dicing, or drinking at the bar. Among the latter was Muley, who seemed to be the chief attraction. He was evidently proud of his morning's performance and could speak of nothing else, his one grievance being that it had not lasted longer.

  "You hit too hard," one of the group round him remarked.

  "Hard?" bellowed Muley. "Why, I hadn't mor'n begun to stroke him when he goes an' dies on me. I'm tellin' you, the Chief's gittin' poor stuff these days; calls theirselves men an' ain't got the guts of a louse."

  His malignant gaze travelled round the room, rested for an instant on the puncher, and passed on to a youth sitting alone on a stool at the end of the bar. Sudden had already noticed him and speculated as to what boyish escapade had brought him there. With a wink to his companions, the flogger lurched across, and said roughly: "What's yore name, you?"

  The lad looked at him with drink-bemused eyes. "Ben Holt," he replied, adding, "I on'y come in to-day."

  "Well, if that ain't good news. The rule is for newcomers to set up drinks for the crowd. What about it?"

  Ben Holt laughed dismally. "Yo're too late, mister, I'm near busted," he explained. "If I'd knowed earlier ... "

  The bully growled an oath, and swinging his right arm struck the boy a flat-handed blow on the side of his head which swept him to the floor. Then he seated himself on the vacant stool, and with an impudent grin at Sudden, said: "That's what we do to fresh fellas who don't pay their footin'."

  All eyes were on the puncher as he stepped unhurriedly forward. "I'm a fresh fella, an' I'm not buyin'. So what?"

  For ten tense seconds, Muley stared into the grey-blue eyes of the man who had called his bluff, seeking a way out. The other found it for him.

  "Yu yaller dawg," he grated. "If I'd a whip yu should have a taste of yore own medicine, but as it is ..."

  His hand rose and fell, landing on the fellow's
bloated cheek with such force as to send him sprawling. Lying in the dirt, spitting out inarticulate curses, he clawed feebly at the gun he dared not draw. Covert grins were on the faces of most of the onlookers--a bully has few friends in the day of discomfiture. Sudden took no further notice of him, but went to the boy, who had got up and was watching the scene with wide eyes.

  "A mouthful o' fresh air won't do yu no harm," he said, and led the way to the door.

  Outside the corral the puncher paused, ostensibly to make a cigarette, but actually to give his companion time to shake off the fumes of the spirit he had imbibed. The cool cleanness of the night appeared to bring him out of the semi-dazed state. Sudden surveyed him sardonically.

  "I'm guessin' yu an liquor ain't very well acquainted," he remarked. "Drownin' yore sorrows is a poor way--the blame things can anus swim."

  The boy made a desperate attempt to smile. "I expect yo're right," he said. "But you were drinkin' too."

  "I was takin' a drink. To sit there lappin' 'em up one after the other is somethin' different. What brought yu here?"

  It was a common enough tale. A gambling debt he could not pay, an attempt to get the money dishonestly which failed, and he was outside the law.

  "The sheriff an' his men was hot on our trail an' we lined out for here. They got the other two, but I made it. I most wish I hadn't," he finished miserably.

  "That's no way to talk," Sudden told him. "Keep yore chin up an' stay away from liquor an' cards. When did yu lose that posse?"

  "Two days back, 'bout forty mile off," was the reply. "I rode in the water some."

  "Good for yu. I'm bettin' they've turned tail."

  Holt remembered something. "I'm thankin' you," he said shyly.

  "Don't yu. That windbag was aimin' at me. So long."

  Purely as a matter of policy, the puncher returned to the saloon, the owner of which greeted him with a grin.

  "He's went," he said. "Got the face-ache, I figure; that was a daddy of a wallop you give him." He lowered his voice. "Don't forget that anythin' goes in this man's town."