Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) Read online

  The promise—which he did not doubt—made the Wagon-wheel man think. To offer such a great advantage, his opponent must be infernally fast or a fool, and Bundy had good reason to know that he was not the latter. His confidence in his own prowess was shaken. Another thought came, a desperate expedient; if he could kill Green, he did not fear his companions—they would be taken by surprise and unable to act immediately.

  He bent quickly, grasped the gun and, instead of rising, tilted the muzzle upwards and pulled the trigger. Even as he did so, Sudden—watching for some such act of treachery—drew and fired. Bundy’s shot missed by a bare inch, and before he could repeat the attempt his weapon was driven from his grip by the puncher’s bullet. He clawed for it with his other hand, but Sudden sprang in, kicked it away, and sheathing his own gun, cried:

  “Stand up, yu yella dawg, an’ take what’s comin’ to yu.”

  Bundy was ready enough; he knew that ninety-nine men out of a hundred would instantly have driven a bullet through him after the failure of his dastardly trick; he had been lucky to meet the hundredth; but with the passing of the shadow of death, his hatred of the man who had spared him increased. Truly, with some natures, a favour from a foe is a bitter pill to swallow.

  Bandy had one more remark to make. “Them friends o’ yourn keepin’ outa this?”

  “They won’t be my friends if they interfere,” Sudden said.

  “Good enough,” the foreman replied. His confidence in himself was returning. He had a well-earned reputation as an exponent of the rough and tumble frontier method of settling quarrels. “I’ve bin waitin’ to put my paws on you for an interferin’ houn’.”

  “Yu couldn’t find me, o’ course,” Sudden sneered. “I bide my time. I got the kid, an’ yo’re here.”

  “Well, what are yu waitin’ for, the dark, so that yu can run away again?”

  The taunt got through the foreman’s hide, tough as it was. “No,” he bellowed. “Here I come,” and rushed in with fists flying.

  “An’ there yu go,” Sudden retorted, as he drove a lightning left to the face which sent the man reeling.

  He staggered to his feet and fought back with blind fury, reckless of the hurt he received, driven by an insensate desire to get his enemy by the throat and slowly squeeze the life out of him. But he had little chance against one who used his head as well as hands; straight jolts to the jaw and body met his wild rushes, and battered down his feeble defence. Opposed to that scientific hammering, his savage lunges were of no avail.

  Once only a swinging fist got past the Circle Dot man’s guard, and floored him. But he was up instantly, and when Bundy, with a shout of exultation, dashed in, he was met with a tempest of blows which drove him back, foot by foot, until, with every bone in his body aching, and both eyes nearly closed, he dropped his arms. Only for a second, but like a flash, Sudden’s right came over and sent him, spent and apparently helpless, to the ground. There he lay, breathing heavily, and making no effort to rise.

  “I reckon he’s through,” Tiny remarked. All of them had watched the combat in silence.

  “There ain’t a kick left in him.”

  Tiny was wrong; no sooner had he voiced the thought than Bundy’s head lifted.

  “Yo’re a damn liar,” he mumbled through puffed lips. “I’m goin’ to show you.”

  Incredible as it seemed, after the punishment he had taken, he heaved himself upright, shook as a dog might after rolling, and stood, long arms swinging. Then he bent and plunged forward. Sudden waited, wondering; there could be no more fight in the fellow, and yet … The menacing figure was on him, fists raised, before he realized the fell design—he had but a second to act; the ruffian’s right foot was sweeping up to deliver a savage kick in the stomach which might kill, or disable a man for life. Quick as thought, Sudden jumped aside, seized the ascending limb behind the ankle and forced it upwards. The foreman, thrown completely off his balance, struck the ground violently with the back of his head; this time, there was no movement.

  The victor cold, inscrutable, stood over him.

  “Ain’t bruk his neck, have you, Jim?” Tiny asked.

  “No, that still remains for a rope,” Sudden replied. “Put Yorky’s saddle an’ bridle on this brute’s hoss.”

  Bundy heard the order, and had sufficient life left in him to understand what it meant.

  “You settin’ me afoot—after this?” he snarled.

  “Yo’re gettin’ a taste o’ what yu cooked up for the boy, an’ lucky at that—we oughta be plantin’ yu.”

  The foreman knew it, and said no more. Not until they had melted into the growing dusk did he struggle, with many groans and curses, to his feet, and, carrying his riding-gear, set out on the nightmare journey to the Wagon-wheel. For to one who spent nearly the whole of his waking hours in the saddle, and whose body was one big bruise, the long march over rough ground could only be unspeakable torture.

  Something of this was in the puncher’s mind when Tiny reproached him for not settling the affair straight-away after Bundy’s cowardly attempt had failed.

  “I wanted him to suffer, an’ I’ll bet right now he’s near wishin’ I’d downed him,” Sudden replied harshly. “After what he fixed up for Yorky …” He turned to the youth. “Mebbe yu oughta go away for a spell.”

  “I’m stayin’,” Yorky said stoutly. “Me an’ that foreman feller ain’t finished yet.”

  The puncher smiled into the darkness, glad of this fresh proof that his protege was game.

  “Well, keep clear o’ the Wagon-wheel, though it bothers me how they got hep. Anybody see yu there?”

  “I met Miss Trenton on th’ way back,” the boy admitted.

  “She may’ve mentioned it, an’ if my hoss was spotted in the Bend, that’d be enough,”

  Sudden decided.– The whoop of welcome which went up when the rest of the outfit saw that the missing one was of the party, broughta warmth into the waif’s heart; these were his friends. In that moment the big city lost him forever.

  Chapter XII

  Trenton and Garstone stared in undisguised astonishment when, in response to a summons from the former, Bundy came to the ranch-house in the afternoon. He had reached the Wagon-wheel about sunrise, almost dead on his feet, and dropping on the pallet-bed—he had his own quarters—slept like a log from sheer exhaustion. Despite his attempt to do so, he could not remove all traces of the terrible treatment he had undergone; the blackened, swollen eyes, gashed lips, missing teeth, and battered face told an eloquent tale.

  “What in hell’s happened to you?” Zeb enquired. “Been trampled on by a herd?”

  The foreman had his version ready. “I was ridin’ back last evenin’ when I run into Green an’ two o’ the Circle Dot fellas. They come on me unawares, roped an’ threw me, an’ got my gun.

  Then they set about me—I’d no chance agin three, an’ one of ‘em that big chap they call Tiny.

  When I was all in, they went off with my hoss. I had to hoof it home, an’ I warn’t in any good shape for that neither.”

  The rancher’s face grew purple as he listened; he took the affair as a personal insult.

  “Three to one?” he cried. “It’s a fine thing if my men have to ask the Circle Dot’s permission to ride the range. I’ve a mind to call the boys an’ have it out with Dover an’ his bullies right away.”

  “What would that get you?” Garstone asked.

  “Somethin’ I’ve sworn to have—the Circle Dot,” Trenton replied.

  “No, only a forty thousand dollar mortgage which you couldn’t meet,” the other returned coolly. “I don’t suppose Maitland would be any more generous to you.”

  Trenton’s bluster collapsed like a punctured balloon. “Yo’re right,” he said moodily.

  “I usually am,” Garstone agreed serenely. Modesty was not one of his weaknesses.

  “If yo’re worryin’ over payin’ my score you needn’t to,” Bundy growled. “I’ll ‘tend to that my own self—int’rest
an’ all.”

  “Touching the acquisition of the Circle Dot, we don’t seem to be getting any nearer,” the Easterner remarked sarcastically. “Have you made any progress?”

  “Very little. Maitland might renew on the security of the two ranches, though we owe him quite a lot already, but that would only mean gettin’ deeper in. No, we’ll have to fall back on the plan I had in mind—to find Red Rufe’s Cache.”

  “A tale for a tenderfoot?” the foreman fleered. “If that’s our on’y hope, we can wish the Circle Dot a fond fare-youwell as’ no error.”

  The rancher’s face stiffened. “The thrashin’ seems to have destroyed yore manners as well as beauty, Bundy,” he said coldly. “You can go.”

  Like a scolded dog the man came to heel instantly. “Sorry, Boss, I was disappointed,” he pleaded. “If there’d bin anythin’ in that yarn, the Cache would ‘a’ come to light by this; plenty has searched for it.”

  “True, but the Cloudy country is large and terribly difficult; unless one knew just where to look, findin’ the proverbial needle in a haystack would be child’s play in comparison.”

