Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) Page 4

  Rogue’s presentation was perfunctory:

  “Boys, this is Jim,” he said. “He’s stayin’ with us a while.”

  Nods and a muttered “Howdy” here and there came in response, and the men went on with the business of filling their bellies. The food was good and plentiful. Not until their voracious appetites were appeased and pipes or cigarettes lighted did the company take much notice of the guest. Then he came in for a good deal of furtive scrutiny.

  Presently, when most of the men were playing or watching a card game, he slipped away, and from a bench outside, sat gazing over the valley. It was a restful sight: the green expanse, with its verdure-ringed pool and grazing beasts, the rock-rimmed walls where the gathering shadows heralded the approaching night, and to the west, a lingering golden glory in the sky.

  “Looks peaceful, don’t it?” Sandy said, squatting beside his new chum.

  “Shore does.”

  Sandy did not pursue the subject. He sensed the bitterness n the tone, guessed what the speaker might be thinking, but knew he must not ask. Though they felt a mutual attraction, these two, they had exchanged no confidences.

  Chapter IV

  ROGUE was absent from the breakfast table on the following morning, but there was a new arrival in the person of the man Sudden had seen in San Antonio. He grinned cheerfully at the cowboy and, when the meal was over, beckoned him outside.

  “So yu changed yore mind?” was how he opened the conversation.

  “Yu might call it that,” was the sardonic reply.

  “Aimin’ to throw in with Rogue?”

  Sudden did not reply at once. Despite the man’s apparent friendliness, he did not like him; there was a lurking malignancy which suggested that he enjoyed the misfortunes of others.

  “I ain’t decided,” he said, adding savagely, “What else is there for me to do?”

  “Come a-swimmin’—that’s what.”

  It was Sandy who had answered the question, and he smiled ‘as he waved a hand to the pool, glittering in the bright sunshine like a jewel in a green setting. Sligh—so the outlaw was called—shrugged disdainful shoulders.

  “Yu did oughta remember them critters has to drink that water,” he said.

  “Which is why yu don’t go in, huh?” Sandy retorted.

  The water looked cool and inviting and Sandy hurriedly divested himself of his clothing.

  Sudden followed his example but more leisurely. He watched the boy step lightly towards a jutting bit of bank which afforded a good place for a plunge and then snatched a gun from the belt he had just discarded and fired. Sandy whirled instantly.

  “What the hell … ?” he cried, and then, as he saw the bullet-shattered fiat venomous head and greenish-grey body thrashing about in the long grass only a yard from where he stood, his face paled. “A cotton-mouth!” he gasped. (The moccasin snake, when angry, appears to have its jaws stuffed with cotton-wool.) “Jim, I’m not forgettin’ this—ever.”

  “Shucks,” was the reply. “Saw him just in time.”

  “Yu shore did—‘nother step an’ I’d ‘a’ trod on him,” Sandy agreed, with a shiver.

  A careful search of the bank revealed no more reptiles and they had their swim, but much of the enjoyment had gone. As they lay on the warm turf drying themselves in the sun, Sudden asked a question.

  “There’s a way out at the other end o’ the valley,” Sandy said. “Goin’ ridin’?”

  “Thought I’d look around; don’t seem to be much to do.”

  “We’ll be busy tomorrow—the boys’ll fetch in a bunch o’ cattle—there’s plenty mavericks in the brush. I’d go with yu but I gotta relieve Ropey, durn it.”

  Dried and dressed again they made their way to the bunkhouse, which they found empty, save for the cook.

  Having fed, they got their horses and separated, Sandy turning east to set free a man who was eagerly awaiting him, and Sudden heading in the opposite direction.

  The exit was easily found, a tunnel-like crack in the rim-rock just wide enough to permit the passage of a mounted man. There was little light, for the cliff overhead appeared to be unbroken and the far end of the opening was masked by a mass of dense scrub. The few tracks showed that this means of entering or leaving the valley was seldom used.

  “Takin’ a herd o’ cattle through would be apt to keep a fella’s tongue busy,” the cowboy ruminated. “She’d be a useful bolt-hole though.”

  Sandy had already told him that the nearest settlement on this side of the valley was some thirty miles distant, and that the only habitation of importance was the S E ranch.

  “Got a big range, has Sam Eden,” the boy had said. “They say he owns a lot o’ the land too. Dessay our valley belongs to him, but up to now he ain’t served no writ of ejectment.”

  It was a wild bit of country into which Sudden emerged, a jumble of scrub-choked gullies, flat-topped mesas, ridges of bare rock, and forested slopes hemming in grass-covered savannahs. Every now and then, a fierce-eyed steer would break from a thicket, glare at the rider, and crash back into the brush. Some of these bore the S E brand but more were unmarked.

  “Sandy was right,” Sudden reflected. “Either Eden’s outfit is damn careless or he ain’t had a proper roundup in years. He can’t holler if someone takes care o’ them mavericks.”

  A little later, as he was riding the rim of a shallow ravine, he heard a startled cry, followed by the beat of galloping hooves. It was a woman’s voice and he judged it came from just ahead. A whispered word quickened the speed of the big black and rounding a bend, the rider swore in angry surprise:

  “Damnation!”

  Along the bottom of the ravine, and only a few hundred yards away, a girl was desperately spurring her pony. A short distance behind, two mounted Indians were racing to overtake her. Sudden pulled up, swung his horse round, headed it for the inclined wall of the gully, and leaned back in the saddle. Nigger knew what was required; bunching his feet together he slithered down the slope, and took up the chase. The long leaping stride of the black soon began to overhaul the poorer animals in front, but Sudden saw he had no time to waste; already the foremost Indian had grabbed the bridle of the girl’s pony and was endeavouring to drag her from the saddle.

  She was resisting, striking at the savage with the butt of her quirt, and fearing that the fellow would do her an injury, he uttered a shout. Instantly the second redskin whirled, dropped his lance, his right hand flashing to the quiver behind his shoulder, and Sudden felt a searing pain at the side of his neck. With incredible speed, the Indian notched a second arrow but ere he could despatch it the white man’s revolver roared and the redskin pitched to the ground. His companion, seeing what had happened, abandoned the girl, flogged his pony savagely up the steep bank of the ravine—which it climbed like a cat —and, with a whoop of defiance, vanished over the edge. The cowboy followed, but by the time he reached the top the fugitive was half a mile distant on an open plain. When Sudden returned the girl rode to meet him, a grateful smile on her firm lips.

  “Thank you,” she said, holding out a slim, gauntleted hand. Then, as her frank brown eyes studied this stranger who had so providentially come to her rescue, she saw blood on the collar of his shirt. “But you are hurt,” she cried. ’

  “On’y a scratch—mebbe,” he smiled.

  “We’ll wash and tie up that scratch,” she said, and though he protested, had her way.

  When the job was done to her satisfaction and they were in the saddle again, she turned to him with a smile.

  “I am Carol Eden,” she told him. “The S E ranchhouse is only about eight miles from here and my father will want to thank you.”

  “Why, there ain’t no need—” he began, but she cut the protest short.

  “He will think there is, and I agree with him. Besides, there may be other Indians about.”

  This was an unanswerable argument and again Sudden had to give in; he was beginning to realize that here was a young woman who usually got wha
t she wanted. Riding side by side along the ravine he had an opportunity to study her more closely. She rode astride, cowboy fashion, and was clearly at home in the saddle, her slender form swaying in rhythm with the movements of her mount. Her neat shirt-waist, divided skirt, and riding-boots with tiny silver spurs provided a costume which showed her youthful figure to advantage. From beneath the broad-brimmed felt hat peeped rebellious brown curls which the sunlight turned to copper. He noted the wide-spaced brown eyes, the straight little nose, the firm but rounded chin, and spoke his thought:

  “Yu didn’t oughta be ridin’ alone so far from home.” For a moment he feared she would resent the remark as an impertinence, and then she smiled. “I know it. Dad warned me, but I thought the Indians were quiet now. you see, I have been East, at college, for some time.”

  “Injuns is never quiet till they’re like—him,” the young man said grimly, with a jerk of his thumb backwards. “I’d oughta got that other; I’ve a hunch I’ll be seein’ him again.”

  “I hope I don’t,” the girl said fervently. “I’ll never forget that hideous painted face. If you hadn’t come …”

  To take her away from the subject he mentioned that he too had recently returned from the East, and she looked at him with a new interest.

  “Would you care to live there?” she asked.

  He shook his head and smiled. “I couldn’t stand it,” he confessed. “This is my country; a man can breathe without feel-in’ he’s robbin’ another fella of air; there’s room for all.”

  “Except the Indian,” she said, a little sadly.

  “Why, yo’re right,” he agreed. “An’ it’s shorely an odd thought that the time is comin’ when, in this vast land, there won’t be a place for the men who once owned it all. When the buffalo an’ the game have gone, the redskin will follow.

  He ain’t adaptable; educate him all yu please an’ he’s still a savage at heart.”

  “A case of the survival of the fittest?” she suggested.

  “No, ma’am,” her companion replied. “The Injun will lie, steal, an’ murder, but if yo’re his friend he’ll die for yu. Some o’ the white men who are wipin’ him out will do all them things an’ sell their own kin for a few dollars. On top o’ that, the red man is a healthy hater.”

  “You rate that a virtue?” she said surprisedly.

  He nodded, his face—which when he smiled was that of a boy—hard and grim as granite.

  The look warned her that she had plumbed hidden depths and aroused her woman’s curiosity; in the hope that he would respond in kind, she went on to speak of herself. He learned that she was not really an Eden, the rancher having adopted her some years earlier, when the death of her father—his old friend—left her unprotected.

  “He has been very, very good to me,” she finished softly. Her innocent little ruse proved unsuccessful. He told her his name and that was all. When she ventured a half-question, she received—as she had feared—only a half-answer:

  “I’m just takin’ a look at the country,” he said.

  “I’m glad you chose this bit of it to-day,” Carol smiled. “We are near the ranch; I must prepare for a tongue-lashing from Dad.”

  “He needn’t to know,” Sudden pointed out. “Yo’re safe now; I can fade—”

  “No, I’ll take my medicine,” she told him, and in mock reproach, “I shall begin to think you don’t like your company.”

  The cowboy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I could bear to be with yu a whole lot, ma’am,” he said gravely.

  Chapter V

  THE S E ranchhouse was not beautiful but was eminently adapted to the purpose for which it had been erected. It stood in the middle of a small, level plain which afforded no cover whatever for an attacking force, and the walls, constructed of squared logs, were loop-holed on all sides. Of one storey only, it comprised a large living-room, bedrooms, and a kitchen.

  Immediately behind was an ample corral, and to the left, a bunkhouse for the outfit, a barn and smithy.

  On the broad, covered porch which extended along the front of the building two men were sitting. The elder, short, big-shouldered, dressed in range rig, was Sam Eden, owner of the ranch. Though he was past fifty, only his iron-grey hair betrayed the fact; the keen blue eyes, firm lips beneath a clipped moustache, and pugnacious jaw all spoke of virility; the deep cleft between the bushy brows told of temper.

  The other man was of a different type. Tall, not yet forty, his fleshy, clean-shaven face appeared unusually pale in that land of bronzed skins. It was not an attractive face—the flattish nose, rather prominent eyes, and thick lips had a negroid character, and in fact, Jethro Baudry had sometimes been described as a “white nigger.” His attire formed a striking contrast to that of his host: a “boiled” shirt, neatly-tied cravat, and long black Prince Albert coat. His hands were carefully tended: they had to be, for Baudry was by profession a gambler, though he was now sitting in a bigger game. His expressionless gaze studied the man before him.

  “So you are going to take the chance, Sam?” he said.

  “Shore I am—nothin’ else for it,” the rancher replied. “Yu see, Jethro, I want things clear for Carol—case anythin’ happens to me. Sabe?”

  “You don’t think I’d press her, do you?” Baudry asked. “No; but yo’re mortal too, an’ gamblin’ aint the safest callin’,” Eden replied bluntly.

  “I can take care of myself,” Baudry said with a thin smile. “Still, there’s the chance.

  Setting that aside, you know I’m willing to wait?”

  “Shore, yu’ve been mighty good lettin’ me have the coin, Jethro,” the rancher said warmly. “But think of it, man; a hundred thousand acres that, in a few years’ time, may be worth as many dollars as I’ve paid cents for ‘em. Wouldn’t yu wanta feel it really belonged to yu?”

  Actually the gambler was feeling just that, but his bland features expressed nothing of the greed which possessed him.

  “Natural enough; but these big drives are risky they tell me,” he rejoined. “You may lose your herd.”

  “I’m losin’ ‘em anyway,” the cattleman said bitterly; and reading the question in the other’s eyes, “Yeah, rustlers, o’ course. It’s an easy play; the beasts is scattered in the brush an’ a lot must be unbranded; our roundups aint been too thorough the last year or so—I couldn’t afford a large outfit —an’ what was the use when all yu could get for a steer was a few dollars for the hide an’ taller? An’ for that yu gotta drive ‘em to a coast-town, which cut the profit to near nothin’ a-tall.

  “Now, they tell me, it’s different; the East needs beef; the Gov’ment wants it to feed the Injuns on the reservations when they can git the war-whoops to stay on ‘em; the northern ranchers have discovered that the buffalo grass on their big plains will fatten cows, an’ they’re lookin’ for stock. There’s a shippin’ point at Abilene, Kansas, an’ beasts worth little more’n nothin’ here will fetch as much as fifteen dollars or more apiece.”

  “Certainly sounds good,” the younger man said. “If you can make it.”

  “I gotta make it, or bust,” Eden said grimly. “Anyways, yo’re sittin’ pretty, Jethro; if I win through, yu get yore dinero; if I don’t, the ranch is yores; yu needn’t to worry.”

  “I don’t intend to,” Baudry assured him; and again a fleet ing smile swept over his pale face. Then he asked casually, “Any news of that son of yours?”

  The rancher’s brows met in a heavy frown. “I’ve no son,” he said harshly. “When he went from here he stepped outa my life; I’ll be glad if yu’ll remember that, Jethro.” And, after a pause,

  “No, I ain’t heard nothin’.”

  The other made no comment, but in his eyes there was a gleam of satisfaction.

  “When do you expect to start north?”

  “Soon as we can gather an’ road-brand a sizable herd. Hello, who’s that with Carol?”

  The girl and her companion, having left their mounts at the corral, had suddenly app
eared round the end of the ranchhouse. Baudry rose and bowed to the lady, whose expression did not convey too warm a welcome. Murmuring a formal greeting, she turned to the cattleman.

  “Dad, this is Mister Green, and I’ve brought him, much against his wish”—she smiled at the culprit—“because I knew you would want to thank him.”

  In a few words she told the story of her adventure and Sam Eden’s face paled beneath its tan as he comprehended the terrible fate she had so narrowly escaped. Impulsively his hand went out.

  “Young fella,” he said, “if there’s anythin’ I’ve got an’ yu want, name it. yu couldn’t ‘a’ done me a greater service.” Sudden gripped the proffered fist. “It don’t need speakin’ of, seh,” he said. “I happened to be handy, an’ …” He bogged down and looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

  The rancher realized his feelings; he knew the breed—they would rather oe blamed than thanked. He turned to the girl.

  “As for yu, miss, didn’t I tell yu” he began sternly. Before he could say any more her arm was through his and her cheek against his shoulder.

  “Now don’t be an old bear; I’ll ‘fess up,” she smiled. “Of course you warned me, and I was wrong to go so far, but I didn’t think of Indians.”

  “It ain’t on’y them pesky critters,” the old man growled. “yu might ‘a’ met up with some o’ Rogue’s Riders—his hide out is somewhere around.” He looked at the cowboy quizzically. “Yu don’t happen to belong to that gang, do yu?”

  Sudden shook his head, grinned, and repeated the reply he had given the girl. “I’m from the south; havin’ a look at the country.”