Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) Read online

  His mind was wandering, living over again those terrible hours during which, hurt to death, he had clung to the back of his horse and paced the long, long miles which lay between him and help. Then out of the pain-drawn face, sickly grey under the tan, a gleam of recognition flashed from the heavy-lidded eyes as they met those of Jim.

  “I saw—that fella—on the trail. He …” The voice faded out and the speaker’s head fell forward.

  “He’s gone,” someone said.

  “He ain’t. Carry him to the hotel an’ fetch the doc,” Mallick replied. “I got suthin’ to see to.”

  Four men picked up the chair and its burden, while another held open the door. When they had gone the sheriff turned abruptly to Jim, an ugly look in his eyes. For a moment there was silence, and then:

  “Yu heard him,” the officer rasped, jerking a thumb in the direction of the door. “What yu gotta say?”

  “I met that hombre this afternoon, ‘bout twelve miles out on my way here,” Jim explained. “I asked him if I was on the ight road for Fourways, an’ mentioned that I aimed to spend he night there. He took a shine to my hoss an’ wanted to rade, but I told him there was nothin’ doin’. He said he was comin’ back hisself in a coupla hours an’ he’d talk to me again this evenin’. That’s all I know.”

  The sheriff’s sneer deepened. “He didn’t say he was goin’ o collect two thousand bucks for cattle he’d sold, huh?”

  “No. Would he he likely to tell a stranger his business?”

  “Mebbe. Jud was allus a trustful kind o’ cuss. I’m sayin’:e did, an’ that yu laid for him, an’ helped yoreself.” The accused man shrugged his shoulders. “If yu can find hat amount o’ coin on me …”

  “I ain’t expectin’ to,” Mallick cut in. “yu wouldn’t be such a damn fool as to tote it round with yu.”

  “An’ I wouldn’t be such a damn fool as to come here a-tall,” the young man retorted hotly.

  “Shucks, yu figured him cashed, an’ that trail ain’t used much.” the other countered. He turned as the door swung back to admit a tall, cadaverous man whose bent shoulders were encased in a long, shabby black coat. “How’s yore patient, doc?”

  “He’s powerful bad,” replied the man of medicine, grabbing the glass the saloon-keeper pushed out. “I’m afraid Jud is peekin’ through the pearly gates right now.”

  A growl of anger from those present greeted the news and the sheriff’s mean eyes shifted to the stranger.

  “That settles it, young fella,” he said. “I’m holdin’ yu, an’ if Jud ain’t able to clear yu in the mornin’ … ” The unfinished sentence was charged with menace. “Take his hardware,” he added.

  Jim’s glance swept swiftly over the company and read the grim faces. If Jud died—and he was not too sure they would even wait for that—he was doomed to a shameful end. The odds were impossible, but if he must die, it should be fighting. He had a shrewd suspicion that the sheriff did not care whether he was guilty—he wanted a victim. Well, he would get one, but not easily.

  In obedience to Mallick’s order, two of the bystanders stepped forward and reached for the weapons. Instantly the motionless figure came to life, the hanging fists shot out right and left, and the unsuspecting men went down as though struck by lightning. With a bellow of rage the sheriff snatched out his gun, only to drop it and clutch his right wrist in agony as a bullet smashed it. For though no man saw how it came about, both the stranger’s Colts were out and spitting lead. Through the swirling smoke they got a glimpse of him, his young face tense and savage, his guns held at a hip level.

  “Come on, yu curs,” he taunted, and sent a shot crashing into one of the lamps.

  The invitation was unnecessary; they meant to have him nd he knew it. To shoot him down would have been easy, but that was not what they wanted. With a sudden surge they drove forward. Three times he fired, aiming low—he had no desire to kill any of them—and then one of the men he had felled clutched him round the knees. Thrown violently backwards, Jim had to drop his guns and grab a nearby chair to keep his feet. He kicked himself free, felt his boot-heel impact on flesh and bone, and they were upon him. Swinging the chair above his head he flailed the leaders with it. Two went down groaning, and of the weapon only the back remained in his grasp. With this and his fist he continued the unequal contest until a blow from behind brought him to his knees and the human avalanche submerged him.

