Sudden Law o The Lariat (1935) Page 10

  "What's the big idea?" he asked.

  In a few brief sentences Severn told of the capture and rescue of Larry and of the taking of Shadwell who, sitting erect now, listened with a scowling face. At the conclusion of the story he broke into a torrent of protest.

  "It's a lot o' damn lies. I dunno nothin' about a girl, an' the on'y time I seen these fellas afore was when one of 'em held me up an' the other slugged me in the saloon yonder. I was ridin' the Desert Edge trail 's'afternoon when these two jumped me an' fetched me here."

  "An' this ain't your'n, o' course," Severn said, fishing the dirty white mask from his pocket.

  "Never seed it," the prisoner lied stolidly. He turned to Tyler. "Yo're the sheriff, I believe; these jaspers yore deppities?"

  "They ain't," replied that worthy emphatically.

  There was a stir as the crowd opened to let Bartholomew through. The big man looked at the outlaw, and there was not a trace of recognition in his glance.

  "So that's yore bandit chief, is it?" he said. "Well he's ugly enough." Some of the crowd laughed, and Sever , who was watching Shadwell, saw an angry gleam come to his eyes. "Ain't he the fella that was in the ruckus at the 'Come Again'? What's the yarn?" Bartholomew went on.

  The sheriff repeated what Severn had told , and the Bar B rancher turned to the foreman "Yu go that notice they served?"

  Bart glanced over it, and at his suggestion the prisoner was taken into the sheriff's office, given paper and pencil, and made to write down the words of the notice, which Bart read out to him. A comparison of the two plainly showed they were written by different hands.

  "That don't help us," the big man said, and put the papers in his pocket.

  Instantly Severn stepped forward. "That notice belongs to me, an' I'll trouble yu for it," he said.

  "Rightly, it's evidence, an' the sheriff takes charge of it," was the reply.

  "When he wants it I'll be on hand," the foreman retorted, and there was a threat in his tone. "Pass it over."

  For an instant Bartholomew hesitated, his face dark with passion, and then he flung the paper on the table.

  "Yu keep a-pilin' up the score, Severn," he rasped. "There's gotta be a settlin' some time."

  Severn picked up the document, looked to make sure it was the original and laughed as he thrust it back into the pocket of his vest.

  "Shore, an' in full," he said, and turning to the sheriff he added, "If yu got pluck enough to smoke out these coyotes, gather yore posse an' I'll guide yu to their hang-out."

  "When I want yore help I'll ask for it," the officer blustered. "As for this fella--" He looked at the Bar B owner.

  "Yu better take charge of him," Bart said. "I'll be seein' Miss Masters in the mornin' an' we'll know how much o' this kidnapped cowboy yarn is true. I ain't takin' the word o' any man from the Lazy M."

  "Not since the men yu put there to spy left the country," Severn came back at him, and had the satisfaction of seeing the other give a little start of surprise. He did not reply, however, and Severn went in search of his horse, satisfied with having put the sheriff in an embarrassing position.

  A burst of cheering from the bunkhouse brought Phil to the veranda, and she witnessed the triumphal entry of the foreman and the man he had gone to fetch. Her first impulse was to run down and welcome them, but a thought which brought a blush to her cheek restrained her. Intermittent merriment from within the bunkhouse whetted her curiosity, but she had to wait for the appearance of Jonah before it was satisfied. And then, when the grinning darkie had told the story, she did not know what to think. Was it possible that this one man had gone into a nest of desperadoes, outwitted them, and brought away not only the captive but the chief of the captors? It seemed incredible, and yet, knowing the man himself, cold, confident, quick-thinking, she realised that it was not. That he now had the outfit with him to a man she knew; had he plotted the whole episode with just that end in view? She gave it up in despair.

  It was a curiously shy but smiling girl who responded to Larry's hail next morning, when that young man came to know if she wished to `go a-ridin'." After she had told him how glad she was to see him safely back again, she said :

  "I don't feel like a ride to-day, Larry."

  The boy's face fell; he had wanted to tell his tale.

  "We could go south," he suggested.

  She shook her head. "No, I've a visitor coming," she smiled. Larry knew who it was, and smothered a curse. "Well, soon then," he pleaded, and his heart was in his eyes.

