Sudden The Marshal of Lawless (1933) s-8 Read online

  "I know, but I've had stacks to do," he replied. "Dad, dear old boy, hadn't what they call a business head--he was straight himself an' trusted folks. His affairs were in a bit of a mess, an' I'll have to buckle in to put them right."

  Tonia nodded. She knew he was telling her that the Box B was not as prosperous as he had expected to find it. Old Bordene, a bluff, out-of-doors specimen of the early pioneer, who regarded a given word binding as a written one, was the kind whose ranch might easily be in difficulties without his realizing it, if people whose promises he had carelessly accepted failed to redeem them.

  "If we can do anything, Andy--" she began, and broke off at an exclamation from her companion.

  "Sufferin' serpents! Here's a circus a-comin'."

  The girl turned and saw a group of riders pacing slowly up the street. Their leader, who was mounted on a fine Spanish horse, was the most magnificently-attired person Lawless had ever beheld. His sombrero, bright scarlet tunic, and blue trousers were lavishly decorated with gold braid, the spurs on his polished boots were of silver, and a wealth of the same metal adorned saddle and bridle. The half-dozen men who followed him were Mexicans, dressed in nondescript ragged garments, but all well armed.

  "Who the blazes is that spangled jay?" asked a bystander.

  "El Diablo, the guerrilla, though what the hell he's doin' this side o' the line, I dunno," replied another. "Wonder where he stole that hoss?"

  It was Andy's laugh which drew the Mexican's attention to the girl, and at the sight of her his eyes gleamed. With a wrench at the reins he forced his mount to pivot on its hindlegs, and pulling up at the sidewalk, swept off his hat and spoke to Bordene, using the American tongue.

  "I am Moraga; present me to the senorita."

  His voice was harsh, commanding, and the bold gaze rested on the girl possessively as it absorbed the slim, graceful beauty of her. The young rancher saw the lust in the look, and this, added to the insolence of the demand, made him careless of offence. Disdainfully he replied:

  "Never heard o' yu, an' we ain't carin'."

  The guerrilla's yellow face became suffused and his smile changed to a snarl. "Perhaps the senor has heard of El Diablo?" he said softly, and seeing the question in the young man's face, he added, "Si, senor, I am El Diablo."

  Andy's cool gaze travelled slowly over the Mexican. "Well--yu--shore--look it," he drawled, and taking Tonia by the arm, turned away.

  For an instant the man who had called himself Moraga glared murder, his claw-like fingers hovering over the butt of the pistol thrust through his brightly-coloured sash. But he knew it would be madness--a dozen men would shoot him down if he drew the weapon, and with a savage oath he wheeled his horse, scoring its sides until the cruel spurs showed red, and rejoined his waiting followers. The humiliation made the still unhealed stripes under the gay coat burn like fire.

  "Andy has shore rubbed that Greaser the wrongest way," grinned one of the spectators of the scene. "S'pose he's goin' to visit Seth?"

  His surmise was correct, for at the Red Ace the Mexican wrenched his horse to a stop, flung the reins over the hitch-rail, and with a wave of dismissal to his men, vanished inside. The escort rode back to the dive presided over by their countryman, Miguel.

  Closeted with Raven in the letter's office, the visitor showed no sign of his recent rage. Smoking a long, black cigar and occasionally helping himself to wine from a bottle on the desk, he was suavity itself. The saloon-keeper had been explaining something at length.

  "So now yu got it," he concluded. "There'll be five hundred steers--mebbe more. They won't be wearin' my brand--I'm takin' 'em for a debt, yu understand, but once they're over the line their monograms won't matter, I reckon."

  Moraga's thin lips curled in a meaning smile; he understood perfectly. This was not the first transaction between them, though on previous occasions the saloon-keeper had apparently sold his own cattle. He drew reflectively at his cigar and asked a question, casually:

  "It musta bin Tonia Sarel," Raven said, with a keen glance. "Owns the Double S; father was dry-gulched in The Cut a while ago."

  "So," the Mexican said. "Ver' preety, that senorita," One finger of his right hand was idly drawing a figure on the desk--the letter S. He completed it and began again, but this time he continued the up-stroke and the S became an 8, He laughed quietly, shot a sly look at his host, and said again, "Ver' preety." The saloon-keeper was not to be drawn; he was wearing his poker face. Moraga harked back.