  For a few hectic moments the cowboy struck or kicked whenever he could free a limb but at last the writhing tangle broke up to disclose a battered, unconscious form on the floor. The sheriff regarded it with savage satisfaction.

  “Tie an’ chuck him in the calaboose,” he ordered. “He’ll pay for this, even if Jud comes through.”

  When the prisoner had been carried away, willing hands helped to straighten up the battlefield, rearranging overturned tables and chairs and removing fragments of others. The saloon-keeper’s expression was one of deep disgust.

  “Many customers like him an’ this business would be plain hell,” he remarked.

  “Allasame, he put up the purtiest scrap agin odds I ever see, an’ warn’t he sudden?”

  “Sudden?” ejaculated the man who had received the first blow, tenderly touching a swollen jaw. “I reckon yu said it, Teddy. `Sudden’ describes him from hair to toe-nails; we’ll have to christen him thatt Set ‘em up, of hoss.”

  The idea appealed to their sense of humour, and with jesting comments, they drank to the new name of the man they had fought with, and whom they would just as cheerfully help to hang. The sheriff, cursing as the doctor bandaged his damaged wrist, contributed a grim witticism:

  “Mister Sudden’ll come to a sudden end in the mornin’.”

  “An’ that’ll be a pity,” the medico smiled, as he surveyed the group of patients awaiting his services. “He’d make my fortune if he settled here.”

  At which even some of the sufferers grinned. After all, though about a dozen had been more or less crippled, no one had been killed, a fact to which the saloon-keeper drew attention:

  “I’m bettin’—if he’d wanted to—he could ‘a’ turned three or four o’ yu into cold meat,” was how he put it. “I was watchin’ an’ them guns ‘peared to leap into his paws. yu can gamble he can use ‘em; yore head is a bigger mark than yore wrist, sheriff.”

  Mallick turned a malignant eye upon him. “Why not make a gory hero out’n this murderin’ thief an’ be done with it?” he sneered. “Jud’ll be pleased.”

  “Sheriff’s right, Teddy,” another chimed in, whose un-leasing countenance a pair of blackening eyes did not improve. `The fella’s a bad actor. I ain’t shore we oughtn’t to stretch him right away.”

  “He’ll keep,” Mallick said darkly.

  The Fourways gaol was a small, one-roomed hut built of stout logs, the iron-barred window a foot square, and the sole furniture a rough bench along the back. It was on the hard-packed earthen floor of this place that the man from Crawling Creek came back to consciousness, his bemused mind groping for an explanation. His hands were tied, his head throbbed, and when he attempted to move, his body appeared to be one big bruise. The pain stirred his sluggish memory and his swollen lips twisted in a lop-sided grin.

  “‘Pears like they got me,” he muttered. “She was shorely a great little battle—while she lasted.”

  For a while he lay there, supine, content to remain just still, idly speculating upon what was to come.

  “Wonder how Jud is makin’ it? If he passes out …” The reflection was not conductive to comfort. The wounded man was his only hope, a poor one at that, after the happenings in the saloon.

  “Mebbe I’d oughta give in,” he told himself, and then, “Shucks, that sheriff was sot on swingin’ me anyways.”

  It was very dark and no sound came from the town; he judged that the night must be well advanced. Despite his bound wrists, he managed to find the “makings” and construct a cigarette.

  He had but just lighted it when a
faint chink of metal against metal and a muttered oath came from outside. His first thought was that some of the citizens had grown impatient, but the lack of noise argued against that; lynchers would be in force and would care little if they were heard. A slight creak followed, and the darkness was less deep where the door had been. A shadow slipped into the hut, paused on the threshold, and chuckled as the prisoner became dimly visible.

  “Yo’re a nervy cuss,” the visitor said gruffly, “but I guess yu ain’t anxious to figure in a necktie-party?”

  “Yu don’t need to guess again,” was the reply. “It’s an interestin’ sight but lookin’ at it through the loop of a rope don’t improve it any.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” the unknown agreed. He cut the captive’s bonds. “Here’s yore guns—the sheriff thinks he’s got ‘em.” He laughed quietly. “yore hogs is outside—saddled; yu’d better stretch him. I’m tellin’ yu plenty serious this burg has on’y one use for yu.”

