Sudden Makes War (1942) Page 5

  "Garstone will need watchin', he got all the points of a rattlesnake bar the good one--he'll strike without warnin'," was Sudden's opinion.

  They rode along beside the creek, silent, the rancher studying this man of whom he knew nothing save that he could shoot like a master, used the saddle and long stirrup of the Californian "buckaroo," but spoke with the slow drawl of the South. Western etiquette forbade a question, but there was no need.

  "Tryin' to figure me, Dan?" Sudden asked, with a dry smile, and when the quick flush told he had hit the mark, added, "Shucks! yu have a right to know."

  He spoke of a dying man, who, with his last breath, bequeathed a legacy of vengeance upon two scoundrels who had wronged him sorely, and of his own promise to pay the debt.

  "That's why, like the creek there, I'm allus on the move," he said. "I ain't struck their trail yet, but I shall--one day."

  How that day did indeed come has been told elsewhere. Dover looked at the set face of the speaker; measured by time, he was not so many years older than himself, but in experience, twice his age. The similarity of their cases bred a feeling of brotherhood in his breast; he too had a score to settle. Impulsively he thrust out a hand, which was gripped in silence.

  "Makin' for anywhere in particular, Jim?"

  "Figurin' to have another look at the ravine--mebbe I missed somethin'."

  "Then we part here," Dan said. "yore line bears to the right."

  Sudden had not gone far when a faint call of "Help!" reached him. It appeared to come from the vicinity of the creek and, swinging his horse round, he rode in that direction. A repetition of the cry served as a further guide, and in a few moments he was again beside the stream, at a point where, after passing over a miniature' Niagara, it widened out into a largish pool. The sight which greeted him was a singular one: a pale-faced girl, who appeared to be sitting in the water, and by her side a young man standing in it. The latter was Dover.

  "Hey, Jim, don't come in," he warned. "Will yore rope reach this far?"

  "Yeah, but it'll mean a rough passage for the lady."

  "Can't be helped--it's our on'y chance. This damn quicksand has got us good."

  Sudden leapt from his horse, walked to the water's edge. and swung his lariat. Carelessly as the rope seemed to be thrown, the loop dropped neatly over the girl's head. "Fix it under her arm-pits," he directed, and when this had been done, began to haul in swiftly. With a splash the girl struck the water, and in a brief space reached the bank, a limp, bedraggled specimen of humanity. The puncher helped her to stand up and removed the rope.--,

  "Ain't no way to treat a lady, but I had to work fast," he apologized.

  She fought for breath to answer, but failed to find it; this man who could throw an eight-hundred-pound steer had yanked her across the strip of shining water at incredible speed, and to her great discomfort. Sudden was not waiting for thanks.

  "Hi, cowboy, need a hand?" he called out.

  The leverage the empty saddle gave him had enabled Dan to free his feet from the clutching sand, and he was now astride the horse, only the head of which was visible.

  "I can swim back," he replied.

  By this time the girl had regained her breath. "Must I lose my pony?" she asked wistfully.

  "A side-ways pull would break his legs," Sudden pointed out. A big cottonwood, one huge branch of which jutted out over the water, suggested something. "It's a chance," he said, and to Dover, who was preparing to plunge in, "Hold on a minute."

  He sent his rope hurtling out again, and following his instructions, Dover contrived to pass it under the pony's belly and tie it securely. Then he slipped into the stream and came ashore. In the meantime, Sudden had attached Dan's rope to his own.

  "What's the idea?" the young man asked, as he emerged and shook himself like a wet dog. "That bronc is meat for the fishes."

  "I'm one o' them obstinate folk an' need convincin'," was the reply.

  Swinging himself into the cottonwood, he crawled along the great limb, passed the end of the joined lariats through a fork, and returned to the ground. The head of the pony was now almost submerged, and conscious of impending doom it uttered a shrill cry of fear.

  "Awright, of fella, we're doin' our best," Sudden said, as he fastened the loose end of the ropes to the saddle-horn of his own mount. "This'll give us an almost straight lift, an' if the pore beggar's still got a kick in him, it may serve," he explained. "Steady, boy."

  This to the black, which, with braced limbs, leant forward until the rope was at full stretch. The two men, intent on the operation, took no notice of the girl, but she too was watching anxiously. At a word from his master, Nigger advanced a pace, the muscles bunching beneath the satiny skin; the rope became taut as a bow-string, but apparently without effect. Asecond pace, another scream from the drowning animal, and Sudden chuckled.

  "He's loosenin', 'less we've pulled his legs off," he said. "I can see the horn o' the saddle."

  It was true; as the big horse slowly advanced, the smaller beast at the other end of the rope was raised clear of the quicksand to hang suspended, twisting in the air, and obviously beside itself with fright.

  "Well, we got him, an' we ain't," Dan remarked quizzically. "What's the next move?"

  "Drop him back in the water, an' yell," Sudden replied. "He won't stay to get mired again, an' he's carryin' no weight." The rope was released and a piercing cowboy call rent the air; that, and the feel of the water sent the rescued beast scrambling frantically for solid ground, on reaching which it stood still, shivering and dejected. The lariat and saddle removed, however, it proceeded to roll contentedly in the grass, apparently little the worse.

  "He ain't hurt none," Sudden said, adding with a grin, "an' what a tale he'll have to tell in the corral to-night."

  "He's not the only one," a sweet but rather rueful voice remarked.

  Engrossed in their task, the other rescuee had been forgotten, but now they turned to find her seated on a tuft of grass, trying to restore some sort of order to a wet mop of short, curly black hair. Little clouds of steam arose as the fierce rays of the sun licked up the moisture from her soaked attire. She was, as Dover confessed in an aside to his companion, "Sorta soothin' to the sight."

  The description did her less than justice, for, despite her bedraggled state, even one of her own sex would have allowed her charm, at least. To the men, she was beautiful, and the fact that she could find a smile for them showed that she possessed the quality they most admired, courage. Sudden was the first to speak:

  "How're yu feelin', ma'am?"

  "Rather as though I ought to be pegged out on a line to dry," she replied. "The stream looked shallow enough to ride through, but half-way across I realized that my mount was in difficulties, and turned to go back, but it was too late. You see, I can't swim."

  "You picked the wrong place," Dan told her. "The ford is a bit further down; there's a couple o' white stones to mark it."

  "Being a stranger, I am afraid they wouldn't have meant anything to me." Her dark, long-lashed eyes regarded the tree-shadowed pool reproachfully. "Who would have dreamed that so charming a spot could be treacherous?"

  "The Rainbow ain't to be trusted," Dan grinned. "She's as various as a--" He stopped abruptly.

  "Woman," she finished, with a light laugh. "Please don't mind me--I am well aware of the failings of my own sex."

  She stood up, her clinging garments revealing the youthful lines of her slim body. "I want to thank you both," she went on, her voice grave again. "But for your help, I might have ..." She broke off, with a little shudder, and then, "My uncle will want to thank you too, and he'll be glad to see you at the Wagon-wheel--why, what is the matter?"

  For Dan's face had suddenly become bleak. "Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

  The girl's eyes flashed. "I am Beth Trenton," she replied. "And you?"

  "My name's Dover, if that tells you anythin'."

  "All I want to know," she returned coldly. "But I am still gratefu
l for what you have done."

  "Then don't be," the young man said vehemently. "Helpin' one o' yore family--even in ignorance--is somethin' I wanta forget."

  "I have been here only a week, and have received nothing but courtesy from the men I have met; I am sorry to find an exception," was the cutting reply. She looked at Sudden. "If you will be good enough to bring my horse ..."

  When the puncher had roped and saddled the animal, she mounted with graceful ease, and without another word, rode in search of the ford. Dan's moody gaze followed her, noting how the proud, straight figure swayed easily to the movement of the beast beneath it; she could ride, and for a reason he did not attempt to analyse, the fact made him still more angry.

  "Why in hell didn't I go some other place this mornin'," he fumed. "Zeb Trenton'll laugh hisself sick over this."

  "He oughta be mighty grateful."

  "Ought means nothin' to him; he won't even pretend to be,the slimy of toad. Bet he's told her a pretty tale about the Dovers. If I'd knowed who she was--"

  "Yu'd 'a' done just the same," Sudden smiled. "I'm allowin' it's rough it had to be yu, but rescuin' folks in distress seems to be a habit in yore family."

  "She must be the niece I heard was comin' to live with him. I'd forgot about it. Damn the luck."

  Sudden understood; the girl was very attractive, and had she been related to anyone else ... His advice took a prosaic form:

  "Better head for home an' get into some dry duds. I'll be on my way."

  As he neared the scene of the murder, he left the beaten trail and approached obliquely, keeping under cover. It was unlikely that anyone could know of his intention to visit the place, but he was not one to take unnecessary risks. Peering through the branches of a tall bush, he could see where the body had lain. Someone was there, stooping over the spot, apparently examining the ground intently. Presently the figure stood up, and Sudden recognized the bent shoulders, white hair, and big axe thrust through the belt.

  "Hunch! What in the nation is that of tarrapin doin' here?"

  Evidently he was engaged on the task Sudden himself had performed, that of reading the "sign" left by the assassin, for he climbed the bank of the arroyo at the same place and vanished. Sudden waited, but the other did not reappear, and the puncher returned to the Circle Dot in a reflective mood.

  Chapter VI

  An uneventful week passed. Sudden spent the time, as he put it, getting acquainted with the country. Somewhat to his surprise, Yorky was ready each morning to accompany him part of the way. The boy had made the most of his mount, which, carefully groomed, and with mane and tail combed, presented a much improved appearance. When the puncher remarked on this, Yorky flushed, and said:

  "Th' boys figure he's played out but they's wrong; all he wanted was a bit of attention. We're pals, ain't we, Shut-eye?"

  He stroked the pony's muzzle and Sudden smiled as he saw the piece of sugar pass from the boy's palm.

  "A hors is a good friend to have--'specially in the West," he said gravely. "Treat him right an' he'll not fail yu. I'm for Rainbow this mornin'. Comin' along?"

  Yorky looked at his tattered raiment, and shook his head. "Nuttin' doin'. Me fer another dose o' th' pine-breath; I'm gittin' so I don't cough me heart up--mos'ly."

  "Good. Can I bring yu any smokin'?"

  "Nix on that. T'ought I told yer I ain't usin' it."

  "So yu did--I done forgot," the puncher lied. "So long, son."

  "So long, Jim, an'--thanks," Yorky replied, and turned quickly away.

  Sudden watched him trot off in the direction of the little pine forest. Still an awkward figure in the saddle, he was clearly improving. "The hell of it," he muttered softly, and started for the town.

  He found the Parlour devoid of customers save for the unkempt person of Malachi, who, draped against the bar, was chatting with the proprietor. The latter welcomed the newcomer warmly.

  Lo, Green, you know the Doc, I reckon," he said. "On'y by reputation," Sudden replied.

  "Then you don't know him," Malachi said dryly.

  "Well, I'm hopin' he'll drink with me allasame," the cowboy smiled.

  "Sir, I'll drink with the Devil himself if the liquor is good--and there's no doubt of that here--but I warn you I am not in a position to return your hospitality."

  "Aw, yore credit's good too, Doc," Bowdyr assured. "Thanks, Ben, but I don't sponge on my friends," Malachi returned, and to the puncher, "Folks in this locality are too healthy."

  "I've been wantin' to speak to yu 'bout one who ain't," Sudden replied. "That kid at the Circle Dot."

  The other nodded. "Old Dave got me to look him over, and that spawn of a city sink called me everything he could thinkof, and it was plenty. He finished by saying he didn't want to live in a God-forsaken place like this, and he'd be everlastingly somethinged if he swallowed one drop of any blanketyblanked medicine I sent. My advice to Dave was to ship him back East and let him die in the gutter he had come from."

  "He certainly can cuss," Sudden grinned. "Is there a chance for him?"

  "yes, if he spends all his time outdoors, and stops poisoning his system with nicotine--which he won't; he isn't the sort you can scare into doing a thing."

  "But he might for a friend," the puncher suggested. "Well, Doc, I'm obliged for yore advice." He slid a ten-dollar bill along the bar, adding, "I think yu told the sheriff that was yore fee for consultation."

  Malachi stared in amaze, and then a slow smile overspread his thin features; he pushed the bill back. "That was a special charge for Foxy," he said. "Besides, I've told you only what you knew already."

  "Yu confirmed my own ideas, an' that's allus worth payin' for," Sudden insisted. "Yu can throw in a few doses o' physic if it will ease yore mind any; I'll see he takes 'em."

  Malachi argued no further. "Next time you get shot up, I'll mend you free," he promised. "Ben, we shall need a bottle of your best to celebrate this unexpected appreciation of the medical profession in Rainbow."

  Both the saloon-keeper and the puncher declined more than one small drink and the doctor tucked the bottle under an arm, bade them farewell, and hurried away. Bowdyr shook his head.

  "It's a terrible pity," he remarked, "for, drunk or sober, he's a damned good physician."

  Sudden's reply was cut short by the arrival of another customer, a tall, gangling man nearing sixty, who walked with a limp. He was harsh-featured, with a jutting, high-bridged, predatory nose, and close-cropped beard. Though dressed in range-rig; his garments were of better quality than those affected by the average rider. A heavy revolver hung from his right hip.

  "Mornin', Trenton," Bowdyr greeted, in his tone more than a suspicion of coolness.

  "Mornin'," the other said curtly. "Whisky--good whisky."

  "If you can stand the stuff they peddle at Sody's, mine'll be a treat for you," Bowdyr said.

  The rancher shrugged and looked at the cowboy. "Join me?" Sudden pointed to his unfinished glass. "Obliged, but I'm fixed," he replied.

  Trenton helped himself from the bottle before him, sampled the liquor, but made no comment. He turned again to the cowboy.

  "I don't use this place, but I heard you'd ridden in, an' I wanted to see you."

  "yeah?"

  "It appears I'm in yore debt for gettin' my niece out of a jam the other day," the rancher went on.

  "Nothin' to that--I'd 'a' done as much for one o' yore steers," Sudden replied. "Besides, Dover--"

  A scornful laugh interrupted him. "All that young fool did was to get himself in the same mess," Trenton jeered. "If it hadn't been for you, the pair of 'em might have drowned."

  "Oh, Dan would 'a' found a way," Sudden defended. "I guess he was a mite impulsive."

  "If he's expecting thanks from me he's liable to be disappointed; I don't owe him any. Yore case is different. What's Dover payin' you?"

  The puncher chuckled. "Nothin'," and when the other's eyebrows went up, "Yu see, we ain't mentioned the matter as yet. I s'pose it'll be the usua
l forty per."

  "I'll give you double that to ride for me."

  "That's a generous offer to a stranger."

  "I am under an obligation to you," Trenton explained. "Also, I can use a man who has ideas and acts promptly."

  Sudden was silent for a space, and then, "I'm not in the market," he said. "Yu can forget about that obligation."

  "But damn it all, I'm offerin' you more than I pay my foreman," Trenton cried.

  "Which wouldn't make me too popular with him," was the smiling reply. "No, seh, money never meant much to me; I'm stayin' by the Circle Dot."

  The rancher's face took on an ugly snarl. "That one-hoss ranch is might near the end of its rope. I'm beginnin' to think I misjudged you after all."

  "It's happened before," Sudden said gravely. "I reckon I must be a difficult fella to figure out."

  Trenton glared at him, realized that he was being gently chaffed and, with an oath, stalked out. The saloon-keeper looked at his remaining customer dubiously.

  "It was a good offer," he commented. "Zeb ain't regarded as a free spender; he must want you bad."

  "No, he's just tryin' to weaken Dan. At the end of a month, his foreman fires me, an' I'm finished round here," Sudden explained. "He must think I'm on'y just weaned."

  "Nobody never does know exactly what Zeb Trenton thinks," Bowdyr replied. "It'll pay to remember that there's another way o' deprivin' Dan o' yore services."

  The warned man laughed, but he paused at the door and took a quick look up and down the street before stepping out. Then he made his way to the store, to emerge presently with a bulky parcel which he strapped behind his saddle. He returned to purchase cartridges.

  "Got many customers for thirty-eights?" he asked casually.

  "Not any," the tradesman replied disgustedly. "Used to get 'em 'specially for a Circle Dot rider, Lafe Potter. He's bumped off, an' I ain't sold none since. Let you have 'em cheap."

  "No use to me. Store-keeper I knowed once got landed the same way, an' I just wondered if he had company."

  As he rode back to the ranch, he was thinking it over. The calibre of the weapon which had slain Dave Dover was not quite so common as the sheriff had attempted to imply; apparently nobody in Rainbow possessed one.