Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 04 - Sudden Outlawed(1934) Read online

  “I’m hopin’ so. Anyways, she’s good goin’ an’ pointin’ north, which is all we want,” Jeff told him. His gaze travelled forward along the line of cattle to where Sandy and Carol were riding together, and his eyes twinkled. “Yore friend is cuttin’ yu out.”

  Sudden looked at him amusedly. “That was a mighty poor throw, ol’-timer,” he said. “I’ve got somethin’ to do before I think o’ wedded bliss. Ever hear o’ fellas called Webb an’ Peterson?”

  “No, but names ain’t nothin’ in these parts,” Jeff replied. “yu wantin” ‘em special, Jim?”

  “I’m hopin’ to run across ‘em,” Sudden said, and though there was no threat in the words, the cold, passionless tone sent a chill down even the hardened spine of the foreman.

  That evening, before supper, Sudden drew Sandy apart.

  “If yu can get yore mind off that lean, hatchet-faced female yu been ridin’ with all day” he commenced.

  “Jim, she’s an—angel,” Sandy interrupted.

  “Shore she is,” his friend agreed dryly. “Likewise, she’s the daughter of a big rancher, an’ yo’re just an—outlaw.”

  “D’yu think I need remindin’ o’ that?” the boy asked, so bitterly that Sudden’s heart smote him.

  “After all, what’s the odds?” he consoled. “I’ll bet her dad blotted a few brands in the early days—most o’ the old settlers was afflicted with defective eyesight when they happened onon a cow what looked lonely.”

  This did not have the effect he intended; Sandy flared up instantly. “Don’t yu dare say it,” he cried. “Sam Eden never stole a cent’s worth in his life.”

  Sudden saw that he was really angry, his face flushed, and fists clenched. “Shucks,” he said placatingly. “I ain’t sayin’ he did; they usen’t to call it stealin’. Besides”—he smiled disarmingly—“she ain’t really his daughter, yu know.”

  The boy’s belligerent attitude vanished. “Sorry, Jim. I’m a plain fool to lose my wool like this,” he apologized. “Yu wanted to ask me somethin’?”

  “Yeah, what did Rogue tell yu of his plans?”

  “Nothin’ definite, but I gathered that he aimed to hold up the herd, get what coin he could outa Eden, bust up the drive later on, an’ collar the cows. It’s a-plenty.”

  “Shore is,” Sudden said soberly, and then his eyes twinkled. “I’m takin’ it yu still don’t propose to help him in them projects?”

  “Yo’re damn right,” the boy returned hotly, “an’ the sooner he knows it the better.”

  “That’s somethin’ we’ll let him find out,” Sudden decided. “Our hand’ll be hard enough to play without showin’ it.”

  Cheerfulness was in evidence at supper that evening; the easy going and the improving health of the wounded man had put everyone in a good humour. The men chaffed one another, told tall stories, and kept Peg-leg busy.

  Early on the following morning the camp had visitors, six mounted men, well-armed, and range-riders by their rig. One, who appeared to be the leader, signed to the others to halt, and rode forward. Peg-leg was busy loading his vehicle for the day’s march. Carol, who had just mounted her pony to join the herd, halted at a word from Sudden, the only other man in camp.

  “Tell Jeff to fetch in some o’ the boys,” he told her. “I ain’t likin’ the look o’ these hombres.”

  The girl nodded and rode away. Sudden waited, his fingers concerned with a cigarette, but his eyes taking in the newcomer. A dark, evil-faced fellow this, with lank black hair and a straggly, ill-kept beard which only accentuated a cruel mouth. His narrowed eyes were arrogant, provocative.

  “Mornin’,” Sudden said laconically.

  Dale went for his gun. He got it clear of the holster, but before he could press the trigger there came a flash and a roar from Sudden’s side. Dale dropped his weapon and clutched a ripped forearm.

  Thrusting his smoking gun into its sheath Sudden stepped forward, and before the ice-cold fury in his face the other man fell back. For the lust to take his life was there and Dale knew that only by a miracle had he escaped the fate for which he had asked. Sudden knew this too. For a few terrible seconds he had been possessed by that cruel craving to slay for the sake of slaying; he had wanted to shoot this man; to see him writhing in the agonies of death at his feet.

  Then the evil moment passed and though his face was granite-hard, the old satirical note was in his voice.

