Sudden: The Range Robbers Read online

  Lying in his bunk, Green turned over the events of the day in an endeavor to find a key to the mystery which overhung the ranch. He was convinced that the foreman was playing a deep game, but he had no proof, and he recognized that obtaining it would be no picnic. Not that this troubled him; he had been in tight places before—in fact, his life for years had been, as he humorously phrased it, “one damn squeeze after another.’

  “If old Nugget is in this, he’ll want to report my visit,’ he ruminated. “I’ll be around there early to-morrow,’ and having thus settled the next step to be taken, he turned over and promptly fell asleep.

  At daybreak he rose and dressed without awaking any of the others. He aroused the cook, who slept in his own quarters, and representing that he had an urgent job for the ranch-owner, managed to secure a meal and provision for the day, though not without protest.

  “If all yu dudes is goin’ to eat separate, I quit,’ growled the cook. “What’s the matter with this blamed ranch, anyway? There’s Rattler comes pesterin’ round for his breakfast ‘alf an ‘our ago, an’ now yu. Must be afeared yu ain’t earnin’ yore pay, some o’ yu.’

  This was news for Green; the foreman had got ahead of him. A query to the cook as to Rattler’s destination elicited a disgusted reply.

  “Ow in ‘ell do I know? Does he strike yu as a feller who advertises? Yu ain’t told me nothin’ yerself.’

  “I don’t advertise either,’ Green laughed, and left the irate provision purveyor muttering dark and bloody threats against the next unlucky wight who should come in search of an early meal.

  Surmising that the foreman might be on the same errand as himself, Green proceeded on his way cautiously, taking cover when it offered, and avoiding the skyline whenever it was possible to do so. He discovered no sign of Blaynes, however, until he reached the hut, and there, from the thick brush, he saw a horse with the reins thrown waiting patiently outside the door. Leaving his own mount, he crept close enough to make out the Y Z brand on the animal’s rump.

  Making a detour, he found a fallen tree which bridged the stream at a narrow point, and crossed. There were no windows at the back of the cabin, and stepping with the craft of an Indian, Green was soon crouched by the logs which formed the rear wall. Inside, he could hear voices, the foreman’s and the old miner’s.

  “Now yu understan’, Nugget,’ Blaynes was saying. “He ain’t wanted, an’ if yu catch him nosin’ round here, bump him off. There won’t be no inquiries, an’ if there is, it’ll be put down to Injuns, if yo’re careful.’

  The other man laughed shortly, and guessing that the visitor was about to leave, Green retreated to the bushes. In a few moments Rattler appeared, mounted, and rode off in the direction of the ranch. Green waited patiently, and at the end of about half an hour, Nugget came out carrying a saddle and lariat. In a little clearing not far from the cabin was a rough corral. Nugget roped the sole occupant, a savage-looking cowpony, adjusted the saddle, and took a dim trail which appeared to lead to the mountains.

  “Bet m’self two dollars he’s headed for the Double X,’ Green soliloquized. “I’ll have to see if I win.’

  Keeping well in the background, he followed the tracks of the man in front. The trail, which was obviously very little used, wound in and out among the trees and undergrowth, which here and there almost obstructed it. Nugget was evidently taking his time over the trip, and once the pursuer was near enough to get a whiff of rank tobacco. He at once slowed down. He had no fear of losing his man, for the ground was soft, and the hoof-marks of the pony showed clearly. For over an hour he jogged steadily on, and then found himself on the rim of a deep valley, treeless and covered with lush grass. Halfway down the long slope he could see his quarry trotting leisurely towards the other side. He waited until Nugget vanished over the far skyline, and then followed at a fast lope.

  As he expected, the miner had disappeared, but his trail led down a long incline covered with pine and clumps of undergrowth. Green pressed on, anxious to make up the time he had been forced to waste at the valley. Rounding a tree-covered pinnacle of rock, he suddenly pulled his horse back on its haunches. In front of him, running at right angles, lay a broad open trail, scored with innumerable footprints of horse and cattle. Those of the rider in front could no longer be distinguished. Green swore softly.

  “Hell!’ he said. “Gotta take a chance now, Blue. But what’s a big trail like this a-doin’ here?’

  The animal’s answer was a movement to the left, and his master, who had the superstitions as well as the instincts of a gambler, accepted the hint. Mile after mile they followed the trail, which twisted and turned round hills and gullies in a way that showed foresight on the part of those who had first used it.

  “Feller could take a tidy bunch o’ cows over this, an’ at a good lick,’ muttered the cowpuncher.

  An hour’s hard riding brought him no sight of the man he was tracking. The cattle-trail, moreover, came to an end on the bank of a wide but shallow stream which emerged from the jaws of a dark and narrow canyon. Into this for some distance the trailer penetrated, scanning the banks of the stream carefully, but no trace of horse or cow rewarded him. On either hand the living rock, sparsely clothed with vegetation, rose almost vertically, while straight ahead a blank wall of rock indicated that the canyon was a blind one.

  “An’ cows ain’t got wings,’ Green said, adding to his unspoken thought.

  He turned back to where the trail ended, crossed the water, and struck out over an expanse of shale-covered ground. It proved to be more than a mile wide, and on the other side of it, he found cattle sign again.

  He pressed on, passing now through deep forest, then a stretch of open grassland, while at times the trail dipped into deep, savage gullies, hewn by Nature out of the bare rock and draped with spare vegetation. Emerging from one of these, he saw a bit of rolling prairie, shut in by wooded hills, and on the edge of it some log-buildings and corrals. In the distance were specks which he knew to be cattle.

  The place appeared to be deserted, and he was about to shout when a man showed in the doorway. Green noted that he did not seem surprised, and surmised that his approach had been observed. The fellow was powerful-looking, thick-lipped, and wore a black patch over one eye, which imparted a cunning expression to his face. He had a revolver slung at his hip, and the handle of a knife protruded from his boot.

  “Afternoon,’ Green greeted pleasantly. “I take it this is the Double X.’

  “It is,’ said the other shortly. “An’ I take it yo’re the new Y Z feller who got gay with Poker Pete in Hatchett’s.’

  Green nodded, smiling. “I don’t allow tinhorns to run blazers on me,’ he returned easily. “Odd how news travels, even out here.’

  “I was in town yesterday,’ the man explained quickly, and Green chuckled inwardly. “What’s brung yu out this far?’

  “Well, I’ve been huntin’ strays, an’ got the fool notion I was headin’ for home, but I reckon I’ve strayed some m’self,’ the cowpuncher explained.

  The one-eyed man burst into a coarse laugh. “If yu keep agoin’ yu’ll have to go all round the world to get to the Y Z,’ he guffawed.

  “Is that so? Pointin’ right away from it, eh?’ replied the visitor. “Well, if this ain’t the beatenest country; that’s twice I done lost m’self in it.’

  If the man doubted this somewhat unlikely excuse for the puncher’s presence he showed no sign of it. “Get down an’drink,’ he invited. “Can’t offer yu any grub: we’re clean out. The boys are at Hatchett’s with the wa.ggin, fetchin’ in what I ordered yesterday.’

  His one eye watched the visitor closely as he offered this information. Green nodded understandingly, dismounted, and tied his horse, not yet being certain that Blue would stand for a thrown rein. His host eyed the animal covetously.

  “Good hoss,’ he remarked. “Had him long?’

  “No,’ replied the cowboy. “He’s kind o’ new.’

  The room they e
ntered was a large one, and had a boarded floor. The furniture consisted mainly of a long table and a number of chairs and benches, mostly decorated with saddles, guns, and odds and ends of camp equipment. Two doors on the far side apparently led to the other parts of the building, which was of one storey only. Through one of these doors Green could hear a peculiarly raucous voice bellowing a cowboy ballad.

  “That’s my cook—thinks he’s a blasted opery singer,’ explained the host. “I’ll just abate him a bit.’ He opened one of the doors and yelled “Hey, Carewso, stop that blamed racket; I got a visitor what’s fond o’ music.’

  The unholy noise died away into a grumble, and the host shut the door with a grin. “The boys call him that. They stand it pretty well, but I reckon they’ll abolish him one of these days.’

  He produced a bottle and glasses, pouring out generous portions. “Here’s how,’ he said. “My name’s Dexter, an’ I own this place.’

  Green gave his own name, and then added: “Nice location yu got here, but the country round strikes me as bein’ a hard one for cows.’

  “Yu said it,’ was the reply. “We lose a good few.’

  “Rustlers?’ queried Green.

  The other man spat out an expletive. “Yep, copper-coloured ones from the Reservation just across the range. The damn thieves know all the passes, an’ they sneak through, make their gather, an’ git back without leavin’ a sign yu can swear to.’

  “They’d shore be hard to trail about here,’ Green said.

  “Hard to trail?’ cried his host. “I believe yu. Why, the way they vanish sometimes yu’d think the beggers had wings; an’ that’s somethin’ no Injun’ll ever wear, in this world or the next. I’ve give up; but any war-plume what comes prancin’ round here is apt to die o’ lead-poisonin’ mighty sudden.’

  “I never had no use for Injuns,’ Green agreed.

  He declined a second drink on the ground that he must get back to the Y Z before dark, and asked the nearest way. He was not surprised when Dexter advised an entirely different route from the one which had brought him there.

  “Straight across the valley an’ through that notch in the rim’ll bring yu to a plain trail to Hatchett’s. If yu meet my boys tell ‘em I’m a-gettin’ hungrier every minit. So long! Drop in any time yo’re passin’.’

  The visitor returned the salutation and, mounting his horse, rode across the valley as directed. The non-appearance of the miner puzzled him, though he inclined to the belief that Nugget was there, keeping out of sight. The owner of the Double X had not impressed him favourably, but he had discovered nothing to connect him with the rustlers except the repetition of the redskin theory, and it was conceivable that the man might be losing stock and blaming the Indians for it.

  In crossing the valley he purposely passed near one of the groups of feeding cattle. He did not slow up, for that would have aroused suspicion, but he got close enough to get a good look at the brand, a crude double X, roughly done, but apparently honest enough. Nevertheless, it provided him with food for thought. He reached the notch in the rim, climbed up a narrow stony pathway out of the valley, and found, as his host had promised, a plain trail. He had covered some miles of this when he heard singing, and presently round a bend came a lumbering wagon, with one man driving and three others riding beside it. The driver pulled up with an oath when he saw the puncher, and the right hands of the riders slid to their holsters.

  “All right, boys,’ Green called out genially. “I’ve just been visitin’ yore boss, an’ he said that if I met up with yu, I was to say that he’s a-gettin’ hungrier every minit, an’ he shore enough looked it.’

  One of the men laughed, and the attitude of guarded hostility relaxed somewhat. None of the four was young, and all had the look of men toughened by experience—good or bad. A nasty crowd to tangle up with, the cowpuncher decided.

  “Dex may reckon hisself lucky to see us tonight,’ commented one. “If Pete had been in town it would’ve bin to-morrow mawnin’.’

  Green guessed that they knew who he was, and that the reference to the gambler had been made purposely, but he decided to ignore it.

  “Well,’ he drawled. “I gotta be pushin’ along if I want any supper myself; that Y Z gang is real destructive at mealtimes.’

  His refusal to take up the challenge, for so they regarded it, created a bad impression, and the laugh which greeted his remark was frankly sneering. With a curt “S’long’ they rode on, grinning at one another. Green also resumed his journey, and he too was smiling.

  “They’re thinkin’ that little ruckus at the Folly was just a grand-stand play, an’ that I’m shy the sand to back it up, which is just what,I want ‘em to think,’ he soliloquised.

  All the same, he had to confess that it had been an entirely disappointing day.

  Chapter V

  A Week passed without any further development to disturb the ordinary routine of the ranch. Green steadily raked the surrounding country, but gained nothing but a knowledge of it, and the covert sneers of the foreman and the older hands. In some way, the impression created by his rough handling of Poker Pete had worn off, and sometimes the insults were so thinly veiled that the object of them had hard work to restrain himself. Larry, his staunch admirer, could not understand it.

  “Don’t yu see,’ Green said, when the boy spoke of it. “I’d be playin’ their game? I’m not ready for a showdown yet.’

  Another dissatisfied occupant of the ranch was Noreen. Accustomed to the unqualified devotion of all the men she met, she found the aloofness of the newcomer a little disturbing, the more so that she was unable—though she would not admit it—to adopt the same attitude. In her presence he was polite, but quiet, almost stern, whereas she knew that with Larry, and some of the others, he could behave like a boy.

  Girl-like, she invested him with mystery, and wove romance of a broken heart and blighted life round him. Once or twice she had deliberately given him opportunities to speak about himself, but he had-always evaded them. Larry, whom she cautiously pumped one day, could tell her nothing.

  “I reckon he’s had trouble,’ the boy said. “Mebbe there’s a sheriff a-lookin’ for him, but if I was that sheriff I’d take mighty good care not to find him; he’s hell on wheels when he gets goin’.’

  But to the men he was not eulogistic, even going to the length of expressing the opinion that the newcomer’s treatment of the gambler might have been a flash in the pan. More than once he was questioned, for there was a good deal of curiosity in the outfit as to the stranger’s ability to take care of himself. He wore two guns, but no one had yet seen him use one. It was Larry who discovered that schemes were being hatched to “try-out’ the new hand. The latter laughed grimly when the boy warned him.

  “They’re goin’ to sic “Snap” Lunt on yu,’ Larry said. “He’s a killer, an’ a shore wizard with a six-gun.’

  Lunt had recently come back to the ranch, having been riding the line at the time of Green’s appearance on the scene. He was a small man, with a twisted, wizened face like dried hide, a square, powerful body, and short legs bowed by years spent in the saddle. His one pride was in his ability to use a Colt, in which accomplishment he acknowledged only one superior. This admission, which was news to the others, was made at supper one evening when the talk had persistently veered to guns and gunmen.

  “Who was that, Snap?’ asked Simple.

  The feller they call “Sudden,”’ replied the gunman. “No, I never had a run in with him, or likely I wouldn’t be here, but I saw him in action once, years ago when he warn’t more than a kid. Neatest thing I ever see, an’ it happened in Deadwater, which ain’t a town no more. Sudden was in a saloon when the barkeeper, who was a good sort, gives him the word that three fellers, all known killers, is layin’ for him.

  “There’s a back door here,” he sez. “Pull yore freight. Three to one is above the odds, an’ nobody’ll hold it against yu.”

  “Yu bet they won’t, but I’m thankin’ y
u all the same,” sez Sudden, an’ steps out into the street as unconcerned as the corpse at a buryin’.

  “Them three buzzards is waitin’ about twenty paces away, two of ‘em on the opposite side o’ the street, an’ the other slinkin’ up the same side as the saloon, an’ their guns is out. But he beat ‘em to it even then. Before they could git a shot out, the fellers across the street is tumblin’ in the dust. The other chap fired one shot which might’ve hit a star mebbe, an’ ran for his life. He looked round once, saw the boy’s gun on him, an’ tried to turn a corner that warn’t there. His face was a sight; it looked like a herd o’ cattle had stampeded across it, but, all the same, he was lucky; the other two had to be planted.’

  “But don’t yu reckon yo’re faster now than yu were then, Snap?’ asked Nigger.

  “I know I am; but don’t yu reckon he’s improved too?’ retorted the gunman. “Even if he ain’t he’s better’n me. I never saw a movement, an’ them fellers were drilled plumb centre between the eyes.’

  Sudden, the outlaw! Not a man there but had heard of him, and of his uncanny dexterity with weapons, and the ease with which he had so far eluded capture. The tale of his exploits grew as first one and then another related stories he had heard. Snap Lunt listened with an expression of tolerant contempt.

  “An’ more than half o’ them I’ll bet my hoss he never done,’ he said presently. “When a feller gets a name, every killin’, hold-up, or cattle-stealin’ that can’t be traced to anybody else gets his brand put on it.’ There was a tinge of bitterness in his voice, and this deepened as he resumed. “A feller sometimes gets drove into the wrong road. Once it gets known that he’s swift with a gun there always happens along a damn fool who thinks he can make a reputation by showin’ he’s a bit swifter. An’ he ain’t, so he gets wiped out, an’ soon there’s another damn fool—the world’s full of ‘em. By all accounts, Sudden fights fair, an’ that’s more than some did that went up against him.’

  The others were silent for a moment; this was a new side to the man they had always regarded as a ruthless slayer of his fellows—one who took a delight in putting his art to its deadliest use. They sensed that he was telling his own story. It was Rattler who broke the spell; matters were not going as he wished.