  "Who was the man?" he asked.

  "From yore description I'd say it was young Bordene o' the Box B," Raven told him.

  "Whose father was also--removed," Moraga said reflectively; and then, "So the Box B weel provide the steers thees time, senor?"

  Seth Raven looked at the malicious, sneering face and had hard work to keep his temper.

  "See here, Moraga, better not horn in on what don't concern yu," he advised. "It was a fool play to come ridin' in at the head of a young army as if yu owned the town."

  "Would you have me sleenk in and out like a cur, senor?" the Mexican returned haughtily. "I am El Diablo."

  "Which is why I'm warnin' yu," Raven replied, a touch of acid in his tone, "On yore side o' the line yu may be ace-high, but this side"--he smiled sourly at his own humour--"yo're the deuce. If yu take my tip, yu'll git back to yore own bank o' the ditch, pronto."

  "Moraga does not run away," the other said boastfully. "I stay till evening."

  The saloon-keeper shrugged his shoulders and offered no further protest. Probably there would be no trouble, but knowing Lawless, he wished his guest on his way.

  Raven was not present when, later on, the guerrilla chief made his appearance in the Red Ace. A few of Seth's friends nodded a greeting, but most of the men present either sniggered or scowled as the garishly-clad figure strutted arrogantly to the bar. He had almost reached it when he saw the marshal, who, chatting with Pete, had not noticed his arrival. For an instant Moraga stood motionless, his eyes distended, his lips working, and then he snatched out his pistol.

  The marshal caught one glimpse of the scarlet-coated form and acted. A powerful thrust with his left hand sent Pete reeling away and at the same time a spurt of flame darted from his right hip. The bullet, striking Moraga's gun, tore it from his numbed fingers. His left hand was reaching for his second pistol when a warning came.

  "Don't yu," the marshal said, and the cold threat in the words penetrated even the brain of the infuriated Mexican. He hesitated, and before he could make up his mind, two men had grabbed his arms, holding him, cursing and struggling, while others got out of the line of fire. In the midst of the uproar Raven came surging in.

  "What in hell's broke loose?" he thundered.

  A dozen excited voices told him the story, and as he listened his face settled into a heavy scowl. He turned to Green.

  "I'll attend to this," he said, and signed the men to release the captive. Then, with a fierce whispered word, he led the Mexican into his private room.

  Immediately they had disappeared the excitement broke out again. Threats against the "Greaser" were freely uttered, and the saloon-keeper was openly blamed for what was regarded as an insult to the whole town.

  "What made him pick on vu, marshal?" the store-keeper, Loder, enquired.

  "Spotted my badge, I reckon," Green evaded with a laugh.

  Meanwhile, Seth Raven was listening to a story which brought disquietude even to his usually impassive features, for Moraga, mad with rage at his second discomfiture, blurted out the tale of his former meeting with the marshal, despite the fact that he thereby published his own shame. Striding up and down the room, gesticulating, his voice rose to a shrill shriek as he cursed and threatened.

  "I'll keel him--keel him by inches!" he cried, and his claw-like fingers opened and shut as though he held his enemy's throat.

  "I ain't sayin' yu mustn't," Raven said quietly, "but yu can't do it now or here. He's the marshal, an' the way the fellas out there look at it yu
've tried to run a blazer on the town. Hark to 'em." Through the partition they could hear loud and angry voices. "If yu wasn't my guest, senor, yu'd be dancin' a fandango on nothin' right now, an' yu can stick a pin in that," the saloon-keeper went on. "Yu better slide outa the back door, climb yore cayuse, an' hike for the Border."

  Possessed by passion as he was, the visitor knew that Raven was right. So when, in response to a message, the marshal entered the office, there was no sign of the Mexican. Raven, slumped in his chair, greeted him with a frowning brow.

  "Pretty damn mess yore blasted Injun has got us into," he began. "What's the idea, shootin' strangers up thisaway?"

  The marshal's eyes grew frosty and his jaw stiffened. "See here, Raven," he said, and his tone had an edge, "if yu think any yeller-skinned thief can pull a gun on me an' get away with if yu got another guess comin'. O' course"--and there was a suspicion of a sneer--"I didn't know he was a friend o' yores."

  "Friend nothin'," the saloon-keeper replied testily. "He buys cows, pays a good price, an' saves me the trouble an' expense o' drivin' 'em to the rail-head. But it ain't that I'm thinkin' of. That hombre can raise more'n hundred men. S'pose he comes back an' stands the town up, what yu goin' to do?"

  "Yo're scarin' me cold," Green said sarcastically. "Me? I should run like hell, o' course. Anythin' else yu wanta say to me?"

  Raven shook his head, and for some time after Green had gone sat there deep in thought, inwardly cursing the new marshal and himself for having appointed him. It was becoming all too evident that this saturnine, self-reliant young puncher was not likely to "come to heel," and that--despite Raven's assertion to the contrary--he had quite a good notion of his responsibilities. Although he had given him the position, Raven knew he could not take it away without a very good excuse, and the fracas with Moraga, far from furnishing that, had only made the marshal more popular. When at length he got up there was an ugly expression on his face.

  * * *

  From the bunk-house of the Box B, Rusty watched the approach of a horseman along the trail, which, emerging from the thicket of spruce and cottonwood, zigzagged across the open stretch in front of the ranch. Presently the visitor was sufficiently near to be identified.

  "The Vulture, huh?" murmured the cowboy. "I'm damned if he don't look like it too."

  And, in fact, Raven, with his dark slouched hat, and long black coat-tails flapping in the light breeze, presented quite a resemblance to the bird he had been named after. He pulled up opposite the bunk-house.

  "Andy around?" he asked curtly.

  "I reckon," came the equally short reply.

  Raven nodded and rode up to the ranch-house, a large one-storied log-building with a wide, roofed-in porch. His hail brought Bordene to the door.

  " 'Lo, Seth," he greeted. "Get down an' spoil yore thirst. Takin' exercise to pull yore weight down, huh?"

  The saloon-keeper joined in the laugh--though his contribution was a mere dry cackle--as he hoisted his spare body out of the saddle and climbed stiffly down.

  He declined the drink, but accepted a cigar, and when this was alight to his satisfaction, he shot a sly glance at his host.

  "Yu got a nice place here, Andy," he began, his eye taking in the solid, spacious bunk-house, barns, and corrals, and beyond them the level miles of grass, burnt brown and dead-looking by the summer heat, but, as he well knew, still the best of feed for cattle. Moreover, among the cottonwoods through which he had ridden was a little stream which later became a deep pool, worth in itself a small fortune in that arid land. "Yore range must mighty near reach the Double S."

  "Our eastern line is their western," Andy told him, wondering what was coming. Was Raven about to make him an offer for the ranch? If so, he was doomed to disappointment; Andy would not have sold for twice the value.

  Seth nodded reflectively. "Yore dad musta sunk a lot o' coin in it," he said. "This cattle business is a costly one, as I'm afindin' out; the 88 just eats money, spite of all Jevons can do to keep down expenses; which explains why I'm here."

  Andy began to comprehend. "Yu want that five thousand I owe yu, is that it, Seth?" he asked.

  "Partly, my boy, partly," the other assented. "I'm hatin' to press yu just now, but bein' up against it myself--" He paused a moment and went on, "Unfortunately, Andy, that ain't all; there's what yore old man had too."

  "Dad? He owed yu some?" Bordene cried.

  Satisfaction flickered for an instant in the visitor's eyes. He nodded and produced a paper. "Yu can see for yourself," he said.

  The young rancher took the document and stared at it amazedly. It was a note of hand for fifteen thousand dollars, written out and signed by his father. Carelessly done by one who trusted others, the amount was in figures only and there was nothing to show that a deft stroke of the pen had trebled the indebtedness. For a moment he looked at it in stunned silence; it was a heavy blow, but he had enough of his sire in him to take it without wincing. He handed back the note, and said quietly:

  "That's good enough, Seth. I dunno why Dad didn't tell me, but there it is. I'm payin' it, o' course, but yu'll have to wait a few weeks till I've sold the herd I'm roundin' up. I was goin' to make her a thousand strong, but it'll have to be fifteen hundred. There'll be a buyer waitin', an' I reckon they'll turn me in thirty thousand; that'll put things straight."

  "Suits me," Raven returned. "I ain't aimin' to rush yu. When yu reckon to drive?"

  "Soon as I can get the extra cows--say two-three days," the young man told him.

  "Comin' along to-night to win some o' that dinero back?" the saloon-keeper smiled.

  Bordene shook his head. "I gotta hustle," he said. "Wait till I'm outa debt an' I'll have yore hide."