  “Yu ain’t hurt much an’ yu got another gun. If yo’re wishful to try the left hand …”

  The Double O man looked at him, stark hatred in every line of his face. He was nearly mad with pain and humiliation, and for an instant, it seemed he might take up this second challenge. The cowboy had an idea.

  “I’m advisin’ yu not to,” he said quietly. “Further south, they call mè Sudden.’”

  The fellow’s eyes widened and something very like fear took the place of the ferocity in them. He picked up his pistol, and grabbing the horn of his saddle with his left hand, hauled himself up.

  “We’ll be meetin’ again an’ mebbe I’ll be lucky,” he growled. “Yu’ve been lucky this time,”

  Sudden replied. “Keep on thinkin’ that. Now, roll yore tail, an’ take that bunch o’ trail-robbers with yu.”

  Watching them ride away, he became aware of Jeff at his elbow asking what it was all about. The foreman’s face when he heard the particulars was a picture of puzzlement.

  “Mebbe we have got some o’ their cows,” he suggested. “Shucks, then we can turn over what they fetch,” Sudden argued. “Any o’ yu boys seen the Double O brand?”

  Not one of them had. “Me neither, an’ I’ve been lookin’ pretty constant for strays,”

  Sudden went on. “I’d risk a little that there ain’t such an iron hereabouts—his hoss warn’t wearin’ it. No, sir, it was a plain hold-up.”

  “If they’d combed the herd an’ hadn’t found any …” the foreman speculated. “Why should they want to hang up our drive?”

  “I ain’t a wizard, Jeff,” Sudden told him.

  “I’m not so shore, seein’ the way yu got that gun goin’,” was the smiling reply.

  The shrill voice of Aunt Judy came from the wagon. “Hi, Jeff, yo’re wanted.”

  They found the invalid anxious and irritable. “What’s the shootin’?” he barked.

  Sudden explained, and Sam Eden’s frown deepened. “Yu done right, Jim,” he commended. He was silent for a while, thinking deeply. “I was warned o’ this,” he went on.

  “There’ll be other damn thieves further along the trail, waitin’ to try the same game. We’ve got precious little coin, an’ I won’t hand over a cow, so that means fightin’ our way through.”

  His fierce eyes carried a question and the little foreman answered it without hesitation:

  “We’re all willin’ to do that, Sam, but there ain’t too many of us to handle the herd as it is. What yu think, Jim?”

  “Well, these hold-up gents will be watchin’ the used trail,” the cowboy pointed out.

  “S’pose we was to bear away to the west for a spell an’ then strike north again, nosin’ out a road for ourselves; wouldn’t that razzle-dazzle ‘em?”

  “By the Devil’s teeth, he’s hit it, Jeff,” the cattleman swore. “It’ll mean a longer an’ harder drive, but that’ll be better than losin’ men scrappin’, an’ it’s possible Chisholm didn’t pick the best path after all. Now, go an’ get them steers started. Jim, I’m obliged to yu.”

  Notwithstanding his employer’s approval, Sudden did not feel too comfortable. The step he had suggested was dangerous and might well plunge the expedition into all kinds of difficulty.

  On the other hand, there was the chance that it would dislocate Rogue’s designs on the drive, and this had been his main reason. That Dale was one of the outlaw’s men he felt sure, and he was relieved by the thought that he had now declared himself.

  Chapter X

  THE new plan was not to be put into operation immediatel
y, and dusk found them camped again on the trail they had been following. Straight across the dreary, brown expanse it ran. a road some hundreds of yards in width, carved out of the plain by the sharp hooves of hordes of cattle. Throughout the day no tree broke the monotony of the sky-line.

  They had another visitor that evening. The herd had been bedded down, four men left in charge, and the others were grouped around the fire awaiting Peg-leg’s intimation that supper was ready, when a figure materialized out of the gloom and came towards them, right hand raised, palm foremost.

  “Evenin’, folks,” greeted a high, reedy voice. “Saw yer fire an’ it made me feel kind o’ lonesome.”

  “Step right up, friend,” the foreman called out.

  The man came on, moving with the easy, tireless stride of a redskin. The firelight showed him to be an oldish fellow, thin but wiry, with long grey hair and beard and bright eyes which seemed never to be still. His tattered doeskin garments, raccoon-skin cap, and moccasins proclaimed that he was a trapper.

  “Sit an’ eat,” the foreman invited.

  “Thankee,” the stranger replied. “But I pay my footin’.”

  He lifted the long gun from his shoulder and proffered the carcass of a small deer slung upon it. Jeff protested, but the visitor would not listen.

  “Sho, I’m tired o’ totin’ it,” he said. “Mebbe a change for yu fellas, but a hunk o’ good beef to me is wuth all the game that ever ran or flew.”

  “I’m obliged,” the cowman said. “We’ve got a invalid who won’t subscribe to them sentiments.”

  “Sick folk is finicky,” the other agreed.

  He dumped his pack—the crackling of which suggested dried skins—on the ground, placed his gun upon it, and sat down. When the food arrived, he ate so wolfishly that even in a land of large appetites he knew it must be remarked.

  “Yu gotta excuse me, friends,” he said, “but yu have one damn fine cook, an’ I’ve bin livin’ on straight meat an’ water for most a week; run right outa meal, salt, an’ coffee.”

  “I guess we can fix yu up,” the foreman said. “Goin’ fur?”

  “Makin’ for the nearest settlement to trade my pelts for supplies,” the stranger explained.

  He sighed contentedly as he finished his fifth mug of coffee. “That’s the best feed I’ve put under my belt for many a day.” He produced a battered pipe and regarded it ruefully. “I went shy o’ smokin’ too.”

  Several hands shot out, and when he had filled, lighted, and taken a long draw, he smiled whimsically at the company. “I figure yu boys’ll be wondering’ over me.”

  They were, but not one of them would have admitted it. He nodded understandingly and went on—as he put it—to explain himself. His name, it appeared, was Tyson, and his story a common one enough in those days. Just a tale of a ravaged cabin, a murdered wife and children, and another blood-debt to the shrieking painted devils who had wrecked his llfe. He told it quite simply in his high-pitched voice, without passion, but in his eyes smouldered a hatred which only death would quench.

  “Since then I’ve bin a sort o’ missionary,” he concluded grimly. “yes, sirs, me an’ `Betsy’

  “—he patted the stock of the rifle at his back—“has converted quite a few war-whoops.”

  The cowboys smiled at this. They too held the cynical view that the only “good” Indian was a dead one. Therefore the knowledge that their guest was a “still-hunter”—one who tracked down and slew the redskin on foot—aroused no feeling of repulsion. The foreman questioned him regarding the country for which they were heading, and the chances of getting the herd through.

  “Middlin’ slim,” he said bluntly. “Yu’ll have a man-size job to make it. Steers is bringin’ real money at the rail-head, an’ it’s knowed that herds is comin’ up from Texas. The Nations is lousy with bad men, hide-hunters, rustlers, outlaws of every sort, an’ they ain’t likely to overlook a bet o’ that kind. Then there’s the Kiowas an’ Comanches from the headwaters o’ the Red River; they’re watchin’ the trail mighty close.”

  “S’pose we turned west for a piece an’ then cut our own road north?” Sudden queried.

  Tyson grinned. “She ain’t a bad idea—might diddle ‘em,” he admitted. “But yu gotta mind yu don’t hit the Staked Plain —no water an’ as hot as Hell’s gridiron—an’ if yore cows git tangled up with a herd o’ buff’ler yu can wish ‘em good-bye. Allasame, I’d say it’s yore best bet.”

  Soon after midnight, Sudden, having done his turn of night-herding, returned to camp and sought his blankets. He had not fallen asleep when he heard the low, musical but melancholy hoot of a dwarf-owl. Since there were no trees or bushes in the vicinity, the presence of the bird was sufficiently remarkable to call for investigation. Slipping from beneath his covering he crawled cautiously in the direction from which the sound had seemed to come. At the side of a small hummock he stood up, drew his gun, coughed slightly, and instantly moved.

  “That yu, Sandy?”

  “No, it’s Green.”

  A shadow detached itself from the side of the hummock.

  “‘Lo, Jim, I was wantin’ a word with one o’ yu,” Rogue said, and then, abruptly, “Why for did yu’ shoot up my man, Dale?”

  “How in hell was Ito know yu owned the Double O brand?” Sudden retorted.

  “I don’t,” the outlaw chuckled, “but yu mighta guessed how it was. Bad luck he had to bump into yu.”

  “I’d say he was plumb fortunate,” Sudden retorted. “Next time he starts to pull a gun on me he won’t get off with just a busted arm.”

