Sudden Plays a Hand (1950) Page 7

  `These damned high heels ain't made for steps,' he lamented, and when they reached the street, `Jim, I ain't much on liquor, an' I want smokin' an' feed for my gun. You goin' across th' road? Right, I'll be along.'

  Sudden nodded, and followed the lawyer into the saloon. `A good kid, but kind o' young,' he excused.

  `Plenty of us would like to suffer from his complaint,' the man of law smirked, and raised his glass. `Here's how, and I'm sorry your errand has ended in failure.'

  The puncher shrugged. `Fella can't allus score, specially with long shots,' he said. `I expect yu've lost cases yoreself.'

  `A few--long shots,' Seale admitted. `Staying in town?'

  `I guess we'll mosey along,' Sudden replied, as he called for a second round. `That boy should show up soon.'

  `He'll be all right--the place is quiet at this time of the day. Why, there he is, at the door.'

  Yorky was outside, with the horses, and having parted from the lawyer, they mounted and rode out of the town. Sudden asked no questions until they were clear, and then: `What's the hurry, son?' For Yorky was casting an anxious eye to the rear from time to time.

  `That fella was lyin', Jim.'

  `Yo're tellin' me. Why did yu wanta see that fool letter?'

  `I didn't, but I wanted to know where he kept his keys,' was the surprising answer.

  Sudden looked at him severely. `Yu been drinkin'?'

  `No--thinkin',' Yorky replied. `You see, Jim, I had a hunch there was somethin' in th' safe he wouldn't show us, an' I figured if I could get at th' right pocket....'

  He paused, furtively scanning his companion's face, but it told him nothing. Sudden was remembering that slip on the stairs, the long, slim fingers of this waif from the underworld of a big city--fingers which could manipulate cards with the dexterity of a magician. But he was not one to probe into the murky past of a friend; there had been episodes in his own....

  `I was a pretty good "dip" but I give it up after I run into Clancy,' the boy went on, rather shamedly. `I could 'a' cleaned him, but honest, Jim, I on'y borried th' keys.' He was obviously scared that the man he most admired in all the world would not approve.

  Sudden's slow smile was back again. `Shucks, I ain't blamin' yu. Anythin' goes, when yo're fightin' a rogue. What did yu find?'

  `A letter from a woman livin' at Deepridge, offerin' information 'bout Mary Pavitt; 'peared to be in answer to an advertisement. In was signed "Sarah Wilson".'

  `Thought he warn't exactly emptyin' his bag,' was Sudden's comment. `Yu left the letter?'

  `Figured it was wiser. But here's one I fetched away.'

  The document was brief and to the point. Sudden whistled softly as he read it:

  `Dear Seale,

  Confirming our conversation this morning, I am prepared to pay five thousand dollars for the S P ranch, and to take the stock at eight dollars per head. If you can arrange this your fee will be one thousand, cash. This is my final offer.

  Gregory Cullin.'

  The puncher folded the letter and stowed it away. `Great work, son,' he complimented. `I'd give somethin' to see Seale's face when he discovers his keys is missin'. What you do with 'em?'

  `Left 'em on th' stairs where we tumbled; he may think they just dropped out'n his pocket.'

  `Mebbe, if he don't search his safe too careful. Anyway, the sooner we get this in a good hiding-place, the better. I've a notion it'll come in mighty useful, but for the present we'll keep it under our hats; it's sound policy sometimes to let the other fella move first.'

  `I saw somebody we know in Rideout, an' he didn't wanta be seen,' Yorky said. `Beau Lamond.'

  The devil yu did?' `Yeah, just after I left Seale's place; he was comin' towards it an' a'most jumped into a store when he catched sight o' me.' `Didn't strike me as sufferin' from modesty,' Sudden said. `If he don't mention it, we won't neither.'

  Chapter VII

  THE Big C ranch was the most important of those in the neighbourhood of Midway. This was due, not to its size, but to the forceful personality of its owner. Gregory Cullin, not yet forty, and unmarried, possessed a profound contempt for humanity, and an equally deep belief that everything comes to he who takes. His tall, compactly-built, powerful frame, frowning brows and thick, pouting lips gave him an aggressive appearance. He was subject to violent fits of rage, but few suspected he used them as a weapon to gain an end, and that beneath the wildest was a cold calculating brain, functioning as usual.

