Sudden: Takes the Trail Read online

  “An’ give some o’ them Welcome hucksters a pain in the breakfast,” Javert added viciously.

  “We’ll do it,” Mullins decided. “But we gotta pick the right night. Dutch, ain’t I seen young Evans, Morley’s clerk, in Dirty Dick’s?”

  “Shore, he dasn’t go to the Red Light; Bob has threatened to fire him if he does.”

  “That’s fine. You slide in this evenin’, git hold o’ that boy, an’ pump him dry, casual-like, o’ course. Then we can make our plans. Now, them steers we lifted last night need attention, an’, Pocky, don’t forget to blot the brand o’ that hoss you took in exchange for yore own; she’s a dead giveaway.” On that same afternoon, Mary Gray had a surprise when Jesse Sark dismounted outside her establishment, hitched his horse, and entered. She was alone, clearing up after the last of her midday customers. Sark cast an appraising eye round the rehabilitated eating-house, and a remembrance of what it had been forced a compliment even from his reluctant lips.

  “My word, Mary, but you’ve certainly worked wonders,” he said. “I must see if yore cookin’ grades up to the layout —if you’ll serve me.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” she replied coldly.

  He had been drinking, and his eyes watching her vanish into the kitchen, were covetous.

  Happiness and motherhood had made her more physically attractive, accentuating the curves of her youthful body, which her simple black dress set off perfectly. He devoured the food she set before him with greedy appreciation, and then, calling her over, said, with a leer:

  “That was fine. If, as they say, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, all the fellas in this burg oughta be sweet on you.”

  “I like to please my customers.”

  “Mebbe, but it’s no work for a woman such as you servin’ grub to tradesmen an’ cow-wrastlers, spoilin’ them pretty han’s.”

  “I am happy here,” she replied steadily. “I don’t mind earning my living.”

  “There’s an easier way. The of man treated you mean; get the laugh on him by comin’

  back to the Dumbbell. I’ll give you everythin’ you want.” It was some seconds before the utter infamy of the suggestion come home, draining the blood from her cheeks, and turning her to ice.

  “How dare you?” she cried.

  “Don’t be a fool, m’dear,” he said. “I’ve took a fancy to you an’ am willin’ to pay a high price—even marriage—if that’s what you’re bogglin’ over, in spite o’ the tale I heard at Dirty’ Dick’s.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That the marshal set you up here.”

  “Dirty Dick’s is well named,” she retorted bitterly. “This place belongs to Mister Morley, and I rent it from him. There are those in town who would kill you for repeating that lie.”

  “Which would shorely clinch it,” he sneered. “Whereas, if you came to the Dumbbell …

  See here, I’m ready to take a chance on you. Figure it out: mistress of a big ranch, plenty o’ money, fine clothes, servants to wait on you, an’—a good home for yore kid.”

  “I wouldn’t wed you to save him from starvation,” she replied fiercely.

  The contempt in her voice stung him like a whip, lashing him to a fury of anger and desire. Snatching at her wrist, he held her captive. A savage jerk which nearly flung her off her feet enabled him to sweep his other arm around the slender waist and force the struggling body close to his. Held in that iron clutch, she could do nothing save make desperate efforts to evade the lips which were seeking her own.

  “Sark!” The bully looked up to find Dave Masters only a couple of yards distant, face rigid, eyes of chilled steel, and his gun levelled.

  “Stand away. I am goin’ to kill yu.” Mary Gray moved to his side. “Don’t shoot, Dave,” she pleaded. “Send him away—for my sake.” The sound of her voice seemed to bring him to his senses. He shook his head as though to clear it of a mist through which he had been gazing.

  “Yo’re right, ma’am, he ain’t worth the case of a ca’tridge,” he muttered, and gesturing towards the door with his weapon, added, “March ! ” The cattleman drew a long breath; he knew that only the girl’s intervention had saved him, but he was not grateful. But neither was he prepared to take further risks, so he marched. Dave followed, and as the other threw back the door, gripped him by the back of the neck and, with a sudden thrust, sent him sprawling into the street, much to the edification of some passers-by who witnessed the ignominious exit. When, spitting curses and sand, he scrambled to his feet, he saw his assailant standing on the sidewalk, empty hands hanging down, eyes blazing.

  “Thought yu was gittin’ off easy, huh?” the cowboy gibed. “Pull yore gun, yu mongrel, an’ go to the hell that’s waitin’ for yu.” But Sark was in no mood to accept the invitation. Though the drink had died out, he was badly shaken. He contented himself with a threat:

  “Yore account is pilin’ up, fella, but don’t you fret none —it’ll be settled.”

  “Git some o’ yore cattle-thieves to help you,” Dave advised, and saw the furious eyes flicker.

  He watched the man hoist himself into the saddle, grab the quirt hanging from the horn, and lash the beast into a frenzied gallop.

  “Takin’ it out’n the hoss,” was his thought. “He would.” He opened the door of the restaurant and peeped in. Its owner was seated at a table, face hidden in her hands.

  “I dasn’t go in,” he said, unaware that he was speaking aloud, and closing the door gently, walked away, convinced she had not seen him.

  But she had, and heard him too, and when she raised her head the wet eyes were shining.

  “Oh, Dave, you big, brave—coward,” she murmured with a tremulous smile.

  That evening, the marshal strolled into Dirty Dick’s, and indifferent to the anything but welcome looks he received, ordered a drink, and scanned the company with apparent carelessness. One couple immediately interested him; seated at a table a little apart from the rest were Dutch and Evans, the banker’s assistant. The latter, sucking at a rank cigar, and with a glass of spirit before him, had shown signs of perturbation when the officer entered.

  “That’s done it,” he muttered. “He’ll tell 01’ Bob an’ I’ll get the air.” Dutch, who was as little pleased at the intrusion, endeavoured to console him. “Mebbe he won’t mention it,” he said.

  “An’ if he does, I can find you somethin’ better to do than pushin’ a pen—a man’s job, with real money in it.”

  “That’s mighty nice o’ you, Dutch,” was the reply. “Tied to a desk all day ain’t much of a life.”

  “Yo’re shoutin’—it’d give me the willies in a week,” the other agreed, adding slyly, “See here, I can tell you how to shut the marshal’s mouth, if need be.” He whispered earnestly for a few moments, ceasing only when he became aware that the subject of their conversation had drawn near.

  “Evans, I want a word with yu—outside.” The youth hesitated, and then, with a poor attempt at bravado, emptied his glass and followed the officer into the fresh air. Sudden came to the point at once.

  “How come yu to be in that sink?”

  “You were there yoreself.”

  “Don’t fence with me, boy,” Sudden said sternly. “Would Bob Morley approve o’ yore frequentin’ Dirty Dick’s?”

  “He don’t buy my evenin’s.”

  “Which is no answer to my question.” The boy fidgeted with his feet, tried to draw inspiration from a cigar which had lost its savour, and furtively let it fall.

  “You don’t have to tell him, do you?”

  “It’s my duty,” the marshal said doubtfully.

  “Promise not to, an’ I’ll put you wise to somethin’ important,” Evans replied eagerly. “Is it a deal?”

  “I make no bargains in the dark, but I’ve never been accused o’ bein’ ungrateful.” The clerk gave in; this man—whom he secretly admired as being all he would have liked to be—was too strong for him.

  “Th
ere’s goin’ to be a big raid on the Bar O,” he blurted. “They figure to burn the buildings, shoot down the outfit, an’ drive off the cattle. It’s to be tomorrow night.”

  “Who is `they’?” the marshal asked, wondering how far his informant’s power of invention would carry him_ “I dunno—the fella who told me ”

  “Meanin’ Dutch.”

  “Well, yes, but he ain’t in it,” Evans replied. “He’s workin’ over to Drywash, an’ got to hear accidental. He reckons it’s a gang from ‘way up in the hills, an’ they’ll outnumber the Bar O unless Welcome lends a hand.”

  “Why didn’t he come to me?”

  “He was meanin’ to, but when you come in, he thought ”

  “Yu could buy my silence, huh? Well, it’s a fine story; I didn’t guess Dutch had that much imagination. However, I’m sayin’ nothin’ to yore employer, on one condition, that yu keep clear o’ that dive from now on; mixin’ with Dutch an’ his like will on’y land yu in the penitentiary—or worse.”