  She nodded consent, and as he turned away, Bartholomew cantered up. His bold gaze followed the retreating cowboy from under bent brows.

  "Mornin', Phil, what's that pup want?" was his greeting, as he swung from the saddle.

  The girl's forehead creased in a little frown; she did not like his tone or the epithet, and her mental comparison of the clean-limbed, smiling youth with the hard-bitten, aggressive older man was not to the latter's advantage.

  "He came to ask if I intended to ride this morning; nowadays I have to have an escort--the country is not safe, even for a girl," she said rather pointedly, and went on to tell of her encounter with the White Masks. "So you see," she concluded, "adventures are `comin' in bunches', as Larry would say."

  The man's frown deepened at her familiar reference to the cowboy; here was a possibility he had not figured on.

  "So that part o' the tale was true then," he remarked. "By the way, Phil, I don't like yore cavortin' round the country with a common puncher," he added.

  The girl's eyes widened and there was a flash of anger in them as she replied, "I shall do as I please. You have no right to criticise or dictate to me."

  "I reckon I have," he said. "We're goin' to be married, yu know "

  "I don't know, and at present, anyway, I have no wish to," she retorted.

  Although, realising he had tried the wrong tactics, he did his best to make peace, she refused to go riding with him and Bartholomew left in a savage temper. He had learned that Larry came to be at the Lazy M, and whether he was an accomplice or not of Severn, he was a disturbing factor, and must be dealt with.

  The trail to the Bar B took a north-westerly line straight across the open range and then dipped down into a pocket of broken country for some miles, winding through miniature forests, rock and brush-strewn ravines and tiny canyons, the walls of which scarcely rose above the level of the surrounding plains. It was known as The Sink. Passing the mouth of one of these canyons, Bart suddenly noticed the tracks of a horse leading into it, and back again. They were not fresh, and in that sheltered spot might even have been made months before. His curiosity aroused, he followed them, forcing his way through the foliage which overhung the sandy bottom.

  At the end of about two hundred yards, the tracks led to a thick bush growing close to the face of the canyon wall, and the rancher was about to turn away with an oath of disgust for his wasted time when he caught a gleam of something through the leaves. Dismounting and pulling the bush aside, he uncovered a fissure in the rock, and saw that it contained clothing. There was a vest--a shiny button of which had attracted his notice--pants, a shirt and a sombrero. One by one he drew the garments out and examined them. In the sweat-band of the hat he found the letters P. M. in ink, and in the pocket of the vest was an empty envelope addressed to Philip Masters, at the Lazy M ranch.

  The discovery drew a whistle of amazement from the finder. How came the clothes of the missing ranchman, which he recognised as being the last he had seen him wearing, in such an out-of-the-way spot? Where was the body? For he had no doubt now that the owner of the clothes no longer lived. Painstakingly, foot by foot, he searched the whole of the little canyon, but found nothing more.

  "On'y been one fella in here before me," Bart muttered, as he carefully studied the prints in the sand.

  Sizing things up, he came to the conclusion that the murderer must have buried the stripped body elsewhere, or left it to the natural scavengers of the plains, the coyotes and vulture
s. Then he had hidden the tell-tale clothing in the cleft, where only one chance in a thousand would lead to its discovery. Replacing the articles as he had found them, he rode on his way deep in thought, and presently a grin of malicious triumph twisted his lips.

  "Couldn't be better. I'm reckonin' I can use yu just as well dead, Mister Masters," he sneered.

  That night he and Penton were closeted long together, and when they parted, even the bitter face of the Bar B foreman wore the semblance of a smile. But it was not a good one to see.

  Chapter XII

  IT was two days before Phil redeemed her promise to go riding again with Larry, and in that time he had scarcely seen her. Tn truth she had avoided him, an unaccountable shyness making her fight the growing desire to see him of which she was conscious. So that it was a new Phil, demure, tremulous, and utterly sweet, who loped beside the young cowboy towards the southern region of the range. She listened eagerly to his account of what had happened to him after she left on her wild dash to the ranch, but his praise of the foreman left her unmoved.

  "I didn't know he was such a friend of yours," she remarked. "He ain't," Larry lied. "But I shorely gotta be grateful; he took a big chance for me."

  "What do you think of Mr. Bartholomew?" she asked.

  Larry was not to be caught. "T dunno much about him," he returned. "But I wouldn't ride for the Bar B."

  He could have said nothing more damaging; a torrent of abuse would have been far less effective. The girl was silent for a time; she had been discovering of late that it was difficult to find anyone who had a good word for the local autocrat. True, the criticism was usually of a cautious character, but always it condemned.

  "So you don't think that Severn is an outlaw?" she queried presently.

  Larry shook with internal mirth. "I ain't sayin' that, but I'll gamble against him bein' linked up with that gang in the Pinnacles," he replied.

  They were pacing along a narrow winding draw, the rocky sides of which were splashed with patches of dwarfed shrubs and cactus. In places the spreading branches of larger trees met over their heads and filtered the afternoon sunshine, throwing shifting shadows as the light breeze swayed the foliage.

  "Oh, what a beauty," the girl cried, suddenly reining in.

  Her companion followed the direction of her pointing finger, and saw up on the rock face, a magnificent bloom of the ocatilla. Before she realised it, he had slipped from his saddle and was climbing the side of the draw. Phil also got down and seated herself on a fallen tree-trunk. In a few Imoments he was back again, and the blood-red blossom was in her hands. He wa in the act of presenting it when a rider trotted round a juttin rib of rock which formed one of the bends in the draw; it was Devint. For an instant he pulled on his reins, land then recognising them, came on, a grin of derision on his lips as he noted their flushed faces. His hat came off in an ironically elaborate sweep as he passed.

  "Shore am sorry to have butted in," he said, and there was that in his tone which made the remark an insult.

  Receiving no reply, he loped slowly on, and with a mocking wave of the hand vanished round a further curve. Phil, stealing an embarrassed glance at her companion, saw that he was staring after the intruder, his eyes bleak and his jaws clamped together.

  "Who's that fella?" he asked, almost roughly.

  "Devint," she replied. "I wish he hadn't seen us; he's sore at the Lazy M because the foreman fired him, and he'll--talk."

  "Huh! We better be gettin' back," Larry said.

  The ride home was made almost in silence. The cowboy was forcing the pace, as though in a hurry to get home. He spoke seldom, and all the gaiety had gone from his face, to be replaced by a grim intentness. The girl tried to rouse him.

  "You look as if you were going to kill someone," she bantered. His head came round with a jerk, and she saw his cheeks redden. Then he laughed.

  "I am," he said. "I'm agoin' to just naturally slay Jonah if he ain't got a good meal ready."

  Phil said no more; the jocular reply had only served to deepen her doubts; she felt uneasy, frightened. When they arrived at nhe ranch, Larry took the ponies to the corral straight away, which was unusual, and presently she saw him, mounted on a fresh horse, shoot out on the trail for town; he had not waited to feed. Her feeling of unrest pursued her, and when Severn returned with the outfit, she called him aside and related the incident of the afternoon.

  "Larry looked as if he recognised Devint, and--hated him,yet he asked me who he was," she said. "Of course, the man was insolent, but I somehow feel it wasn't only that."

  "Damnation," swore the foreman, and forgot to apologise. "I reckon yo're right, Miss Masters. For some reason or other, he's gone to find that scallywag. Devint's yellow, an' a bad actor, but he's reckoned fast with a gun."

  "Oh, hurry, perhaps you'll be in time to prevent their meeting," she urged.

  "If I ain't, an' anythin' happened to Larry, Mister Devint won't see another sunrise," was Severn's sinister promise.

  Striding down to the corral, he caught and saddled a horse and set out for the town at full speed. He had no hope of catching Barton, but there was a chance that the two men had not yet met.

  The "Come Again" was filling up for the evening festivities, and Muger, the fat, oily-faced proprietor, rubbed his hands and smirked contentedly as he glanced over the gathering; it looked like being a profitable night.

  "Wonder what's bitin' Bart?" he muttered.