  In the faint grey light outside, Jim studied his liberator but could make little of him. A square, stocky figure of medium height, dressed in range rig, with hat-brim pulled down and a bandana covering the lower part of his face. His low, husky voice had a curious metallic timbre.

  “I like to pay my debts, an’ I shorely owe yu a lot,” the young man said.

  “Nothin’ to that,” came the quick reply. “I’m payin’ one my own self—yu done me a good turn tonight. Mebbe we’ll meet again.”

  It was plain that he wished to remain unknown, and Jim swung into the saddle. “If we do yu can count on me to the limit,” he said simply.

  “Get agoin’,” the stranger replied. “Adios—Sudden,” and the chuckle was once more in-evidence.

  At a walking pace the fugitive passed through the silent town, the deep dust of the street muffling the horse’s footsteps. Once clear of the buildings, he patted the sleek neck and Nigger settled down to a steady lope which would devour distance and leave the animal still fresh.

  The rider, greedily drinking in the cool air, was conscious of a fierce elation in his freedom. For Jim knew that he had escaped an ignominious death only by the good offices of a stranger. Who was this man, and why had he intervened? What was the “good turn” to which he had referred?

  “Mebbe he was thankin’ me for cripplin’ the sheriff,” Jim reflected. “I’d say Mallick ain’t liked overmuch.”

  It came into his mind that his deliverer had called him “Sudden,” and the mystery seemed to be solved.

  “Took me for some other fella, shore enough,” he concluded. “Wonder who this `Sudden’ person is, anyways?”

  He was to learn, ere many days, and get no joy of the knowledge.

  Chapter III

  SEVERAL days of wandering in the wilds—for he had avoided the regular trails—brought the man from Crawling Creek to San Antonio, at that time the Mecca of the cattleman, and the happy-hunting ground of the gambler and desperado. Though Jim still mourned the loss of his only friend, change of scene had dulled the ache. A young and vigorous man, with a good horse between his knees, and all his life before him, cannot long remain a prey to melancholy. But his determination to find and punish Evesham’s enemies had not lessened.

  Since his hurried departure from Fourways he had not seen a human being, sleeping with his saddle for a pillow, and living upon the game his gun had procured. His first thought now was for a square meal for himself and his mount. These were soon found, and leaving the animal in the livery stable, he set out to “take in the town.”

  Though there were many people about, most of whom seemed to have something to do, no one hurried. Huge wagons, drawn by sleepy-eyed oxen, plodded through the street, the great creaking wheels revolving slowly; the caballeros, picturesquely attired and mounted on magnificent steeds, paced by to dismount gracefully but without exertion at a store or saloon.

  The manana spirit of Old Mexico was all-pervading.

  About to enter the Buckhorn Saloon, that famous rendezvous, the Texan paused abruptly, his eye caught by a single word on a square of paper affixed to the wall.

  “Sudden!”

  The crudely printed bill offered a reward of five hundred dollars for the apprehension of one “Sudden,” wanted for robbery and murder. A description was given: “young, dark hair and moustache, grey-blue eyes, dressed as a cowboy, wears two guns, and rides a black horse with a white blaze on face and white stocking on off fore-leg.” The notice bore the name of the sheriff of Fourways.

  For a moment the young man stared at it in blank amazement, and then, as the full significance came home, anger surged within him. Not only was he to be hounded down for a crime of which he knew nothing, but he had been given a name which would follow him wherever he went. In a word, he was outlawed; the hand of everyman would be against him, and he was liable to be shot like a mad dog. Impulsively he made a gesture to tear away the placard.

  “I wouldn’t,” a warning voice said. “If yo’re honin’ for one as a sooveneer there’s others in less prominent places; the town is fair spotted with ‘em.”

  He turned and found the speaker at his elbow, a tall, spare fellow in the thirties, with a lean, angular face, close-set eyes, and thin lips wearing a smile intended to be friendly but which only succeeded in being malicious.

  “If yore hoss tallies, that description would fit yu pretty good,” the stranger went on.

  Jim’s jaw hardened. “If yu had a black hoss an’ moustache yu might qualify yore own self,” he retorted.