  “I’ll promise,” Evans replied. “But marshal, I ain’t lyin’ about what Dutch told me, an’ I’m certain he meant it. He said he hadn’t no quarrel with the Bar O, an’ didn’t want to see strangers put one over on ‘em.” Sudden returned to his quarters in a thoughtful frame of mind. The boy’s parting words had been spoken earnestly, but he could not conceive a member of Jake’s ruffianly crew being anxious to prevent disaster befalling Owen’s ranch, even though the blow was to come from outsiders. Had the fellow fallen out with his friends and turned traitor? That was possible, but unlikely, since Dutch appeared to have nothing to gain. Or was it, after all, a mere fabrication, concocted by Evans, under the spur of necessity?

  “Damn it, anyway yu look, it don’t make sense,” was the conclusion of his meditations.

  Chapter X

  SUDDEN, rising with his problem still unsolved, took Dave and Sloppy into his confidence over the morning meal. The pair looked at him in puzzled bewilderment.

  “What’s yore trouble?” the younger man asked. “There ain’t but one thing we can do: take a dozen o’ the boys to the Bar O an’ give them cattle-thieves a real big surprise. Ain’t that yore notion too, Sloppy?”

  “Shore looks thataway,” the little man agreed. “But …” He paused, his speculative gaze on the marshal.

  “That’s the snag—but,” Sudden said. “Every way I figure, I run up against it. The obvious move ain’t allus the right one. Dutch don’t like me none a-tall; why should he put me wise when he’d ruther I fell down on my job?” His companions could find no answer to this, and he supplied one himself:

  “It might be that he just wants to make a fool o’ me. Well, I’m stayin’ put.”

  “Yu won’t help the Bar O?” Dave said earnestly. “Damn it, Jim, we owe them that.”

  “I know, but I don’t think they’ll need us. I’ll ride over myself an’ warn ‘em to be on the look-out. It ain’t no use arguin’, boy; I’ve got a hunch an’ I’m playin’ it, right or wrong.” Masters shook his head, unconvinced, but Sloppy appeared to be satisfied—the marshal’s word was his law. Together they walked up the street.

  “I don’t like it,” Dave remarked. “It’ll seem we’ve run out on Owen.”

  “Jim’s got savvy,” was all the consolation he received. They found the Widow busy and cheerful. She thanked the deputy very prettily, and excused her cousin.

  “He had been drinking,” she said. “Men are not responsible then.”

  “It’s mighty hard to figure him a close relation o’ yores,” Dave remarked.

  “He’s scarcely that,” she corrected, and with a smile, “but he was certainly too close yesterday.” The allusion brought a swift frown to the cowboy’s face. “If he pesters yu again there’s liable to be a bereavement in yore family,” he told her.

  Meanwhile, the marshal was on his way to the Bar O. He found the owner just about to set out.

  “Step inside,” he invited. “I guess you didn’t come just for the pleasure o’ seein’ me.”

  “Why not?” Sudden smiled. “Allasame, I’ve news—of a kind.” Seated in one of the big chairs, he told what he had learned. Owen received the narrative in silence. Only when the marshal came to his own proposed inaction did he speak:

  “You ain’t believin’ it?”

  “No, I suspect a trap—to get me outa town. “What for?”

  “I wish yu could tell me. Dave is sore, he reckons I’m playin’ it low down on yu.”

  “Rubbish ! ” the rancher said. “You ain’t paid to safeguard the Bar O; that’s up to us an’ I guess we can do it, but any suggestion will be welcome.”

  “Have four or five men, spaced out, watching yore western line to give warnin’—they’ll come in from that side. The rest o’ yu can wait here. Keep a man with a fast hoss ready to head for Welcome. I expect yu can stand ‘em off till we make it. Got plenty gun-fodder?”

  “You bet, an’ the ranch-house is loop-holed,” Owen replied. “That’s a good plan, Jim; I’ll fix it so. I’m obliged.”

  “Shucks ! If yu do get a visit, I’ll feel pretty mean. By the way, I wouldn’t pick Pinto as a sentry.”

  “Still suspectin’ him?”

  “I got nothin’ to go on, but there it is.”

  “Seen any more o’ Sark?” Owen asked.

  “He was in yestiddy, an’ didn’t add any to his popularity.” The rancher listened with an expression of growing disgust to the eating-house incident. “Good for Dave,” he commented.

  “But he’ll have to watch out; Jesse ain’t particular how he pays debts.”