  “And you have this information?” Garstone asked eagerly. “Not quite, or I should have made use of it before now,” Trenton replied. “This is how the matter stands: Red Rufe was Dave Dover’s elder brother. He left Rainbow, went further West, an’ made a fortune and reputation as a gambler. Report has it that he sent a letter to Dave, statin’ that he had hidden his wealth, an’ givin’ the approximate location—said to be in the Cloudy Hills. A second message was to follow with instructions for findin’ the exact spot. This one miscarried, an’, quite by chance, came into my hands.”

  “So that’s why Flint and Rattray visited the Circle Dot?” Garstone said.

  “Certainly. I hoped they would find the first letter. Flint was on the track of it when he made a fool of himself an’ got fired.”

  “Then you are not sure it is concealed in the Cloudy Hills?”

  “No, but the fellow who fetched the first letter said Rufe handed it to him there; that’s all anyone knows except—Dover.”

  Garstone made a gesture of impatience. “That means our knowledge is useless,” he said irritably.

  “Yore wits don’t seem to be workin’ this afternoon, Ches,” Trenton returned equably.

  “Listen: the Circle Dot needs money even more than we do; what do you suppose they will do?”

  “Try to find the Cache, possibly.”

  “Certainly, I should say, an’ in doin’ so will give us the information we now lack,” the rancher said triumphantly. “I’m havin’ a watch kept on their movements, an’ when they start, we’ll follow. Once we know the locality, we have the advantage of being able to go straight to the hidin’-place while they are gropin’ in the dark.”

  “That’s a great scheme, Boss,” Bundy complimented, his damaged features contorted in a painful grin. “If we can collect the pot, we’ll have Dover an’ his crowd yappin’ for mercy—an’ not gettin’ it.”

  “It’s undoubtedly a fine chance,” Garstone admitted, and he was looking at the foreman when he spoke. “Any idea what the Cache consists of?”

  “No one knows,” Trenton replied. “Gold, in coin or dust, possibly paper too.”

  “What became of this Rufe person?”

  “Vanished after the second message. Went back to his cardsharpin’, I expect, an’ got wiped out. He was a big fellow, very upright—his back was the only straight thing about him. He had red hair, like all the Devers, an’ a fiend of a temper, the sort of man to make more foes than friends.”

  “We oughta be ready to set out on the word,” Bundy put in. “How many will you want?”

  “We three, with Flint, Rattray, an’ another should be sufficient. We’ll need plenty of supplies, an’ a small tent for my niece.”

  “Takin’ her?” Bundy asked in surprise. “It ain’t a job for a dame.”

  “Nonsense,” the rancher said. “Just a little trip into the mountains; she’ll enjoy it. We shall avoid trouble, an’ probably not encounter the other party at all.”

  The foreman was not satisfied, but Garstone did not support him, and after the earlier rebuff he was taking no more risks; this thing was too good to miss.

  Garstone had not objected because the presence of Miss Trenton fitted in with his plans, already partly formed, but which were now beginning to expand more widely than either of his companions suspected, even Bundy, who was having thoughts of his own.

  That same evening, at the Circle Dot, a very similar conversation was taking place. Dan, who had been to Rainbow earlier in the day, broached the subject.

  “I had a talk with Maitland an’ there ain’t any possibility o’ the bank givin’ us an extension,” he began. “Told me his people wouldn’t hear of it, an’ that—as a business man—he agreed with ‘em. So that’s that.”

  “An’ there’s no other way o’ raisin’ the wind?” Burke asked. “On’y one,” the rancher replied. “We gotta find the Cache.” The foreman’s face was anything but optimistic. “It’s one hell of a chance,” he muttered.

  “Bill, if yu were in a poker game, with the cards runnin’ badly, an’ had just one stake left, what would yu do?” Sudden said.

  “Bet it, o’ course,” was the prompt reply.

  “Shore yu would,” the other grinned. “Well, that’s our position. So what?”

  “I ain’t baulkin’, Jim,” the foreman returned. “I’ve bin up agin the iron before. Whatever Dan sez, goes, with me.”

  “I know that, ol’-timer,” Dover said. “An’ because I do, I’m goin’ to ask a favour: I want you to stay here an’ look after the ranch; I’ll feel easier in my mind with you in charge.”

  Burke made a brave effort to conceal his disappointment; he would have dearly loved to make one of the search party, but he recognized that his employer was right—it would be more than unwise for both of them to be absent; the Wagon-wheel might seize the opportunity to try something.

  “Very well, Dan,” he agreed. “Who you takin’?”

  “No call for a crowd,” Dan told him. “I figure that myself, Jim, Tiny, Blister, an’ Hunch oughta be plenty.”

  “Hunch?” Bill said in surprise.

  “Yeah, he knows the Cloudy district probably better than anybody around here, is a good woodsman, an’ can cook an’ make camp. We might take Yorky along to help—just as well for him to be outa the way till Bundy’s bruises lose some o’ their sting.”

  “When do you aim to start?”

  “Soon as we can arrange things,” Dan replied. “We’ll want some stores, which I’ll get in town tomorrow.”

  “An, no one must know a word about it, not even the rest o’ the outfit,” Sudden supplemented. “Also, we’ll slide out in the middle o’ the night.”

  The other two looked at him in astonishment. “What’s on yore mind, Jim?” Dan questioned.

  “Just this: the possessor o’ the second part o’ the directions don’t know where to begin searchin’, but he’s on’y gotta trail us to find out.”

  “Holy Moses, he’s right, Bill,” the rancher cried. “We’re a couple o’ sheep-heads. Trenton may have this place picketed, an’ be waitin’ for us to move.”

  “We’ll try to keep him waitin’,” Burke grinned. “How long d’you expect to be away?”

  “Can’t say,” Dan told him. “If we have any luck—but there’s no sense in guessin’.”

  “Yorky’ll be tickled to death over this trip,” Sudden remarked. “How’d he get on with his new mount this mornin’?” They had not had their usual jaunt.

  “Well, he got on, an’ off in quicker time,” the foreman twinkled. “Shore, it’s a good little hoss, no vice in him, just a mite fresh. The boy warn’t hurt, ‘cept in his feelin’s mebbe, an’ he comes up smilin’. `That’s first t’row to you, partner,’ he sez. `Let’s roll ‘em agin.’ He climbs on, an’ gits piled, which makes him scratch his head some. But he’s game. `Third time lucky,�
� he grins, an’ by cripes, it was; we seen daylight between him an’ the saddle pretty offen, but he hung on, an’ it was the hoss got tired first. When the fun was over, Slow asked which o’ the names Yorky’d called the animile he was goin’ to choose. ‘I’m namin’ him “Dancer”—he’s so damn lively on his toes,’ the kid sez.”

  Sudden laughed. “Yorky’s all right; he’s goin’ to bring good luck to the Circle Dot, mark my words. Yu do well to take him with us, Dan.”

  In the morning Dover journeyed again to Rainbow, and to the youngster’s extreme satisfaction, took Yorky with him. Arrived there, they separated, the rancher to deal with various business matters, and Yorky to do as he pleased. His first visit was to the post office, where he mailed a letter, with many furtive glances around to make sure he was not observed. Then he went to finish his “shoppin’.” This actually meant displaying himself in all his glory to young Evans, who was now assisting his father in the store. Yorky hung about outside the place until he saw that the boy was alone, and then, hat pulled over his eyes, and regretful that he had not brought his rifle, he swaggered in.

  “Got any feed for a Winchester forty-four?” he enquired, making his voice as gruff as he could.

  “Yessir,” the youth behind the counter replied, diving into a drawer.

  Yorky choked down a chuckle; he was not recognized. Casually he examined the packet of cartridges, tossed down a bill, and received his change. The young salesman noticed that the customer did not appear to be wearing a pistol, and, anxious to do business, ventured to ask solicitously:

  “C’d I int’rest you in a second-hand six-shooter, sir?” yorky squirmed with delight—this was better than his dreams. “Dunno as I care fer other folks’ leavin’s,” he replied carelessly. “I’ll take a peep at her.”

  The gun was reached from a shelf and the customer revolved the cylinder, cocked and pressed the trigger, tried the grin, and hefted the weapon as he had seen cowboys do when examining a new one.

  “What yer askin’?”

  “Twenty dollars—the price is on the ticket.”– Yorky was aware of the fact. “I’d say fifteen’s a-plenty,” he said disparagingly.