  The ranch-house resembled the man, roughly but strongly fashioned. It was not large, but roomy inside, and the plain furniture was comfortable, but only that. It was said that Cullin, asked why he did not indulge in a more luxurious home, replied : `This ain't a home, on'y the workshop in which to make my pile.'

  On the evening of the day after Sudden's visit to Rideout, a meeting took place at the Big C. Gilman, Bardoe, and the sheriff had arrived, and they awaited one other. Despite the blazing fire, whisky and cigars on the table, the guests did not seem to be at ease, and Cullin's face had an expression little like that of a genial host.

  `Where in hell's Vic?' he asked petulantly.

  This being the third time he had put the question, no one had any answer to offer. A moment later came the tramp of a horse outside, a heavy step in the passage, and the owner of the Double V entered, flung his hat and quirt into one chair, and seated himself in another.

  `Howdy, fellas,' he greeted, poured himself a drink, and reached for a smoke.

  `What's been keepin' you?' Cullin demanded.

  `Business--my business,' Vasco replied curtly. `Why are we meetin'?'

  `Somethin' has to be done about that fella Drait.'

  `Is he doin' any harm?'

  `He's a nester, an' therefore a cattle-thief,' Bardoe put in.

  `You say so,' Vasco retorted. `But all cattle-thieves ain't nesters.'

  Bardoe scowled but was silent, and Cullin's impatient voice dismissed the argument : `What he is or does don't matter, he's been told to go, an' has gotta go. Any suggestions Vic?'

  `Yeah, leave him alone. He's bought the land an' is entitled to live on it, so long as he don't interfere. How much o' yore range do you own, Greg?'

  The Big C man flushed at this home-thrust, for, as Vasco well knew, he had no title even to the ground his buildings occupied. `What's that gotta do with it, an' is it any o' yore affair what I own?' he snarled. `God damn yore impudence, I've a mind--'

  Vasco's eyes narrowed. `Then use it, an' keep yore temper,' he said. `These fits o' yores may impress the scum on yore pay-roll, but I ain't ridin' for you an' you can't ride me. As for drivin' Drait out, hangin' a crippled cowboy ain't the way.'

  `That was a mistake,' Cullin said, aware that he had gone too far. `The men exceeded their instructions.'

  Vasco's laugh was contemptuous. `Don't try to tell me you weren't there, because I know different. You an' the same brave fellas who shot down the Rawlin kid. You ain't listenin', o' course, Camort.'

  `I ain't believin' it,' the sheriff said doggedly.

  `I take it you ain't helpin' us in this,' Bardoe remarked.

  `You take it correct,' was the quiet reply. `Prove to me that Drait is stealing my cows an' mebbe I'll take another view.'

  `He has a hundred head, calves an' yearlin's, in the Valley. Any o' you know where he got 'em?' Cullin asked, and getting no reply, went on, `There's a gal, too; know anythin' about that?' Bardoe looked black and Gilman laughed meaningly, but no one answered. `Hell,' Cullin continued, `Do I have to gather news as well as think for you all?'

  `Don't trouble on my account,' Vasco said bluntly. `For the rest, I'm with you in any move which doesn't break the Law.'

  `We got the Law--such as it is--on our side,' Gilman pointed out, with a jeering grin at the sheriff.

  `Which is one damned good thing for some o' you,' that worthy summoned up courage to say.

  The Big C man's brows came together. `Camort,' he said, and there was the rasp of a file in his tone. `who do you think wou
ld be the best man to fill yore place?'

  Camort collapsed like a punctured bladder. `Why, Mister Cullin, I ain't done nothin'.' he stammered.

  `You said it,' the rancher snapped. `An' a man who does nothin' is no use to us; we want results.'

  `I had it all fixed,' the sheriff protested, with a malevolent glare at Bardoe.

  `You made a sad error,' Vasco laughed. `When you wanta hang a man for murder it's usual to have a corpse; you should 'a' killed Bull first, an' made yore case good.'

  Cullin, satisfied with the crushing of Camorn, applied himselfto the more important rebel. `Quit foolin', Vic,' he said testily. `This ain't a laughin' matter.'

  `I think it is, an' Midway agrees,' Vasco retorted, as he got up. `Take my advice--go slow with Drait; he's an awkward mouthful an' has useful help. So long.'

  Now what's he mean by that?' Bardoe questioned, when the Double V rancher had gone.

  `I dunno, but Vic droppin' out thisaway makes a difference,' Cullin admitted. `He's right in one thing--we'll have to take our time an' plan careful.'