  “He’d better settle mine first,” Sudden said, with a wintry smile, and, inconsequently,

  “Was Amos raisin’ cattle around here before yu?”

  “Some years earlier, but there was plenty range, an’ we never had any differences.”

  “Yu chose a nice convenient brand—for him, didn’t yu?”

  “How so?”

  “Lengthen yore bar, put an O at the near end, an’ yu have a passable Dumbbell.”

  “That’s so,” Owen admitted. “Now I’ll tell you somethin’. Amos Sark’s brand was Circle S, but when Jesse took over he made the change. I didn’t give it a thought, we’ve never suffered from brand-blottin’ in these parts.”

  “Mebbe, but you’re losin’ cattle, an’ it’s worth bearin’ in mind.”

  “I’ll warn the boys to keep their eyes open.”

  “Some of ‘em,” Sudden advised. “There ain’t allus safety in numbers.”

  “I’ll respect yore prejudices, marshal,” the rancher replied. “I allow Pinto ain’t a young gal’s dream o’ manly beauty, but hard looks don’t mean much.”

  “Yu didn’t see the one he gave me,” Sudden smiled.

  Satisfied that he had done all he could, he set out for home. With but a mile to go, he noticed horse-tracks branching away to the left of the trail he was travelling. Few in number, they showed that a rider had come and gone several times. Was this the way Dutch slipped into the settlement? He had no means of knowing, but decided to find out where they led to.

  This was simple enough in the open, for the unknown had made no attempt to conceal his passage, but presently the tracker found himself amongst dense brush, and the task became harder. But Sudden could read signs like an Indian; a faint indentation, a dislodged stone, or a bruised leaf were plain as print to his keen eye. The sun told that he was travelling south-west and must, in time, arrive near the spot where they had encountered the rustlers. So he was not surprised when, after an hour of painstaking labour, he emerged from a shallow ravine to hear the roar of tumbling water. Two hundred yards distant was a double line of willows, and in front an arid stretch of gravel on which the tracks were utterly lost. He waded the creek and searched the far bank, but without success. Then he rode south along The Step, noting how the wall of rock dwindled in height until it was possible to cross.

  “If they come, it’ll likely be this way,” he mused. “Well, Ni
g, what we want now is a shorter trail to Welcome.” The afternoon was well advanced when he returned; he had found his trail and memorized every salient feature.

  Tired and hungry, he found his deputy in a fractious mood. “What’s John Owen thinkin’ of us?” he inquired.

  “He said I was doin’ the right thing.”

  “Seems to ‘a’ taken yu a long time to convince him.”

  “Oh, we had to make arrangements, an’ on the way back I had a look around.”

  “See any doubtful characters?” Dave asked sarcastically.

  “Not till I got here,” his friend grinned, and then, “Let’s go an’ lift a few honest dollars from Nippert—he’s got too many, but first, we’ll saddle the hosses.”

  “Why for?”

  “To keep their backs warm, o’ course,” Sudden laughed. “Also, if anythin’ breaks loose tonight we might need ‘em in a hurry. Owen may send word.” At the Red Light, Sudden told the saloon-keeper what he had done and certain citizens were warned to be ready for instant action.

  When, after an evening of modest poker, the marshal and his deputy retired to their quarters, they did not undress.

  Two hours after midnight found Welcome asleep. There was no moon, and the indifferent light of the stars showed the buildings only as deeper blobs in the general darkness. Then, into this silent stillness, entering from the eastern end of the town, came the shadows of mounted men, moving slowly, cautiously, one behind the other. Eight in number, they rode noiselessly along the street, the soft sand deadening the footfalls of their steeds. Each had a bandana, slitted for the eyes, covering his features. When they reached the bank, four of them got down and stepped swiftly to the side door. The others took charge of the horses, and sat waiting, rifles across their knees. The leader rapped softly. After a pause, a voice from inside asked:

  “Who is it?”

  “Open up, Bob,” the stranger replied gruffly. “I’m from Nippert.” Apparently the answer was satisfactory; bolts were withdrawn and through the slightly-opened door came the light of a flickering candle; behind it, the peering face of the banker. At the sight of the masked man, he made a desperate attempt to close the door again, but the other had flung his weight upon it, levelling his revolver at the same moment.