  In truth, the Bar B owner's face justified the title by which he was commonly known. Standing apart, he was talking in low tones to Devint, and it was very evident that the conversation was not of a pleasing nature so far as the rancher was concerned. The cowboy had, in fact, been relating his encounter with Phil in the afternoon, and with the savage malice of one who delights in giving pain, he had lied, cunningly but convincingly. Bartholomew's rage, fanned to fury by the recital, showed plainly in his distorted features.

  "I'll give five hundred bucks to the man who puts that pup outa business," he said vehemently, and then seeing the satirical look of inquiry on the other's face, he added, "I'd do it myself an' be a heap pleased to, but it'd get me in wrong with the girl."

  Devint nodded, satisfied with the explanation and the chance of earning the money. The fact that he had to extinguish a human life to do so meant nothing to him; he had killed men before, and for less reward. It was at this moment that Larry entered the saloon.

  "There's the fella himself," Bart whispered, and immediately left the man whose gun he had hired and went out of the saloon.

  Larry's quick eye had seen the movement, and he guessed that Devint had wasted no time in telling his tale. He looked round the room, nodded to Ridge, who was playing poker with two of his outfit and the storekeeper, Callahan, and then fixed his attention to Devint, who was now talking to three other men.

  "Bah! Wimmeln is all alike," the bully sneered. "Take that Masters girl, f'r instance; I come on her this afternoon in Snake Coulee, a-kissin' an' cuddlin' one of her own men, a ornery forty per cowpunch, who ain't been in the outfit more'n a month or so."

  He leered triumphantly at his audience, some of whom sniggered. Others who had been only half listening, suddenly became aware that there was a purpose behind the talk, and ceased their games to watch. Utter silence seized the room, and all eyes were turned upon the alert, tense figure of the Lazy M cowboy, at whom it was evident the slander had been directed.

  "Devint ! "

  The word came like a shot from lips tightly set, and was followed by a scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet, ashose in the vicinity unostentatiously withdrew from the line of fire between the two men. Larry, his right hand hanging by his side with fingers apart, glared at the bully through slitted eyes, oblivious to all else. The rage which filled him was not patent to the spectators, he was not even consciousofit himself; all he knew was that something evil stood before him and he must destroy it.

  As for the traducer, his brutal face betrayed one feeling only --t
hat of venomous satisfaction; he had obtained the necessary provocation to justify the killing. So he grinned insolently as he answered :

  "My name. Why, gents, if it ain't the guy I bin tellin' yu about--Phil Masters' latest fancy. Look at him a-blushin'."

  In truth, Larry's face was red, but his voice was ice-cold, cutting, and charged with deadly menace; the added insult did not cause the lossofself-control.

  "Devint, yu are a liar an' a coward," he said deliberately. There could be only one reply to that. Stung as by the lashofa whip, the bully snatched at his gun.

  "Yu damned whelp ! " he roared.

  The guns spat flame at the same second, and the Lazy M cowboy spun half-round as from a blow under the impact of a heavy slug in his left shoulder. Devint spluttered an oath, rocked on his feet, and pitched sideways to the floor, his pistol clattering beside him; he had been shot through the chest. Seeing that he was not yet dead, Larry staggered forward, and kicking away the weapon, knelt beside him.

  "Devint," he said. "There's somethin' I want yu to know."

  He whispered a few words and the eyesofthe dying man opened in wide surprise. "Hell ! " he gasped. "Yu--" A raucous rattle in his throat choked further utterance, and his head fell back. Devint was done with bullying.

  Larry climbed painfully to his feet and slumped into a chair someone pushed forward. His wound was bleeding, and he feltsick and giddy. Ridge and his men pounced upon him and began to bandage the hurt. The hush that had endured ended, and the spectatorsofthe duel began to discuss it, crowded round to look at the stricken loser and the wounded victor. In the midstofthe excitement the sheriff arrived.

  Some of the crowd made way, and at the sightofthe body, the sheriff gasped in surprise. "Why, it's Devint," he said. "I thought--they told me it was someone else." An unprejudiced observer might have said that he was disappointed.

  A dozen eager witnessesofthe fight gave him the details and the officer's bilious eyes turned with evil satisfaction to the hurt cowboy.