  “But I don’t have neither o’ them things,” the other grinned. “Both of ‘em can be got rid of,” Jim pointed out. “See here, I’ll match a dollar with yu to settle which of us takes the other in an’ claims the cash.”

  The stranger laughed outright. “yo’re a cool card,” he said. “No, sir, they might glom on to the pair of us. I got a better proposition. I know a fella who’d be glad to meet yu.”

  “If he’s wearin’ a star …”

  “He ain’t, an’ he’s got no use for them as do,” the unknown replied. “Hook up with him an’ yu needn’t let that”—he spat contemptuously at the notice—“scare yu.”

  “Did I mention I was scared?” Jim asked frostily. “Allasame, I ain’t huntin’ trouble.”

  The man nodded. “Ever hear o’ Rogue’s Riders?” he asked. Jim had. Under the leadership of a man named Roger, but more generally known as “Rogue,” they were perhaps the most notorious of the bands of desperadoes who raided and robbed over a wide area of south-west Texas.

  “Pleased to meet yu, Mister Roger,” he said dryly.

  “Oh, I ain’t Rogue,” the stranger laughed. “He’s the fella I was speakin’ of, an’ I can fetch yu to him.”

  “Much obliged, but I figure I can take care o’ li’l Mister Me,” the cowboy grinned.

  “Well, she’s a free country. If yu should find yoreself crowded, head west till yu come to the Split Rock—yu can’t mistake her—foller the left trail an’ yu’ll be looked after. Sabe?”

  Jim nodded his thanks and turned away in the direction of the livery stable. Though he had displayed indifference to the man who had warned him, he had no illusions regarding the danger of his position and knew that he must get away from San Antonio without delay. At any moment he might be linked up with that damning description. The gaze of the man he had left followed him for a moment, a sneer of chagrin on his slit of a mouth.

  “Can take care o’ yoreself, huh? Well, that wouldn’t surprise me.” he muttered. `But when the deck is stacked, my friend….” He lifted his shoulders. “Rogue wants yu, an’ a fella as won’t be persuaded must be drove.”

  Striding down the street, he pushed open the door of one of the smaller saloons and peeped in. Apparently what he saw satisfied him. for he entered. It was a mere dive, dark, dirty, and ill-kept. Three men sitting at a battered table with empty glasses before them, and the Mexican lolling behind the bar, comprised the company. The newcomer called for a drink and remarked aloud, with seeming
irrelevance:

  “Shore is a sorry sight.”

  One of the trio at the table, a craggy-faced fellow with greedy little eyes, looked up hopefully. “Yu said it, friend,” he grunted. “But when gents is down to bed-rock. .

  The stranger laughed. “Oh, that’s soon remedied,” he said, and signed to the bartender.

  While the glasses were being replenished he studied the thirsty ones with an appraising expression of disdain. He did not know them, but he knew their kind. Though they were drinking to him now, he was well aware that they would rob him if opportunity offered.

  “Yu got me wrong,” he explained. “What I was referrin’ to was the sight o’ five hundred wheels gettin’ ready to ride outa this town, to say nothin’ of a fine black hoss with a white blaze, an’ a saddle the present owner shouldn’t have much further use for.”

  Craggy Face looked up. “Yu tellin’ us that jasper Sudden is around?” he asked.

  “Just that,” the other returned. “Saw him readin’ the bill outside the Buckhorn; he was mighty interested too, an’ then he streaks for Juan’s livery stable. What do yu guess?”

  “If yo’re shore, why didn’t you hold him up an’” Craggy Face began.

  “Collect the mazuma, huh?” the stranger finished. “Well, for one thing, he knows me, an’ there’s another reason to that why I can’t take any part in the affair.”

  He stressed the last six words and the listeners smirked understandingly; he was wanted himself, this hombre, and the chance of gaining five hundred dollars would not offset the likely loss of his liberty. Craggy Face again was the spokesman:

  “Amounts to this: we take all the risk, an’.”

  “All the reward—I don’t want none of it,” he was told. “I disremember if that notice said `dead or alive.’ ”

  “It did not, an’ I’m bettin’ that Fourways fella ain’t buyin’ corpses.”

  Craggy Face emptied his glass and stood up, the other two following suit. Their informant added a word: