Sudden Makes War (1942) Read online

  "O' course, a fella could buy his fodder elsewhere--the Bend, mebbe," he debated. "Wonder what became o' Potter's gun?"

  That evening, after supper, he put a question.

  "Yeah, Potter was wiped out some months back," Dan informed. "He was night-ridin' on what we call the creek line, an' was found in the mornin', after his bronc had sifted in without him. Same of story, shot, an' no evidence."

  "What happened to his belongin's?"

  "He owed money in the town, an' the sheriff claimed 'em," Dover said. "I never heard of any sale, but Evans was paid a matter o' ten dollars, an' I'll bet Foxy pouched the rest."

  Which, having seen the officer, Sudden thought likely enough. The dead cowboy probably did not own even the name he was using, and there would be no one to make enquiries. Sudden saw that the trail had petered out for the present.

  When he and Yorky set out in the morning, the boy was mildly facetious about the gunny sack tied to the puncher's cantle.

  "That's a mighty gen'rous meal yo're packin', Jim. Gain' a long ways?"

  "Bit further than usual. Can yu swim, son?"

  "Yep, but I don't s'pose I c'd tackle the Pacific."

  "Yu mean the Atlantic--we're headin' East, yu numskull."

  "Shore I did. They's a chunk o' th' Atlantic in Noo York harbour. I useter go down ter see th' big liners come in. Oh, she's a swell city. I wish--"

  "Yu were back there?"

  Yorky shook his head. "Not now, it's different here these days, but I'd like fer yer to see Noo York."

  "I have," Sudden grinned. "Wasted two whole weeks there once, an' was thunderin' glad to get away. Them brick canyons they call streets--"

  "Th' fines' ever."

  "Mebbe, but they stifled me--I like fresh air. An' the crowds, everybody on the tear, like the end o' the world was due any minute."

  The boy digested the criticism in silence. This capable man, who had handled Flint as though he were an infant, would not give an opinion lightly. Perhaps the one city he had known was not quite an earthly paradise after all.

  "She shore is a busy li'l dump," he said, but less enthusiastically. "I'll bet yer met some smart folks."

  "A few," Sudden smiled. "One of 'em tried to sell me a gold brick, but got peeved when I started to scratch it with my knife. Another said he'd returned recent from the 'per-aries' an' claimed to have met me somewheres, but after I allowed it was likely, as I'd been there, he lost interest."

  Yorky wriggled delightedly. "He'd be a `con' man; they's a slick gang."

  "Shore," Sudden grinned. "Then three more invited me to play poker with 'em. Real nice fellas, they were--paid all my expenses, an' a bit to spare."

  The boy's eyes went wide. "They let yer git away with it?"

  "I had all my clothes on," the puncher replied, and Yorky had been long enough in the West to know what that meant. They passed the customary stopping-place and about a couple of miles further came to a grassy hollow, shaded by pines. At the bottom of this, rimmed by sand, and shining in the sunlight like a huge silver dollar, was a tiny lake.

  "There's yore Atlantic, an' if yu know of a better place for a swim, I'm listenin'," Sudden remarked as he dismounted.

  In five minutes they had stripped, and the puncher, with a short run, shot into the water and vanished, to reappear ten yards from the bank, laughing and splashing. "C'mon, it's fine," he called. Yorky tried to emulate the feat, but only succeeded in falling flat on the surface and driving most of the breath out of his body. Then he struck off in the direction of his friend, beating the water with feverish rapidity which soon had him gasping.

  "Take it easy," the puncher advised. "A slow stroke'lI carry yu further, an' give yu a chance to breathe some."

  Presently they came out, to lie stretched on the sand, where the increasing heat of the sun's rays soon dried them. Yorky was surveying his ragged shirt ruefully, prior to putting it on, when Sudden, reaching down the gunny sack, pitched it over.

  "Ain't hardly worth while, is she? See what yu can find in this."

  The boy groped in the bag, and produced a new, striped, flannel shirt, which he slipped into.

  "Them pants o' yores is plenty ventilated but sca'cely decent," the cowboy went on. "Mebbe-- Yorky was already searching; the pants appeared, followed by socks, and then something which made him gasp--a pair of the high-heeled boots affected by range-riders, and a broad-brimmed hat, the tall crown pinched in the approved fashion. Petrified, the boy stared at the garments, until Sudden's voice aroused him.

  "Climb into 'em, yu chump. What d'yu reckon clothes is for?"

  Dumbly, but with averted face, he obeyed; apart from Old Man Dover's, it was the only kindness he had received since coming West, and he was ashamedly conscious that his eyes were wet. The things fitted easily, but well, a tribute to the donor's gift Of observation. When at length he spoke, his voice was shaky.

  "Jim, I dunno--"

  "Forget it, son. What's a few duds anyway? All yu gotta do now is get strong, eat more, an' fill out yore dimples. We'll make a cowboy of yu yet."

  Yorky was silent; there was something he wanted to say, and it was difficult. With an effort he made the plunge:

  "I'm feelin' mean. Jim, yore swell ter me, an' I bin holdin' out on yer--'bout Flint. It warn't the cyard game; he wanted fer me to spy on the 01' Man. I telled him where he c'd go."

  "Good for yu," Sudden said. "Glad yu came clean about it. Flint was likely planted on us a-purpose. Yu see, the Wagon-wheel is out to bust the Circle Dot, so we gotta keep an eye liftin'. Sabe?"

  "I get yer," the boy replied. "We'll beat 'em."

  "Shore we will," Sudden smiled. "Now, I must be off; Dan don't pay me just to dry-nurse yu."

  "An' them Noo York smart Alecks played him for a sucker," Yorky grinned, when he was alone, and went to survey his new finery in the mirror Nature had provided.

  Beth Trenton sat on her pony regarding the scene of her recent discomfiture. She did not quite know why she had ridden there again except that, reviewing the incident in a calmer frame of mind, she had experienced qualms as to the way she had behaved. After all, the men had probably saved her life, and the fact that they were opposed to her uncle did not justify ingratitude. Looking at the placidly-moving surface of the stream, the danger beneath seemed incredible. Acting on a sudden impulse, she sent her mount down the shelving bank. At the very edge of the water, the animal shied away. She turned it again, and with a sharp blow of her quirt, tried to force it into the river, but with forefeet dug into the sand, the pony refused to budge. A satirical voice intervened:

  "Well, of all the fool plays I ever happened on."

  Angrily she jerked her mount round and saw one of the men of whom she had been thinking. Lolling in his saddle, hat pushed back, he was regarding her with unconcealed disapproval.

  "It pleases you to be rude, sir," she said, with an attempt at dignity.

  It don't please me to see a hoss punished for showin' more sense than its rider," he replied brusquely. "What in blazes made you want a second dose o' that deathtrap?"

  "I didn't, but I was curious to find out if the animal remembered," she said stiffly.

  "An' if he'd lost his head an' rushed into the water, you'd 'a' been in the same pretty mess."

  "From which you, as a gallant gentleman, would doubtless have extricated me."

  "yeah, at the end of a rope," Dan retorted. "You'd 'a' come out lookin' like a dish-rag, an' lost yore pony."

  "Ah, yes, your clever friend not being with you." The gibe brought a flush, and her next remark deepened it. "What, may I ask, is your business on my uncle's land?"

  The young man smothered his mounting wrath; after all, she was a stranger, and damnably pretty; and even as he loved spirit in a horse, he could appreciate it in this girl, lash him as she might.

  "The land is mine," he told her quietly. "That rib o' rock is the Trenton boundary."

  She did not doubt him, and the knowledge that he had scored in their verbal battle
brought an added tinge of red to her cheeks, and took some of the harshness from her tone.

  "Then I am trespassing?"

  "You can come when you please, but that don't go for them other skunks at the Wagon-wheel."

  Instantly he knew the slip had delivered him into her hands; the slow smile had begun, and it was too late to retract that one superfluous word.

  "Other skunks," she said sweetly. "That means--"

  "Yore uncle an' his outfit," Dan finished.

  "Also--myself," she added, and waited for his apology.

  She had mistaken her man; he was far too angry now, both with himself and her, to do anything of the kind. "Mebbe I ain't clever at stringin' words together, but I'm tellin' you this: on'y a skunk can live with a skunk," he retorted, and with an ironical sweep of his hat, spurred his horse, and was gone.

  Beth Trenton stared after him in dumb amazement, and then--she laughed. "Maybe I did rowel him quite a lot," she murmured. "And I was a fool about the pony. All the same, you must pay for that, Dan Dover."