  `It shouldn't be difficult to plant some Double V cows in Shadow Valley,' Bardoe suggested.

  `Too obvious,' Cullin decided bluntly.

  It was his way, and Bardoe did not take offence. He despised them all, but a seeming comradeship made it less likely they would suspect him when stock was missing, and he would have made friends with the Devil himself if it would put anything in his pocket.

  So, for the time being, Shadow Valley suffered no molestation from without. Sudden and Yorky had journeyed forth again, ostensibly to see some more of the country, but actually to follow up the clue obtained in Rideout. The rest of the outfit, having little to do save guard the gate, smoked, lazed, and played one-cent poker.

  The nester and his wife took daily rides together, and the girl used them for her purpose, only to realise that she was making no impression on her companion; considerate, mildly-humorous, his attitude was that of a good-natured brother, and it made her furious. She would have preferred his former harsh, dominating manner. Once or twice she deliberately endeavoured to anger him, out she might have been trying to inflame an iceberg.

  In desperation, she resolved on a final test--to make him jealous; if this failed, she had lost, for it would mean that his indifference was real. She began to look a little more kindly upon Lamond when they chanced to meet, and it was not long before the cowboy made an excuse to call at the house--when she was on the veranda--and asked for Drait.

  `I am waiting for him now,' she replied.

  His grin was impudent. `That's all wrong,' he said. `The fella oughta do the waitin'.'

  `Perhaps that doesn't apply in this wild land,' she smiled. `Why not--we ain't savages, but I hope he don't hurry. Ain't seen much o' you lately.'

  Before she could reply, Nick appeared. `Lookin' for me, Beau?' he asked.

  `Like to visit town, if I ain't needed here,' Lamond explained. `Quilt is foreman,' the nester reminded. `If he doesn't want you, it's all right winh me.'

  The cowboy nodded and rode away. `Wasn't that a little severe?' Mary questioned.

  `He knew damn well he was wrong,' Nick returned. `When I make a fella foreman I mean him to be just that.' She understood; he was only annoyed because the man was offering a slight to his immediate boss.

  `I don't suppose he meant any disrespect to Quilt.'

  `I know the breed; puttin' one over on the foreman is just pie to them, but none o' the others would 'a' tried it.'

  `You don't like him, do you?'

  `No,' he replied, with disconcerting candour, and went out.

  He left early on the following morning, and she rode alone up the valley. Ere she had gone far, however, Lamond caught her up, and swept off his hat in a theatrical bow. She ignored his greeting.

  `Seein' the Guardian Angel ain't ridin' herd on you today, I guessed I might be welcome,' he explained, with an engaging smile.

  `Haven't you any work to do?' she asked.

  `Shore, Quilt sent me to look over our han'ful o' beasts, so we're goin' the same way. You can help me round 'em up.'

  She gave in, and as he could be quite entertaining when he chose, she was soon glad of his company. The excitement of routing the cattle out of the brush brought a sparkle to her eyes, colour to her cheeks, and the cowboy forgot his caution.

  `My, if you were married, you'd make a bonny widow,' he said, with a look she could not innerpret. Instantly her face froze, and she turned her pony. `I must get back to the house; Lindy will be waiting for me.'

  `Hey, what's yore hurry?' he cried, but she had gone, and he swore at himself for a clumsy fool. `She ain't a biscuit-shooter, but what made her take it thataway? I wonder if ...'

  The girl returned home, angry with herself and the cowboy. She had no particular liking for the man, and had merely designed to use him as a weapon, but his remark had sent a shiver down her spine. Did he suspect anything? She told herself that was impossible, but nevertheless, she was frightened; playing with fire in a lawless land was a dangerous game.

  That same evening, Drait--on his way to the bunkhouse--observed a tall, furtive figure slip out and disappear in the direction of the upper end of the valley. Wondering what wastaking Lamond there at such a time, he followed, the darkness making it easy to do so undetected. Like two shadows they moved soundlessly over the turf until they reached the newly-erected barrier, where the leader uttered a low owl-hoot. Drait effaced himself behind a handy bush. The call was answered by another, and then Lamond said :

  `That you, Greg?'

  `Shore,' was the reply. `Any news for me?'

  `Yeah, the cattle came from the S P.'

  `How d'you know?'

  `Overheard two o' the boys talkin'. Also, one yearlin' had the S P brand; we're still eatin' it, an' the hide was burned.' `Rustled, huh?'