  “It looks like yu mean to double-cross me, Jim,” Rogue said harshly.

  “Double-cross nothin’,” was the reply. “I never joined yu, an’ I don’t owe yu anythin’ but a bad name an’ a prospect o’ swingin’ for a crime yu committed.”

  The savage intensity of his tone seemed to impress the other and when he spoke again the rasp had gone from his voice:

  “That’s so. I got yu in bad, but short o’ givin’ myself up, I did what I could to get yu clear.

  I liked yu, Jim, an’ when yu consented to join the S E I reckoned it meant …”

  “That I was ready to be what yu had made me—an outlaw,” Sudden finished bitterly.

  “Well, it mighta been—I was undecided—but when it came to shootin’ old men from cover …”

  “I had nothin’ to do with that, Jim.”

  “Yu were around when it happened.”

  “I’d gone. I knew afterwards, but it was no part of my plan.”

  “Then who did it?”

  “I don’t know who fired the shot, but Navajo fixed it. I had trouble with him over that—an’ other things. He’s gettin’ uppity.”

  The cowboy was silent, considering. Somehow he believed Rogue was telling him the truth. Ruthless ruffian he undoubtedly was, yet he possessed a streak of something—bravado, it might be—which made him scorn a lie as the resort of a coward. He had been frank over the killing of Judson, when he need not have been. The husky voice broke in on his thoughts:

  “Must be gettin’ tired holdin’ that gun, Jim; there ain’t no manner o’ need.”

  Shame swept over Sudden as he slipped the revolver back into its holster. “Sorry, Rogue,” he said. “I warn’t noticin’.”

  “Shucks,” the outlaw said, and there was a weariness in his tone. “I don’t blame yu for playin’ safe, boy. I’m takin’ it I can’t count on yu an’ Sandy?”

  “That’s correct,” Sudden told him. “We ain’t neither of us bitin’ the hand that feeds us.”

  An impulse stirred him. “Why don’t yu cut away from that gang, Rogue? yo’re too good a man…”

  The outlaw laughed. “Sorry for me, Jim?” he gibed. “Well, yu needn’t to be. I went wrong with my eyes open because the world treated me mean an’”

  “It’s done that to me, but I’m goin’ to forget it,” Sudden cut in.

  He could not see the pitying smile on the older man’s face
. “yu never will, boy; the faculty o’ forgettin’ what yu don’t want to remember is one o’ God’s greatest gifts an’ few has it,”

  Rogue said bitterly, and then his voice grew harsh again. “I’m gettin’ mushy. Bite on this, boy: I’ve passed my word to bust Eden’s drive an’ I’m goin’ to do it.”

  “An’ I’ll fight yu till hell freezes,” Sudden smiled, and shoved out a fist. “No hard feelin’s, Rogue, but that don’t go for yore followin’. Sabe?”

  The bandit gripped the hand heartily. So this strange compact between men who were to war, one against the other, was sealed. The intruder melted into the shadowed plain and Sudden crept back to the camp, his mind full of the man he had just left. For the interview had surprised him. He had gone to it expecting reproaches, threats, even attempted violence, and found none of them. He had given his promise to his employer and would do his best to fulfil it. As to whom this might be, Sudden could make no guess Sam Eden’s bluff, outspoken nature and quick temper would earn him enemies enough.

  His thoughts veered to the dark, sinister face of Navajo, the man who—according to Rogue—had “fixed” the attempted murder of the cattleman. Was it a misguided effort to help his leader, or was the fellow playing a hand for himself? The stars, paling in the sky, warned him that the night was passing, and he turned over to snatch an hour’s sleep before sunrise.

  In the morning, the guest, after packing his spare frame with bacon, beans, and coffee, went on his way, rejoicing that —thanks to the generosity of his hosts—he would again be able to “feed like a Christian.”

  “I figure yu’ll be all right till yo’re over the Red River,” he added. “Then make yore pass west. Adios.”

  Gun on shoulder and pack on back, he swung off southwards along the trail, moving swiftly but unhurriedly. Several of the men stood watching the gradually diminishing form.

  “A queer little cuss,” Jeff commented. “One time them devils will catch him an’ then—he’ll want death a hell of a while before it comes.”

  “Well, he’s sent some to wait for him,” Jed remarked. “Did yu notice the nicks on the stock o’ that gun? I didn’t count ‘em, but I’ll bet there was mighty near two score.”