  The Wagon-wheel ranch-house was a roomy, rambling one-storey building, standing at the top of a scrub-covered slope through which some sort of a road had been cut. It was flanked by the usual bunkhouse, barns, and corrals. A raised veranda extended along the front. On this, the ranch-owner was sitting when Beth, having handed her mount to a boy, approached the house.

  "Where you been this mornin', girl?" he asked.

  "Re-visiting the scene of my misadventure--I wanted another shiver," she smiled. "By the way, Uncle, did you thank those men?"

  "I've seen Green, an' offered him a job here at twice what he's gettin'," Trenton replied. "He--"

  "Refused," she said.

  "How do you know that?" he asked sharply.

  "Just a guess--he didn't seem the sort to be bribed."

  "No question of that; he'd done me a service an' it was one way of payin' him; I didn't want the fella. As for that whelp, Dover--"

  "He risked his life," she reminded.

  Trenton laughed sneeringly. "I wish he'd lost it," he said savagely. "He'll rot in his boots before he gets a word of gratitude from me."

  The girl did not argue; she was beginning to discover unknown depths in this only relative who had befriended her since the passing of her father some years earlier, paid for her education, and was now giving her a home. Evidently the feud between the two ranches was more bitter than she had suspected. The knowledge both saddened and dismayed her.

  Chapter VII

  Trenton, Garstone, and the foreman were closeted in a small room used by the rancher as an office.

  "So Green turned you down?" Garstone remarked. "It's a pity--we could do with him."

  "An' we can do without him," Bundy growled. "There's other an' cheaper ways o' dealin' with his kind if he gits awkward."

  "I'll have no bush-whackin', Bundy," Trenton said curtly. "There's been too much already, an' it's a game two can play."

  "I warn't sayin' any different," the man lied. "But this fella man-handled Flint a hit back an' if he tries to level up that's no business of ourn."

  Trenton took his pipe from his mouth and spoke through clenched teeth: "If he does, an' I know it, I'll hand him over to the sheriff right away."

  "That'll shore scare him most to death," Bundy rejoined, with an impudent leer.

  Garstone gave a gesture of impatience. "You said you had some news for us, Trenton," he reminded.

  "I have information which may be of value--if we can use it," the rancher said. "It comes from Maitland, the new manager of the bank here. As you know, the cattle industry has had a rough time for some years, an' we're all working on borrowed money. The Circle Dot is in so deep that the bank holds a mortgage on the whole shebang, an' it runs out in less than two months' time."

  Garstone looked sceptical. "They'll renew--these small-town concerns have to take risks."

  "I doubt it; Maitland is scared--every rancher around owes him money, includin' myself." He smiled grimly. "Dave Dover gone, an' an inexperienced boy in the saddle makes all the difference. I guess he'd be glad to sell that mortgage."

  Garstone sat up. "That's an idea, Zeb," he conceded. "What's the figure?"

  "Forty thousand."

  "Dave Dover must have been mad."

  "No, the Circle Dot is worth more than that, an' he gambled on Lawson--the old manager--remainin'; they were good friends."

  "Where's the coin coming from," Garstone wanted to know.

  The rancher shrugged. "We've nearly a couple of months to raise it."

  "And so has young Dover. Does he know?"

  "I believe not, an' I suggested to Maitland, casually, that he might let the lad get over his father's death before pressin' him."

  "Damn it, that was clever of you, Zeb," the Easterner complimented. "Gives us a start in the race, anyhow."

  * Yorky's new attire was as big a surprise to the outfit as it had been to him, and he had to endure a considerable amount of banter. But it was of the good-natured character--the kind they inflicted upon each other--for the boy's health aroused only pity in their robust natures. Also, Yorky's tongue had a razor edge, and, as Tiny once put it, "the li'l runt was shore raised on brimstone."

  When Blister and Noisy rode in and beheld the resplendent figure leaning carelessly against the veranda rail, they gave a passable imitation of falling from their horses.

  "D'you see what I see, Noisy?" Blister cried. "Dan has done sold the ranch from under us, an' there's the noo owner. I'm askin' for my time; I ain't ridin' for no dude."

  Noisy nodded. They pulled up about ten yards away, removed their hats, and sat in silent admiration. A moment later, Tiny, Slocombe, and Lidgett arrived, and without a word, lined up beside them. Yorky, who was enjoying the sensation he was causing, spoke:

  "Howdy, fellers."