  `What d'you guess? Unbranded stock, smuggled in here at dawn,' Beau returned ironically.

  The Big C man swore. `So that's his game, huh? Goin' to bleed us one at a time, takin' stuff that can't be traced. In's a good plan, Mister Drait, so long as you keep it dark. Anythin' else?'

  `Well, I dunno as it'll interest you, but them new fellas, Green an' Yorky, paid a visit to Rideout an' went to see the Weasel.' `The hell they did. What about?'

  `Yore guess is as good as mine,' the cowboy replied. `No, Cullin, the bag is empty--like my pocket.'

  `Which is allus empty,' the rancher grumbled. `Here's a fifty for you.'

  `It'll be as welcome as a pretty woman, which reminds me, Drait has certainly picked a Lulu; you oughta see her.'

  Women--pretty or otherwise--don't attract me,' Cullin said. `So long.'

  The nester waited unnil the cowboy was well on his way, and then returned to the ranch-house. So Green's instinct had served him truly--Lamond was a spy, and had come to him for that purpose. He glared grimly into the velvet blackness of the night; in the morning he would deal with the matter.

  He rose early, breakfasted, and went to the bunkhouse; Beau was not there. Re-entering the house, he became aware of a wheedling voice from the parlour:

  `Aw, honey, why don't you come away with me? I can make plenty coin, an' we'll go places, an' see life. I'll treat you right. Drait's finished here....'

  Lamond had his back to the door, and was facing the girl across the table. Her widened eyes warned him, and he turned to find the man of whom he was speaking. For a moment both were silent, then the nester said quietly :

  `Did you wanta see me, Beau?'

  The cowboy's expression showed relief--he had not been overheard. `Why, yeah, I'd like to go into town.'

  `To spend that fifty-dollar bill?'

  The man's eyes narrowed, but he said jauntily, `I don't get you; fifties an' me has bin strangers quite a while.'

  `When I took you on, yore tale was that Cullin had acted mean,' Drait said slowly. `It was all a lie, part of a plot to betray me. Don't trouble to deny it; I heard every word you told Cullin, an' watched you rece
ive the price of yore treachery, you dirty Judas.'

  Lamond tried to brazen it out. `Anythin' goes agin a cow-thief,' he sneered. `Cullin will smash you.' Drait was pondering. `If I told the boys there'd be another grave in the Valley. I don't wanta pollute it with muck, but you deserve to die.'

  Mary, who had wanched the scene as though petrified, now found her tongue : `No, not that,' she cried. `Please let him go.'

  Drait's hard, inscrutable gaze snruck her like a blow. `You wish it?' he asked, and when she nodded dumbly, turned to the traitor. `Clear out, with yore belongin's,' he grated. `An' if this woman is one of 'em, take her.'

  The implied insult roused the girl's spirit. `This woman is no man's belonging,' she flamed.

  Her words wiped the dawning grin from Lamond's lips. Matters had gone well for him, but his malicious desire to hurt would not allow him to leave well alone.

  `Aw, honey, after the good times we've had,' he protested. `Take him up on that

  He got no further; the nester took one stride, his fist shot out, and with all the urge of the body-movement behind it, caught the traducer full on the jaw. The terrific force and precision of the blow sent the cowboy nottering back on his heels to slump with a crash to nhe floor. For a long moment he lay there, dazed, and then looked up into merciless eyes and the muzzle of a six-shooter.

  `Take that back, or by God

  The speaker's face was instinct with the desire to kill, his finger nudging the trigger. Lamond did not hesitate. `I was lyin',' he said sullenly.

  Drait pointed to the door. `I'm givin' you fifteen minutes,' he said harshly, and looked at the girl. `It's for you to choose.'

  She drew herself up. `In a choice of evils I prefer the brute to the liar,' she replied, and with a scathing glance, went out. `Settles that,' the nester said. `Yore time's tickin' away.'

  The cowboy climbed to his feet, and as he staggered out ofthe house got a final warning : `Find another stampin'-ground; I don't let a man off twice.'

  Dry-eyed, Mary sat in her bedroom, torn by emotions among which hatred of the opposite sex easily predominated. She was further from her purpose than ever; any regard her husband might have had for her must now have vanished, leaving contempt in its place. But if defeat was bitter, it did not bring despair. Through clenched teeth, she muttered, `You're only adding to the bill, Nicholas Drait.'