  The visitor nodded agreement. "Well, s'long, Andy, an' good luck with the drive," he said.

  Jogging leisurely back to Lawless he gave vent to a sneering chuckle. On the assumption that old Bordene would not tell his son all his business, he had put up a bluff, and it had come off. It had been easy. "Pie like mother made," he muttered, his covetous eyes sweeping the fine grazing over which he was passing.

  CHAPTER X

  The marshal and his deputy, after a day of ferreting in the Tepee Mountain region, turned their horses' heads towards home. They had discovered nothing; the black was still peacefully grazing in the little valley and there were no new hoof-prints. The wind was rising and getting colder.

  "Well, we ain't done much, but I reckon we'll call it a day," Green remarked. "I wanted for yu to know where that cache is in case someone takes a chance at me an' gets away with it."

  They were now nearing the broad cattle-trail which led north. In the fading light they saw a cloud of dust slowly approaching from the direction of Lawless.

  "Herd a-comin'," Barsay announced. "I guess it'll be young Bordene."

  "Yeah," the marshal agreed, and scanned the sky with distrust. "There's a storm a-comin' too. I'm for beddin' down with Andy to-night. We got all o' twenty miles to cover, an' the bosses is tired."

  "Yo're whistlin'," Pete agreed. "Gee, they're gettin' a wiggle on that herd. I'm thinkin' Andy has seen that storm too."

  "An' he wants them cows good an' tired before they beds down--they won't be so easy scared then," the marshal opined.

  In fact, the herd was now coming on at a good gait, and very soon the shrill cries of the cowboys and the loud bellowing of the beasts could be heard. Beneath the smother of choking dust the cattle, a compact dark mass, came on at a clumsy trot. Ahead of them a single horseman whose right hand went to his gun when he discerned the two shadowy men waiting in the trail. The marshal held up his hand palm outwards, the Indian peace sign.

  "'Lo, Bordene, we ain't holdin' yu up for nothin' 'cept a meal," he called out. "Lawless shore seems a long ways off. so we're aimin' to throw in with yu for the night."

  "Glad to have yu, gents," the young man replied, riding aside to let the herd pass. "Fact is, I got a sorta feelin' we might have trouble an' two more men'd be plumb usef
ul."

  They sat and watched the cattle go lumbering by, the thud of thousands of hoofs shaking the ground beneath them. The horse-wrangler with the remuda followed, and the chuck-wagon, drawn by a team of mules, and driven by a dust-choked and vituperative cook, brought up the rear.

  "A good gather," the marshal commented.

  "The pick o' the ranch," Bordene told him. "Couldn't afford to run any risk; I gotta have the money."

  "Where yu proposin' to camp?"

  "In The Pocket, a little basin 'bout half a mile long; it's sheltered a bit an' there's wood, good grass, an' a pool o' water, though where that comes from the Lord on'y knows, for there ain't no stream."

  "Sounds like it might 'a' bin made for yu," Pete put in.

  "Shore does, but there's a string tied to it," Andy admitted. "A piece this side o' The Pocket the trail skirts Shiverin' Sand, an' if the herd stampedes an' takes the back track it'll be plain hell."

  "Quicksand?" Green queried.

  "Yeah, an' the oddest I ever saw," Bordene explained. "At a first glance she seems like any other bit o' desert--but when yu look close yu can see a sort o' movement, the grains o' sand slowly slippin' like there was somethin' stirrin' underneath; an' if yu shove yore arm in it seems to grip an' it's all yu can do to pull it out again. A fond farewell to any cow that gets bogged down in there, I'm tellin' yu."

  "Mebbe the storm won't break," the marshal said, as they followed the herd.

  Arrangements for the night were well forward when they reached the camping-place, which they did at leisure. The herd had been watered and now, under the ministrations of half a dozen circling riders, was quietly settling down at the far end of the valley. At the near end the cook had a big fire going and the busy rattle of pots and pans sent a cheerful message to tired and hungry men. Having given their mounts a drink, and picketed them, without removing the saddles, the visitors joined the loungers by the fireside.

  The customary baiting of the cook was proceeding in a promising manner when a distant rumble of thunder put a sudden end to it. Anxious eyes turned skywards, where an inky, rolling mass of cloud was wiping out the stars in a steady advance. Then came a spot or two of rain.