  "It can talk," Blister said in an awed tone. "An' somehow the voice seems familiar."

  The voice continued to talk. It began by describing them as a bunch of locoed sheep-herders, and went on to become even more familiar, referring, with fluency of adjective, to the personal habits of each one in turn. All this with a grin on the sallow face.

  "Why, it's Yorky!" Slow pretended to discover. "Sufferin' serpents, boy, where did you git them bee-yu-ti-ful clothes?"

  "Bought 'em outa his savin's on smokin'," Tiny suggested. "Couldn't be did in the time," Blister said. "Yorky don't earn more'n a dollar a week."

  "He does, but he don't git more," the boy corrected. "I b'lieve he's robbed a store," Lidgett laughed.

  "Aw, go chase yerself," Yorky countered. "Me rich uncle in Noo York--"

  A howl of merriment cut short the explanation; extravagant tales of this mythical relative had amused them on more than one occasion. Sudden had joined the group.

  "Don't yu mind 'em--they're just jealous," he said. "Yu'll be the best-dressed Circle Dot fella at the dance."

  "What dance?" several voices asked.

  "I hear the town is holdin' one, at the schoolhouse, tickets a dollar a head-to approved applicants."

  "That last oughta shut out them Wagon-wheel felons," was Tiny's comment. "When's she due to happen, this fandango?"

  "Middlin' soon, but the date ain't fixed."

  "It's two long weeks to pay-day, an' we couldn't raise a dollar in the outfit," Blister wailed.

  "Shucks! Dan's got a slate, ain't he?" Sudden grinned. That evening he told his news to Dover and the foreman, both of whom were inclined to be sceptical.

  "Rainbow must be wakin' up," was the rancher's opinion. "How did you get the glad tidin's, Jim?"

  "Met Malachi on his way up here. No, he warn't lit up, but I wouldn't say he was enjoyin' the ride. He's unusual, that hombre."

  "Shore is, if he'd come ten mile to bring a bit o' local gossip," Dan said ironically.

  "There was somethin' else; he said yu might find it worth while to make the acquaintance o' the new bank manager--soon."

  --"What the devil--"

 
"That's all he would say, but in yore place I'd take the advice. Malachi ain't a fool, 'cept to hisself."

  Dan gave in. "I'll ride over in the mornin'."

  "He also mentioned that the dance is bein' organized by Zeb Trenton, to introduce his niece," Sudden went on.

  The young man's face flushed furiously. "Then the Circle Dot ain't attendin'," he grated.

  "That'll disappoint the boys an' put us in wrong with everybody," the foreman dissented.

  "He's right, Dan," Sudden supported. "Yu can't afford to stay away."

  "Damnation, whose side are you on?" Dover asked irritably.

  "Yores, an' I made it plain to Trenton yestiddy when he offered me double pay to ride for him," was the pointed reply.

  "He--did--that? An' you sent him packin'? I'm sorry, Jim; I'm a sore-headed bear, these days."

  "Don't need talkin' about. He put it that he owed me some-thin'."

  "Imagine a Trenton sufferin' from gratitude! All he wanted was to take a good man from me."

  "The dance is also to serve as a welcome for another newcomer--the bank fella," the puncher added.

  "That settles it--we just gotta be there," Burke said. "Yorky must 'a' had early news o' the party--he's all dressed up a'ready, an' got the boys guessin'."

  "I saw him as I rode in, struttin' around like a young turkey gobbler," Dan smiled. "Yore doin', I s'pose, Jim?"

  "Part o' the cure," Sudden replied.

  In the private office of the bank Dover sat facing the manager, a smallish, undistinguished person, nearing fifty, with thinning hair, and pale, spectacled eyes.

  "I wasn't meaning to trouble you yet, Mister Dover, in view of your bereavement," he said. "But I'm glad you came in; I wanted to see you."

  "About anythin' in particular?"

  "Er, yes. Are you acquainted with the state of your father's finances?"

  "No. Dad was allus kind o' secretive, an' I ain't had time to look over his papers."

  "Quite so. Well, Mister Dover, when I examined the books of this bank I was amazed and even alarmed by the amount owing to it by the local cattlemen." .

  "You tellin' me the Circle Dot is one of 'em?"